(y/n) and henry visit a sex shop at the cape 🥸🥸 thoughts on that
The Color Red
after class imagine - “the color red”
synapse: a spontaneous night out brings laughter, jealousy, and a possessive reminder that they’re undeniably each other’s
pairing: professor!henry creel x reader
contains: domestic fluff, mentions of possible use of bondage, jealousy, possessive
a/n: so after thinking about it, part twenty four is considered the end of after class. i will still write for professor creel unless a second book is actually wanted by you guys. anything past chapter twenty four is gonna be considered an imagine. they’re not gonna be numbered or anything in case you want me to write older y/n and henry like in the future or something.
. . .
Morning came slowly, softened by the hush of the ocean outside and the faint strip of light slipping between the curtains.
Y/N lay half on top of Henry, her cheek resting against his chest and one leg tangled comfortably with his beneath the blankets. His fingers moved through her hair in long, absent strokes, occasionally smoothing it back from her face whenever the breeze from the open window disturbed it.
Neither of them had spoken for several minutes.
There was no need to.
The steady rhythm of his breathing beneath her ear and the quiet scrape of his fingertips against her scalp had almost put her back to sleep when a thought surfaced.
“We only have a week left.”
Henry’s hand slowed before continuing through her hair. “You say that as though we’ve been given a terminal diagnosis.”
“It feels serious.”
“We still have seven days.”
“Exactly. Seven.” She lifted her head enough to look at him. “That’s barely anything.”
“It was an entire vacation when we arrived.”
“That was before I got comfortable.”
Henry’s mouth curved faintly. “You adapted quickly.”
“I’m resilient.”
“You’ve spent most mornings refusing to leave the bed.”
“That’s part of the adaptation.”
She settled against him again, drawing idle patterns over his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. Henry’s fingers found the ends of her hair, gently untangling them as she stared toward the brightening window.
“We should go out today,” she said.
“I assumed we would.”
“No, I mean properly go out.”
Henry looked down at her. “I’m going to need a clearer definition.”
“We do something during the day. Something we haven’t done yet.” She propped her chin against his chest, excitement beginning to replace the sleepiness in her face. “And then tonight, we see what the nightlife is like.”
“The nightlife.”
“Yes.”
“On Cape Cod.”
“You say that like everyone here goes inside at sunset and quietly reads maritime history.”
“I suspect a significant number of them do.”
She smiled. “There have to be bars. Music. Dancing. Something.”
“There are bars.”
“I knew it.”
“That wasn’t an endorsement.”
“It sounded like one.”
Henry’s hand moved from her hair to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing lazily beneath her ear. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“A full day.” She began counting against his chest. “Breakfast somewhere that isn’t this room. Then we find something touristy to do. Maybe rent bicycles, go to a museum, take a boat somewhere—”
“You become ambitious when you’re horizontal.”
“I have excellent ideas in bed.”
“I’m aware.”
She narrowed her eyes, though the smile ruined any attempt at sternness. “And then tonight, we dress up and go have drinks.”
Henry studied her for a moment. “Drinks?”
“Something fruity.”
“That doesn’t make the alcohol less alcoholic.”
“It makes it taste less like punishment.”
His fingers resumed their slow path through her hair. “You realize there’s a reasonable chance someone asks for identification.”
Y/N kept her expression perfectly casual. “No one has yet.”
“That wasn’t my point.”
“I look mature.”
Henry gave her a long, skeptical look.
She lifted her head. “I do.”
“You were insulted yesterday because a cashier called you ‘young lady.’”
“That bitch was condescending. Completely different.”
“It was a woman selling saltwater taffy.”
“That bitter lady knew what she was doing.”
Henry’s quiet laugh vibrated beneath her cheek when she lowered her head again. She smiled against his chest and let another moment pass before adding, “Besides, maybe they won’t ask.”
There was no reason to mention the card tucked into the hidden pocket of her wallet.
It had survived parties, liquor stores and exactly one terrifying encounter with a bouncer who had stared at it long enough to make her reconsider every decision she had ever made. Henry did not need to know about it. More importantly, Henry would become unbearably responsible if he did.
She could already imagine the expression.
The silence.
The lecture delivered in that calm voice that somehow made disappointment worse than anger.
No. Better to let the evening unfold naturally.
Henry looked toward the ceiling, considering. “What does ‘nightlife’ involve in your mind?”
“Music. A crowded room. Maybe dancing.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You can stand near me while I dance.”
“That sounds humiliating for both of us.”
“You could hold my drink.”
“Wonderful. I’ve been promoted to furniture.”
“You’d be very attractive furniture.”
He looked back at her. “And how many drinks are you imagining?”
Y/N shrugged with deliberate innocence. “A few.”
“A few is not a number.”
“Two.”
Henry waited.
