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where I am for just one second longer, for one second reveling in the feeling of being held, touched with tenderness, even if it isn’t real.
    I push away, and he loosens his hold but keeps his hands on my shoulders. He ducks his head to look into my face and shame rises in my cheeks. I keep my eyes downcast, not wanting to see his expression which is likely disgust.
    “ Hold on a sec,” Henry says, letting go of me, hurrying towards his car. I immediately miss the pressure and warmth of his hands, sure he’s leaving now. Suddenly, he’s thrusting a napkin at me. I take it cautiously, still unsure of his motives. I use it to wipe my face and nose with mumbled thanks.
    I look, horrified, at the mess I’ve made of his shirt with my hands. I nod toward it. “Sorry about that,” I concede, sure that this story will make the rounds tomorrow.
    He smiles, and my heart skids to a halt before lurching into a staccato drumming. The smile actually looks genuine.
    “ It doesn’t matter,” he says, kindness in his voice, throwing me further off kilter. Then he looks down and sees the blood smears. He looks back at me, horrified. “You’re hurt,” he accuses.
    I ball my hands into fists and shrug, taking a step backward in case he’s angry now that he’s seen his ruined shirt.
    “ I’m okay.”
    And I am, compared to some of the other injuries I’ve had in my lifetime. He steps forward, pulling my hands towards him, gently uncurling my fists, ignoring my flinch at his touch.
    “ Come on,” he tells me, leading me gently back down the embankment. It’s an easier descent with him steadying me, though definitely more terrifying. I still don’t know what he wants from me.
    He sits me back down on the rock I’d been sitting on before, then tears a strip of his shirt off. At my shocked gasp he grins and shrugs, causing my heart to speed up again. He dips the cloth strip into the water, and begins wiping my hands clean. Though he’s surprisingly gentle, it stings and I suck my breath in through my teeth.
    “ Sorry,” he says, leaning over to blow gently on my palms. It relieves the stinging there, but causes a burning to begin in the pit of my stomach—it’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before. He continues the wiping and blowing with both my hands, until I feel like I’m on fire. I think I even groan because he suddenly looks up at me, eyes unreadable. I duck my head in shame. He then cleans my knee, which is still exposed by my rolled-up pants.
    He tears two fresh strips from the back of his shirt, which is still clean, and uses those to bandage my hands, tying knots like a professional. When I raise my eyebrow at the knots, he grins again and says, “Eagle Scout. First Aid merit badge is required, you know.”
    I look at my hands, clean and bandaged, then back up at Henry.
    “ Why are you being nice to me?” I ask, bewildered by his attention.
    His puzzlement matches my own as he says, “I don’t really know.”
    My heart sinks at his answer. He must see that on my face, because he holds his hands up, palms facing me.
    “ That didn’t sound right.” He stands, pacing away, running his hand through his hair, causing his hair to spike up again. “When we were in Elementary, we were friends right?” He turns back, looking at me, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I can’t really explain it, but I always felt, I don’t know, protective of you.”
    He glances at me to see what I think of that. When I only sit, watching him warily, he continues, “When we moved, I missed you.” This is said matter-of-factly, as if he’s telling me the sky is blue, but his words rock me. Someone missed me? Not just anyone, but him ? “I thought about you sometimes. Wondered what you were doing, if you were still here. Then I found out we were moving back. I was hoping you’d still be here, that I’d get to see you.”
    I couldn’t be more stunned if he’d said he just swam across the ocean. The only thought