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They’re flirting with each other through book recommendations. After Henry finishes “We Could Be So Good,” he picks up Emily Henry’s “Book Lovers”. He doesn’t give it to Alex, but rather it’s the next one he reads on the bench, unable to hide his smile even before Alex passes by.
He’s so caught up in his own game that he nearly jumps out of his skin when Alex bumps at the book with his water bottle.
“This isn’t anything I haven’t already known about you for months, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk. Henry nearly goes into hysterics.
So, the next day at the library, before he leaves, Henry sets down Anita Kelly’s “Something Wild and Wonderful.” He hates the cover art, but it’s a near perfect, concise depiction of his feelings towards Alex and…whatever the fuck they’re doing. On his way out, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alex smile fondly down at it when he goes to clean up.
The day after, when Henry returns from a bathroom break, he finds Meg Cabot’s “Enchanted to Meet You” at his table, along with a QR code printed on a Post-it. Henry checks out the book, watching Alex’s fingers flip through the pages, intentionally brushing his fingers against Henry’s as he takes his library card, and failing to hide his grin. When Henry scans the QR code after he gets home, it takes him to a six-minute Taylor Swift song that makes him feel like he’s flying through the clouds. The next day, Alex loans Henry one of his Airpods and plays the song. They lean their heads towards each other as if they were connected through a joined wire. Underneath the sweat and musk, Alex smells like coffee and cinnamon.
They go back and forth setting books down and swapping them. Lia Louis’s “The Key to My Heart”. Samantha Young’s “Much Ado About You.” Alexis Hall’s “Boyfriend Material”. When Henry finds this at his table, he nearly drops it. Is he… He isn’t. He can’t be. Alex catches his eye as he spirals and mouths “Too much?” Henry shakes his head. But before he leaves, he sets down Kennedy Ryan’s “Before I Let Go” almost as a warning. One that Alex doesn’t heed. Henry catches him fucking reading the book during lulls in his work. And for Alex, he loves flirting this hard, gets the biggest thrill out of it, seeing someone so buttoned-up as Henry blush and tremble. But he can also tell that Henry is scared. Of Alex, maybe. Of fucking up this thing that they have, definitely. Alex is too. He likes Henry so much but he’s so nervous that something about his personality, some quirk or tic of his that he can’t help is going to send Henry running. That’s what usually happens. So Alex will play the game but refuses to show his hand. He is precariously balancing on a tightrope, leaning too far in either direction, at risk of falling to his death at any moment.
Once, Henry leaves behind Colleen Hoover’s “Reminders of Him” behind as a joke. The next morning, Alex towers over Henry’s bench, panting from anger, not exhaustion.
“Fuck you if you think I’m reading anything by someone who romanticizes abuse, and who can’t even write interesting prose to save her life. Fucking antifeminist bullshit.”
Henry lifts his eyes and relaxes his shoulders.
“Oh, thank god. I was worried I was going to have to end things if you felt any other way.”
Alex huffs. Slams his body down next to Henry.
“Not funny,” Alex grumbles before yanking at the cap of his water bottle with his teeth and chugging. “What is this? By the way.”
Henry quirks an eyebrow. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are. But like…just to put it out there…I’m bisexual.”
Henry nods, twisting his mouth so it doesn’t look like he’s internally screaming, and then untwisting it so Alex doesn’t think he suddenly hates him. “Duly noted.”
Alex nods, keeping his eyes on Henry for far too long. Until Henry gets the message.
“Ahh. Just to put it out there…I am…as…gay…as…the fourth of July.”
Alex guffaws, so loud Henry thinks one of his eardrums shattered along with the tension. “Since when is a holiday gay?”
“Is that not an American expression?” Henry counters, aghast.
“Who the fuck says that?” Alex turns to face Henry, resting his elbow on the back of the bench. “Dude, 4th of July is, like, the most conservative-ass redneck fucking insurrectionist holiday we’ve got. If any holiday is gonna be gay, it’s gonna be Christmas or some shit.”
Henry turns it over in his head, considering. “Don we now our gay apparel.”
Alex smiles wide and claps Henry on the shoulder. Henry nearly falls over. “Fa la fucking la, man!” Alex sits back. “Also, like, I should be the one saying that.”
Henry furrows his brow. “I thought you said you were bi?”
“I did. But ‘bi as the fourth of July’? First of all, it encapsulates the dichotomy a lot of liberals like me feel around the holiday, the push and pull of being proud of your country and its achievements in such a short time span compared to other first world nations–” Alex cuts himself off with an exaggerated cough in Henry’s direction, and Henry tries not to gag at the implications of it “--while also being critical of its shortcomings, of which there are many, and its lack of motivation to do anything about them. And second, and most importantly, it rhymes.”