“…Three,” she amended.
He continued watching her.
“Depending on the size of the glass.”
“I see.”
“I’m on vacation.”
“So you’ve reminded me.”
“And we haven’t gone anywhere at night since we got here.”
“That’s because every time we plan to, you decide pajamas are superior.”
“They usually are.” She shifted higher against him until their faces were closer. “But tonight I want to wear something pretty. I want you to dress like someone’s mysterious older boyfriend, and I want to have one normal night where we go somewhere loud and no one knows you teach me.”
Henry’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
That was always the part that reached him.
Not the drinks or the music or even the prospect of her dragging him onto a dance floor, but the possibility of being ordinary together in public.
He traced his thumb along the curve beneath her jaw. “Mysterious older boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“How am I meant to dress for that?”
“Dark shirt. Sleeves rolled. Maybe leave your glasses on.”
“I generally do.”
“Good. They help.”
“With the mystery?”
“With everything.”
His mouth twitched. “And you?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“That usually means the entire room will be covered in clothes within the hour.”
“I need options.”
“You packed for four days.”
“And yet I’ve created a wardrobe.”
“You’ve stolen half of mine.”
“Shared resources.”
Henry sighed, but his hand slid more firmly around her waist, holding her against him. “We can go out tonight.”
Y/N brightened immediately. “Really?”
“Yes, provided we eat first and neither of us does anything catastrophically foolish.”
She leaned closer. “Define catastrophically.”
“No.”
“That’s not a definition.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
She laughed and kissed the center of his chest before resting her chin there again. “You’ll have fun.”
“I believe you’ll have enough fun for both of us.”
“You always say things like that, and then I catch you enjoying yourself.”
“I enjoy watching you.”
The words were quiet enough to remove the joke from them.
Y/N’s smile softened. “Even when I’m embarrassing?”
“Especially then.”
She smiled. “That’s love.”
“That’s patience.”
“Same thing.”
Henry brushed his fingers through her hair once more, but she had already begun mentally planning the day, her energy making it impossible to remain still.
“We should do something outside first,” she said. “Maybe bicycles.”
“I haven’t ridden a bicycle in years.”
“You never forget.”
“That phrase is usually spoken immediately before an injury.”
“Fine. A boat tour.”
“You get seasick.”
“Only sometimes.”
“You became nauseated standing on a dock.”
“It was moving.”
“The dock was not moving.”
“The water around it was. That counts.”
Henry stared at her.
She smiled sweetly. “Museum?”
“Safer.”
“Boring.”
“You suggested it.”
“I was brainstorming.”
“Dangerous activity.”
Y/N pushed herself upright, gathering the blankets around her waist. Her hair fell messily around her shoulders, and Henry watched her squint toward the clock on the nightstand.
“It’s already almost eleven.”
“We woke up late.”
“We’ve been waking up late every day.”
“We’re on vacation.”
She turned back to him, pleased. “You’re learning.”
“I’ve been informed repeatedly.”
Y/N climbed out of bed and stretched, testing the lingering soreness in her muscles. It had faded enough that she no longer felt the need to negotiate another formal ceasefire, though she caught Henry noticing the cautious way she moved.
“I’m fine,” she said before he could ask.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was considering it.”
“Same thing.”
She crossed to her suitcase and crouched in front of it, immediately beginning to pull clothes free. Henry watched one blouse land on the chair, followed by a skirt, a pair of jeans and something black with thin straps.
“I thought we were discussing today’s plans.”
“We are.”
“This appears to be tonight’s wardrobe crisis.”
“It’s never too early to prepare.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I can make decisions hungry.”
“You cannot.”
She glanced back at him. “…You know me so well.”
Henry finally sat up, running one hand over his face before reaching for his glasses. “Breakfast first. Then we’ll find something to occupy the afternoon.”
“And tonight?”
He slid the glasses into place and looked at her over the frames. “Tonight, you may investigate the famously dangerous nightlife of Cape Cod.”
Y/N grinned. “You’re going to regret saying that.”
“I already do.”
She turned back to the suitcase, smiling to herself as her fingers briefly brushed the concealed pocket inside her wallet.
The card was still there.
Just in case.
. . .
The sign outside read Cape Cod Toy Chest in cheerful painted letters, complete with a tiny wooden sailboat beneath the name.
Y/N slowed on the sidewalk and looked up at it. “That sounds cute.”
Henry followed her gaze. “Dangerously so.”
“You think everything is dangerous.”
“I think anything describing itself as a toy chest should be approached with caution.”
She laughed and pulled open the door before he could reconsider.
A small brass bell chimed overhead.
Then both of them stopped.
