“Is there a problem here?”
I nearly jump out of my skin, then turn to see Henry standing behind me, toting two big plates of katsu. Without missing a beat, he sets them down in front of two elderly Aunties at the table next to Craig’s. The Aunties gaze at him adoringly, then turn their attention back to me.
And suddenly I’m very aware of the fact that everyone is looking at me. I’m causing yet another disruption. The Becky table chatters among themselves and snaps pictures. The drunk Uncles openly stare at whatever drama’s about to unfold.
“No,” I say to Henry, collecting myself. “Everything’s fine. Go back to the kitchen and help Rory with, um . . .” I swallow again, trying to squelch the flush that seems to be overtaking me, the red haze that’s fallen over my vision. I know my nure-onna fangs are out now.
An excited murmur sweeps through the restaurant, everyone buzzing about Hank Chen’s hunky presence and the rage-y girl who cannot seem to keep herself from becoming the undesirable center of attention these past few days.
“Oh, how nice,” Craig gloats. “The half-breed orphan’s found herself a mutt guard dog.”
“Honestly,” I blurt. “Did your mother just never teach you any manners . . . or . . . or . . .”
He grins as I sputter. Then he leans forward in his seat and locks his eyes with mine, sounding each word out very deliberately.
“At least I have one.”
His retort hits like a slap. I take a step back, trying not to give in to the unleashed rage thrumming through my veins. An avalanche of words clogs my throat, making me choke, and unexpected tears fill my eyes. I blink them back furiously, trying to get a handle on the emotions blazing through me, but they won’t stop, they just . . . won’t . . . stop . . .
I’m out of control again. I’m about to fucking explode. I’m . . . I’m . . .
Henry studies me, his expression unreadable. I know everyone in the restaurant is still staring at us, but they all seem to fade away as my vision narrows and the blood roars through my ears.
Henry turns back to Craig and tilts his head. He looks so unbothered. Like Craig is a gnat, barely worthy of his interest. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives Craig a placid grin.
“That was extremely rude. I think you should leave.”
“I’m a customer,” Craig says, relishing every syllable.
“A customer who’s being rude,” Henry says, that placid grin never faltering. “Therefore no longer a customer.”
“My father is very important in this community—head of the Nikkei Week board,” Craig sneers. “I know you might not realize that, being an outsider and all. And I really don’t think you should talk to me that way.”
“Then maybe he should come down here and explain why you’re acting like an asshole,” Henry says—and I marvel at how he still sounds so pleasant.
Craig splutters for a moment. The more worked up he gets, the calmer Henry becomes.
“Fine,” he snarls, scrambling to his feet. He starts to move toward the door, but Henry lightly places a hand on his shoulder.
“Before you go—apologize,” he says.
Same pleasant tone, same placid grin. Like he’s giving Craig tips on flower arranging or something.
“Excuse me?!” Craig spits out.
“Apologize to her,” Henry says, nodding at me.
Craig’s gaze goes to Henry’s hand on his shoulder. Then to me.
“I don’t think so,” he says.
Henry’s expression never wavers. I notice his hold on Craig isn’t firm or menacing at all; he’s just resting his hand lightly on Craig’s shoulder, almost like he’s trying to reassure him of something. Craig could probably easily shake that hand off and storm out.
And yet, he doesn’t.
There’s something about Henry’s posture, the way his gaze never wavers from Craig that makes it seem impossible to do so. Maybe it’s his natural movie star charisma, turned all the way up. He’s so in control of the situation. I am envious—because I’m never in control of any situation. Once my temper comes unleashed, everything spirals and destruction is inevitable.
They stand that way for a moment more, frozen, everyone watching. The restaurant has suddenly gone deathly silent, the weight of everyone’s gaze making the air thick and soupy.
“Henry,” I murmur. “It’s all right. It’s—”
“It’s not,” he says.
Craig finally breaks the spell, shaking Henry’s hand off.
“Sorry,” he mutters in my general direction. He huffs out of the restaurant with as much dignity as he can muster, which isn’t very much.
Henry watches until he’s gone. Then he turns to me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes searching my face.
“I—yes,” I say, feeling my nure-onna armor reinstate itself. “Why did you . . . you didn’t have to make a scene. I can handle myself. I don’t need someone else to fight my battles.”
He takes a step closer to me, his gaze probing in a way that makes me squirm. This isn’t movie star Henry or joking Henry or too-cute-for-his-own-good Henry. It’s something clear and heartfelt, something I can’t quite process.
“I know you can,” he finally says. “But you don’t always have to fight alone.”
ELEVEN
By the time Henry and I get to Griffith Park, it’s nearly seven. I find myself wishing really hard that somehow Grace knows I’m coming, that our magical mother-daughter bond snapped into place the moment she crashed into me at the parade.
My nure-onna nature tells me that’s impossible. That I never wish for things, because I know they can’t come true. That I need to prepare myself for my typical sad ending yet again.
That’s all that’s possible. That’s all that’s ever been possible. Why am I even entertaining such fantastical flights of fancy?
“This is beautiful.” Henry’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
I’m so distracted, I can only respond with an offhanded “Yeah.”
It really is beautiful, though. Griffith Park is a huge sprawl of green and flowering wildlife wrapped around one end of the Santa Monica Mountains. It’s big enough to be at least three parks, and I love all the ways it transports you to different worlds. It’s like a fantastical kingdom with