Henry snorts. “And third, it would probably piss off all those…how did you say it? ‘Conservative-ass redneck insurrectionists’?”
“Exactly! Oh, no offense, by the way. I’m sure this holiday is a sore spot for you Englishmen, considering you lost a great territory. And also, you know, you lost.”
“I’m sure my ancestors are rolling in their graves right now, but I am not personally offended. As long as you are milking this holiday and those backwards arsewipes for all their worth…”
“Oh, absolutely. Fireworks? Bomb. Pun intended. I like beer, I like hot dogs, I like summer…” Alex trails off, running out of things he can praise. Henry, without thinking, continues the pattern.
“I like you .”
Alex turns to him, wide-eyed, and Henry physically clamps his mouth shut. He hastily turns back to his book, willing to turn back the clock just five seconds and let Alex go on his anti-American but also somehow anti-British rant until he got bored and continued on his run. Henry never blurts. Not even after years in America, years of desensitization to their loudness and their constant need to interrupt each other. He was better than that. He thought he was. But no. He can deal with everything about cars and driving being completely opposite. He can deal with the salty snacks being just as sweet as the sugary ones. He can’t deal with the culture changing his very personality, to accept himself looking a fool even more often.
But Alex seems to go soft out of the corner of Henry’s eye, and when he dares to look up, Alex is smiling.
“I like you too.”
Henry feels like he’s nearly going to throw up. Or cry. Or both. His face is probably contorting itself into something that conveys all of that, and he probably looks like the monster in a low-budget horror movie. He can’t see that in Alex’s mind, Henry just looks so ridiculously adorable, Alex has to play with his own fingertips to stop himself from grabbing at Henry. To Alex, the look on Henry’s face conveys the way Alex feels inside–shock, but joy, threatening to burst.
The next day, when Henry leaves behind Talia Hibbert’s “Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute,” Alex starts planning.
“Can’t he just go up to him one morning and say ‘Henry, would you go out with me sometime?’” Nora asks, horizontal on her armchair, legs swung over the side, barely looking up from her laptop. “It’s direct and leaves no room for reading into hidden meanings or ulterior motives.”
Alex looks at the ceiling, rocking his head back and forth, considering. Henry’s very no nonsense and would probably appreciate Alex getting straight to the point, especially about this.
“Have you seen any romance film ever, Nora?” June pipes up from her spot on the floor in front of the coffee table. “Who says we can’t go big? Like, Bollywood musical number, flash mob type shit?”
“No flash mob,” Nora responds firmly. “He’s asking him out, not confessing his undying love.”
Something about that sentence makes Alex’s throat seize, so it takes him a second longer to respond than he would have liked. “I agree. No flash mob. Not Henry’s vibe.”
June huffs. “Fine. What about a sign? Like a promposal? Alex runs by holding it.”
“It’s not high school, babe,” Nora answers, and Alex lies his head on the back of the couch, regretting getting them involved in this to begin with.
In the end, they decide Alex is just gonna do it normally. But with flowers. And in a suit. A simple one, white shirt, no tie, jacket in a shade of cobalt blue that June says makes his lips look pinker, and Alex feels weird that she’s noticing that. Nora helps him pick flowers for a bouquet, because who knows if Henry knows anything about flower arrangements and meanings and Alex could be saying he hates Henry without knowing he’s saying it, and God, if that isn’t the furthest thing from the truth. They put together pink camellias (longing for you) with gardenias (you’re lovely) and blue salvias (I think of you), with a bit of jasmine thrown in for grace and elegance because once Alex reads that in the little booklet, he can’t not.
The morning of, June and Nora drive him to Westwood so he doesn’t have to run in a suit and ruin his look, which he’s grateful for. Until they exit the car with him and hide in the bushes, around the corner from where Henry is sitting, and Alex wants to take it back immediately.
“Didn’t peg you as someone into guys like that,” June mumbles to him.
“Guys like what?” Alex asks. June waves a hand in Henry’s direction.
“You know. Sophisticated. Debonair . He could be a prince in another universe.”
“What, did you think I’d be into some gross, trashy ‘I peaked in high school’ type? Did you ever think I’d even be into guys at all?”
“Yes, actually. Just to the second part. Not the first. I know you have taste. He’s handsome. All the girls you brought home in college were pretty and nice, and he seems no different. I don’t know, hope it goes well, go, go, good luck.” And she’s pushing his arm and Alex stumbles onto his usual path, letting the momentum carry him into his usual jog, slower than usual, giving himself time to prepare until he’s in front of Henry.