The shop was narrow and warmly lit, with dark wooden shelves lining the walls and heavy curtains separating a few sections toward the back. There were no stuffed animals, puzzles or handmade wooden trains. Instead, silk blindfolds hung beside feathered accessories, glossy boxes sat stacked beneath handwritten signs, and a mannequin near the counter wore considerably less than either of them had expected.
Y/N stared straight ahead.
Henry quietly let the door fall shut behind them.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Finally, Y/N glanced toward the sign in the window, as though it might somehow have changed while they entered. “Not the kind of toys I pictured.”
“No,” Henry said, his gaze moving carefully around the room. “The sailboat was misleading.”
A woman behind the counter looked up from a magazine and offered them an entirely unbothered smile. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
Y/N’s face warmed. “Thank you.”
Henry gave the woman a polite nod, maintaining the composure of a man entering an ordinary bookshop instead of an intimate boutique they had wandered into by mistake.
Y/N leaned closer to him. “We can leave.”
“We could.”
Neither of them moved.
She looked up at him. “You’re curious.”
“I’m assessing.”
“That’s what you said in the record store when you were checking whether anyone would hit on me.”
“It remains a useful word.”
Y/N smiled and wandered toward a shelf of massage oils and candles, pretending to read labels while Henry remained near the entrance. She expected him to follow her or suggest they continue with their original plans.
Instead, he moved farther into the shop.
Slowly.
Quietly.
His expression was controlled, but his attention had sharpened in a way she recognized immediately.
Y/N watched him pass a display of brightly packaged items without giving them more than a cursory glance. He ignored the shelves of novelty gifts, the lingerie arranged by color and the glass case near the register.
Then he reached the back wall.
A discreet black placard read Restraints & Accessories.
Henry stopped.
Y/N’s eyebrows rose.
There were silk ties, soft rope, metal clips and several sets of cuffs arranged along the shelf. Some looked theatrical and flimsy. Others were plainly made to last.
Henry’s gaze settled on a pair of black leather cuffs.
The leather was smooth and dark, with padded interiors and small silver buckles. A short connecting strap rested beneath them.
He reached for the box.
Y/N forgot entirely about the bottle she had been pretending to inspect.
Henry turned the package over in his hands, reading the back with the same concentration he gave annotations in a difficult text. His thumb ran once along the edge of the box before he opened the display flap and examined the leather more closely.
He still hadn’t said a word.
That was what made it worse.
Or better.
Y/N wasn’t sure yet.
Henry lifted his eyes.
Across the shop, their gazes met.
His expression barely changed. There was no teasing smile, no raised eyebrow, no quiet remark designed to make her blush.
Just a long, deliberate look.
The cuffs remained in his hand.
Y/N’s pulse gave one hard, betraying beat.
She looked down at the label she had been reading and discovered she had been holding the bottle upside down.
When she glanced up again, Henry was walking toward her.
He passed slowly, close enough that the sleeve of his shirt brushed her arm. The box stayed at his side, partially hidden against his leg.
Y/N turned to follow him with her eyes. “You found something.”
Henry continued toward the next shelf. “I found several things.”
“But you only picked up one.”
“So far.”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
He stopped several feet away to inspect a row of black silk blindfolds, still refusing to look directly at her.
Y/N set the bottle back on the shelf and approached him. “You’re being unsettlingly quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s usually dangerous.”
“I’ve heard.”
She looked down at the cuffs in his hand. “Are those part of your assessment?”
Henry finally turned his head.
His gaze moved from her face to her wrists, then back again.
“They might be.”
The answer was calm. Almost academic.
It made warmth climb higher beneath her skin.
Y/N folded her arms. “You could ask what I think.”
“I could.”
“But you haven’t.”
“Not yet.”
He stepped past her again, carrying the cuffs with him as though he had every intention of continuing his research before beginning the discussion.
Y/N stared after him.
There was something almost unfair about how composed he looked, dark shirt, sleeves rolled neatly toward his elbows, glasses catching the low shop light while casually holding a pair of leather restraints he had selected without a word.
She caught up with him near the end of the aisle. “Henry.”
“Hm?”
“You cannot pick those up, stare at me like that and then wander away.”
He glanced down at the box. “Apparently I can.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“And?”
He studied her for another quiet second, then leaned slightly closer. His voice dropped enough that only she could hear it.
“I’m deciding whether this is a conversation we should have here.”
Y/N’s eyes flicked toward the woman at the counter, who remained thoroughly absorbed in her magazine.
“She doesn’t care. She works here.”
“That does not mean I intend to discuss you in front of her.”
The possessive restraint beneath the words sent a small shiver along Y/N’s arms.
She looked at the cuffs again. “So you are considering them.”
Henry’s thumb pressed lightly against the corner of the box, remaining silent as those assessing his next words.
Instead, he tucked the box more securely beneath his arm and continued toward the back of the shop, leaving her standing between the shelves with a smile she could no longer hide.
