Definitely, Maybe in Love

“Tonight. It’s our first date.” He turned to me, making my pulse skip.

“It’s a basketball game, Knightly,” I said after a swallow. “That’s all.”

Henry blinked at me and slid his hands in his pockets. “Right, Honeycutt.” He nodded, curtly. “That’s all this is.”

Neither of us spoke for a few minutes until, thankfully, Mel and Tyler came downstairs. Mel stared at Henry like she was seeing a mirage. “Ty just said it was you, but I…”

“Hey,” Henry said to her. “Good to see you again.”

She blinked. “Yeah.” She blinked once more then glanced at me. “Weird, huh?”

Again, Mel and her classic lacking of tact.

“Why don’t you two drive together?” Tyler suggested, his arm around Mel. “We have a lot more catching up to do.”

Mel shot me a questioning look as we grabbed our purses from the banister while Henry acquiesced to the proposed travel arrangements. Our foursome headed out the front door.

“Didn’t you come on a motorcycle?” I asked.

A little notch sliced into the skin between Henry’s eyebrows and he pointed to a black, ragtop Jeep parked at the far end of the driveway.

“Yours?” Though I didn’t really have to ask; it was parked crooked.

He nodded, spinning a silver ring of keys around his index finger, catching them in his hand.

“Was the Lamborghini store closed?” I teased. “Poor you.”

“Have you missed making fun of me?”

“You’re just hard to recognize without a Viper wrapped around you.”

He lifted a distant smile. “Yeah, I really miss that car.”

“Where is it?” I asked, climbing in the passenger side. Henry was right behind me, closing my door once I was in. “Aren’t you two connected like twins?”

He slid in the driver’s seat, twisted the key in the ignition and revved the engine. “The Viper was a loaner,” he said, adjusting the mirror. “You didn’t know that?”

“No,” I replied, surprised. “I assumed it was yours.”

“Only for six months.” He shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway. “One of my father’s companies has a vested interest in sponsoring a racer.” We were tailing Mel’s Jetta out of the subdivision. “The Viper was a sort of lend/trade-out constituent as part of the negotiations, but only for the first two quarters of their fiscal year.”

“I hope what you just said made sense to you.”

He chuckled. “The forecast shows no rain tonight, but would you like the top up?” I shook my head, wrangling with my braids as they danced around my face. Henry reached into the backseat and grabbed a blue baseball cap with three gold letters scripted across the front. He handed it to me.

“Cal?” I screeched, making the word sound like swearing. “Stanford’s sworn enemy? I’m not wearing that.” I tossed the hat at his chest like it was a live grenade. “Do you want us to get struck by lightning?”

“There’s another back there. The Giants. Very benign.”

“My hair is fine, Knightly.”

He flipped up the visor and slid that offensive blue cap on his head, turning to me with a grin. I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh at his childlike expression. Pushing my buttons…

“Cardinals killed the Bears last fall,” I said, flicking the bill over his eyes.

“I know, I was at the game. And, yes, Spring, I was sitting on the Stanford side.”

“Then why do you have a Berkeley hat?

“My sister is looking at it as a possibility for next year. She’s much more open-minded than I am.”

Henry’s sister. I remembered hearing about her from Alex. “Is she here too, on vacation?”

He turned on the blinker as we idled at a red light. “No, it’s just me. We’ve got family in Scappoose, about thirty miles away. I spend vacations with them when I can.”

The inside of Henry’s Jeep was a little untidier than I would’ve expected, especially after sharing a bathroom with him for a week back in November. As he drove us at a very conservative sixty-five miles per hour south to Portland, I took the liberty of rummaging around. Assorted road maps, empty water bottles, that Giants cap, two Duke sweatshirts, a polo mallet (I think), and wedged in the small door pocket on the passenger’s side was a paperback.

“What are you doing with this?” I fanned the pages of the worn book under his nose.

He glanced at me but said nothing.

“I thought you only read odes to the sixth amendment, or the memoirs of Lee Iacocca and Rush Limbaugh.”

“I like stories,” he said. “That particular book is for emergencies only, in case I break down on the freeway and have nothing to do till Triple A comes. But, tell me.” His face warped serious. “What is a pimpernel, exactly?”

I stared down at the book on my lap. My favorite book in the world. “It’s a flower,” I explained, running my fingers over the cover, “and a metaphor.”

“After the way you talked about it that night, I wondered what I would think. If I would see what you see.” He cut me a glance. “French bourgeois and all.”

I flipped to my favorite chapter—Richmond—remembering the first time I’d read it, smiling a little dreamily. “What do you think so far?”

“Interesting,” he offered, then concentrated on the road.

“That’s it?” I said over the noise of traffic.

He lowerd his visor and squinted at me, puzzled.

“You can’t possibly create a respectable judgment about a story until you’ve finished.” I sandwiched the book between my hands protectively. “When did you start reading it?”

“January.”

“You’ve been reading it for three months?” I accused, flabbergasted. “How far have you gotten?”

Henry tapped his chin. “Let’s see, I just finished Richmond, so I am approximately two-thirds of the way.” He glanced to me. “My third time through.”

Chapter 21

Mel’s arm was linked through mine as our foursome, now temporarily divided, strolled toward Platinum Level parking. The overall mood was somber leaving the Rose Quarter, interrupted by thwarted Trail Blazers fans yelling obscene commentary about specific Lakers players.

“Why does he have to be such a sore winner?” I said, hoping Knightly heard me, even though he and Tyler were still a ways behind us.

“I thought it was kind of cute the way that one player gave him a high five at the end of the game.”

“That was Kobe Bryant, Mel.”

“How does Henry know him?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

“So, I was thinking,” Mel said, “do you want to go up to Beacon Rock tomorrow?” We turned down a row. I could see Henry’s Jeep parked next to Mel’s car under the yellow florescent lights. “A little impromptu overnight campout?”

“I’m seriously so behind in my classes. I’ve got about five hundred pages to read.”

“You can bring your books,” she said, quick to anticipate my excuse. “Just imagine reading Walden with the leafy forest as your backdrop and the murmuring river your soundtrack.”