Alex doesn’t sit like he usually does. So Henry doesn’t look up right away. The sound of the crinkling plastic wrapped around the bouquet, as Alex squeezes it in anticipation, that’s what catches Henry’s attention, and when he lifts his head, his eyes widen, traveling quickly from the flowers to Alex’s suit to his fluffier than usual hair, and around in a circle until he starts to get dizzy.
“You…what…” Henry breathes out through his mouth. “I got worried when I didn’t hear you coming down the lane, I thought you were sick or something, but…Alex, what is this? What are you doing?”
He sounds genuinely baffled, no judgment, just disbelief that he is on the receiving end of Alex’s affection, and it makes something sting behind Alex’s eyes. The internet gave him all kinds of lines that he loved, that sounded like pure Alex. I love flirting with you, but I’d have even more fun dating you. My friends said I’m too chicken shit to ask you out, I’m here to prove them wrong. If you’re not doing anything Friday, you can do me. None of them felt right, none of them felt like Alex and Henry. He didn’t worry about it at the time. He can be witty, go off the cuff, that’s his thing . But now, with Henry sitting in front of him with literal hearts in his eyes, Alex comes up blank. Henry could say no. Alex could have interpreted this all wrong. None of the pick up lines in the world could convince him. Alex crinkles the plastic again, holding the flowers with both hands. He came with one ace in his pocket, and he’s going to play it, even if he loses.
“I, uh…you know how I said…the whole bisexual thing was kind of a…recent development, you know.”
“How recent, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“When did you start spending your mornings at Shellam?”
Henry just about gasps. “You’re not serious.”
“Not really. But it’s a good line.”
“My life is a cosmic joke and you’re not a real person.”
Alex just grins and holds the flowers out. “Henry, would you go on a date with me?”
Henry stands. Carefully takes the flowers from Alex. Lightly presses his nose against the petals. Alex is reminded of a dog, testing something, seeing if it’s safe.
Henry should know by now Alex is safe.
The sun is still rising through the trees, pink and promising. But when Henry pulls back and smiles, the dawn seems dull in comparison.
“Yes,” Henry says, almost breathless. “Of course I will.”
Alex smiles, can’t help himself but wrap his arms tight around Henry, crushing the plastic between them. Henry wiggles his arms up and out and wraps them around Alex’s neck, letting the bouquet hang behind his back. The scent hits Alex’s nose strongly, but there’s something underneath that must just be Henry, like clean linens, like Alex is settling in for the night, into a bed laid with freshly washed sheets. Alex can see himself now, in the low light of the moon, maybe a candle lit as well, surrounded by blankets, surrounded by Henry.
They’re closer in height than Alex initially thought, but Henry’s shoulders still cover Alex’s, a wide expanse that tapers down into a slim waist that Alex can’t believe is on a real person. Hourglass, Alex thinks. Human bodies are a marvel, all of them, regardless of gender.
Meanwhile, Henry is just trying to keep himself upright and take a photo with his mind, clicking away at the invisible camera, printing the Polaroids, hanging them on his fridge.
Henry swears he hears a cheer from somewhere in the trees and rips himself away from Alex. A body is tugged into the leaves, some kind of muttering about “not a proposal.” Alex turns towards the noise, too, and laughs.
“You know her…?” Henry asks tentatively.
“My sister. And my best friend. Who decided to be creeps and LURK!”
Both women scurry out from their hiding place and run in the direction of the parking lot. One, with a very similar coloring to Alex’s, turns for a moment and gives them a double thumbs up.
“Well,” Henry says, resting his hands on Alex’s shoulders. “I owe it to them for bringing you here and not making you run, thereby ruining this dashing outfit of yours. And also whoever’s idea this was. Just exquisite.”
Alex’s lips turn up into a grin, grateful that Henry is admiring his clothes and not focusing on his face, which is turning bright red. “I’d be more appreciative if they didn’t just ditch me so I don’t have a choice but to jog my way home . Kinda defeats the purpose if it gets ruined after the fact.”
Henry takes a step back and cradles the bouquet in his arms like a sleeping child. “My first lecture today doesn’t start until noon. I’d be more than happy to accompany you home, if you’d like.”
Alex narrows his eyes. “Isn’t your schedule the same every week?” Henry nods. “So you were going to tell me that you were free in the mornings…when?”
Henry shrugs. “When it was convenient. When the opportunity presented itself to spend time doing things–and being with people–that are much more important to me than being in a stuffy office, counting down minutes until I could leave.”
Alex grins again, less interested in fighting it now. He sidles up to Henry and threads his arm through the blond’s. The one not busy holding the flowers. But Henry lets that hand drop, free for Alex to take it. If he’d want to.
Alex wants to.
Alex does.