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Chapter One
Juliette
“You okay?” Henry asks me. “You’re very quiet today.”
The two of us are sitting next to each other in the boardroom of Kia Kaha, the company where we work, waiting for the other members of the senior management team. Through the glass walls we can see people drinking coffee, turning on computers, and opening mail at their desks, the usual morning routine carried out in offices all over the country.
It’s the twenty-first of December, early summer in New Zealand, and we’ve opened the sliding doors onto the terrace. I can hear ducks squabbling in the river and kids playing on the opposite bank. The aroma of apple and cinnamon muffins wafts in from the café down the street.
Despite the pleasant atmosphere, Henry’s comment makes my stomach flip with anxiety. Sliding down in my seat, I pick up the Rubik’s Cube from the table in front of me and begin turning the sides to mix up the colored squares.
“I had an argument with Cam this morning,” I admit.
Henry frowns. “How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad.”
“What was it about?”
For a moment, I don’t answer. The Rubik’s Cube is now a jumble of colors, and I slide it across the table to him. Automatically, he begins to turn the sides, rearranging the faces into their proper order.
I watch him for a moment. He’s a big guy—six-four and huge—and he has large hands, but they move deftly, his fingers flicking the sides around with ease. We’ve been doing this—me mixing the cube up, him solving the puzzle—ever since the day we first met six years ago, when I spotted the cube in front of him on the table in the bar. While Alex told me about Kia Kaha, and they all tried to convince me to join, I mixed up the cube, and Henry solved it, over and over again.
It always fascinates me how quickly he can finish it. His record is seventeen seconds—I actually timed him. He says he’ll break the world record one day. I believe he can do it. He’s the most determined man in the world when he puts his mind to something.
His dark hair falls forward across his forehead as he concentrates. His gaze is fixed on the cube, but as I stay silent, he glances across at me. He has light-brown skin and dark hair, but blue eyes. I know his Dad was Maori, but I don’t know whether he had blue eyes too. I’ve never asked, because he died when Henry was twelve, and Henry doesn’t like to talk about him. His Mum’s mother is Maori too, but her father is Pakeha or white, so maybe his blue eyes are from him? I’d like to know.
I have a huge crush on him. Always have had. But I don’t know if he feels the same about me. When we met, he’d just proposed to Shaz, and I’d already met Cam, so we’ve never discussed our feelings for one another. We’re good friends, though. He texts me all the time—always has done, with memes and jokes or links to songs throughout the day. On my desk he often leaves a message on a Post-it Note—nothing romantic, just a quote from a book or a movie to make me laugh—or a mini chocolate bar, or an iced coffee.
Sometimes, when he thinks I’m not watching, I catch him looking at me, and I swear there’s desire in his eyes, a heat that suggests he’s wondering what I look like naked, but you never know, do you? I’ve never mentioned it, and neither has he.
The only time I’ve had any hint of how he feels was at our friend Tyson’s wedding. He and his new wife, Gaby, were in the process of cutting the cake when an earthquake hit. After the tremors died away, James—who was Tyson’s best man—gave a speech saying it was a sign to appreciate the loved ones in our lives, and he told everyone to turn to the person nearest them and show them how you feel about them. Even though I’d gone to the wedding with Cam, I was standing next to Henry at the time, and he turned to me, slid a hand to the nape of my neck, and kissed me. It was only a brief kiss, no tongues, and neither of us has ever mentioned it again. I’ve convinced myself it was born out of the heightened emotions we were all experiencing after the earthquake, but sometimes, when he looks at me as if he’s thinking about what I taste like, I wonder whether there was more to it than that.
I sigh. “Cam wants to move to Australia.”
His hands stop moving, and he stares at me. “What?”
“He hates his job. He wants to get a new one, and he says there are more opportunities over there.”
Henry studies me for a moment, then he looks back at the cube in his hands. “He’s probably right.”
“Yeah.”
“So… are you moving?”
“That’s partly what we were arguing about. I don’t want to go. My life is here. My job, my friends. But he’s unhappy. And relationships are about compromise, right?”
“That hasn’t been my experience.” His voice is a tad flat.
Of course, he broke up with his wife because she wanted children, and he can’t have them. She didn’t compromise and say she’d have IVF or a donor or adopt; she went off with someone else. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
He huffs a sigh. “It’s not your fault. Shaz called yesterday to tell me she’s pregnant.”
My jaw drops. “Oh, Henry.”
“I’m pleased for her. It’s what she wanted, and she’s happy now.”
“Maybe, but even so… I am sorry.”
