“It’s you and me in here, Sunflower. You don’t have to lie or pretend, okay? Your shoulders are up around your ears. You’re wringing your hands together. We can pretend we aren’t familiar with each other as Emma and Henry all we want, but I have a pretty good read on you. And right now, you’re not okay. You’re stressed out,” he murmurs.

“It’s stupid and pointless. Totally not a big deal. I’m just overanalyzing. I do it frequently.”

His hand reaches out, thumb swiping over my cheek. “For the next few days, we need to be brutally honest with each other, even if it means saying the tough shit we don’t think the other wants to hear. I’m asking a lot from you by being here. Having my mom think I’m dating someone is important, sure, but your feelings and well-being are more important to me. The most important to me. Nothing you say is stupid. I won’t laugh. I’m not going to make fun of you. I’m going to listen and we’re going to figure out a solution together, okay?”

The sincerity behind the words causes me to exhale a heavy breath, a weight leaving my shoulders. He’s right; they’re tense and I feel relief when I let them relax, shaking out my arms.

“You know I’ve done this before. A lot of times, actually. With lots of different people.”

Something akin to… anger? Agitation? Dislike? crosses Henry’s face, so fleeting and fast it’s hard to tell it was ever even there. “I’m aware,” he says.

“I’ve been a little anxious in the past when I’m with high-profile men. But this is… next level. I’m scared. Nervous. Really not wanting to mess anything up for you.”

“Nervous and being scared are okay.” His palm cups my cheek, and I turn my head a fraction of an inch to nestle into his soft touch. “What else is on your mind?”

“It’s difficult for me to process all these conflicting reactions. We have a history, and very specific and regimented roles we play at the office. I’m trying to find a balance between the two parts, and it’s really freaking hard. Then, I see my stupid suitcase on your nice furniture, and I think about how laughable this is. No one who truly knows me would ever believe this is real. Look at you. Look at me. My socks have a hole in them and the watch you’re wearing probably costs as much as my mortgage payment. I really enjoyed talking to JD; I’m struggling to remember that he’s also you, too, Henry. I’m sorry.”

“I am looking at you,” he says vehemently. “I don’t give a fuck about what your suitcase looks like or if your socks have fifteen holes in them. You know why?”

“Why?”