He hadn’t put them back.
That felt like an answer of its own.
Y/N had wandered only a few feet away when a splash of red plaid caught her eye.
She stopped.
The costume hung at the end of the aisle in a glossy plastic package, modeled by a woman wearing a cropped white blouse, a pleated skirt and knee-high socks. Across the top, in looping pink letters, it read:
SWEET & SASSY — THE STAR STUDENT
Y/N stared at it for one long second before a laugh escaped her.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Henry looked up from the shelf behind her. “What?”
She pulled the package free and held it against herself, angling it so he could see the label. “They made a costume of me.”
Henry’s eyes moved over the packaging once.
Then again, more slowly.
His expression flattened with impressive speed. “Do not purchase that.”
Y/N’s grin widened. “You don’t think it’s accurate?”
“I think it lacks subtlety.”
“It says star student.”
“I can read.”
“And sweet.”
“That remains debatable.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “That was cruel, Creel.”
“It also says sassy, which may be the first honest thing on the package.”
Y/N laughed, turning it over to examine the back. “It comes with glasses.”
“You already own glasses.”
“I don’t need them…. And it comes with a ruler.”
Henry gave her a level look. “Put it back.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m standing in an adult shop holding restraints. I think that accusation has lost some credibility.”
That shut her up for half a second.
Only half.
Y/N returned the costume to its hook, still smiling as she turned back toward him. Henry had shifted farther down the display while she was distracted. The leather cuffs were no longer the only thing in his hands.
He was studying a boxed set now.
Through the clear panel, she could see matching wrist and ankle cuffs arranged against dark velvet, along with a padded blindfold and a narrow collar fitted with a metal ring at the front. A short lead clipped beneath it, long enough to pull, to choke.
Y/N’s amusement softened into something quieter.
Henry turned the box over, reading the description on the back. His focus remained on the details, the buckles, lining and adjustable straps, rather than the suggestive photograph printed beside them.
Of course it did.
Even here, he researched.
She stepped closer and looked over his arm. “That one has more than the others.”
“It appears better made.”
“You’re judging craftsmanship now?”
“I don’t intend to buy something designed to break.”
Her eyes moved over the set again, pausing at the collar. “Or something uncomfortable.”
Henry glanced at her. “No,” he agreed.
The answer came immediately, without teasing.
Y/N looked up at him.
His expression had changed just enough to reveal the thought beneath it. The interest was there, unmistakable now, but so was the care.
She lowered her gaze again, pretending to assess the selection with the same seriousness he had.
The set came in black, deep red and white.
Henry still held the black one.
Y/N was quiet long enough that he stopped reading and watched her instead.
She touched one finger to the edge of the package, then nodded toward the shelf. “Get the red.”
Henry didn’t move.
For the first time since he’d picked up the cuffs, some of his careful composure slipped. Not much. Just a brief sharpening in his gaze as he studied her face, making certain he had understood.
“The red,” he repeated.
“It’ll look better.”
“On the shelf?”
Y/N met his eyes. “…Sure.”
The silence between them changed.
The shop’s music continued quietly overhead. Somewhere near the front, the woman behind the counter turned a page in her magazine.
Henry looked down at the black set in his hands, then toward the red box positioned behind it.
Y/N didn’t wait to watch him make the exchange.
She simply stepped around him and continued into the next aisle, as casual as if she had recommended a different edition of a novel.
Behind her, cardboard shifted against cardboard.
She smiled to herself.
The next aisle was lined with bottles, small boxes and neatly organized rows of personal products. Y/N leaned toward the shelf, scanning the labels while trying very hard not to think about the fact that Henry was now carrying a red leather restraint set through a Cape Cod shop because she had told him to.
A moment later, he appeared beside her.
The red box was tucked beneath his arm.
He didn’t mention it.
Neither did she.
Y/N picked up a bottle and examined the label. “There are too many kinds.”
Henry adjusted his glasses. “I imagine they serve different purposes.”
“Thank you, professor.”
“You’re the one staring at them as though there’ll be an examination.” His gaze flicked briefly toward her, then down to the bottle in her hand. “What does that one say?”
She read it, frowned and placed it back. “Too complicated.”
“An exacting standard.”
“I want something simple.”
Henry looked across the shelf. “Water-based.”
Y/N turned toward him. “You know that very quickly.”
“I read.”
“About lubricant?”
“I read labels.”
She smiled. “Right.”
Henry reached past her and selected another bottle, checking the ingredients before handing it over. “This one.”
Y/N studied it. “No fragrance.”
“Probably preferable.”
“No warming sensation.”
“Also preferable.”
She glanced at him over the bottle. “You’re very practical for a man holding a collar.”
Henry’s hand settled briefly at the small of her back, guiding her out of the way as another customer passed behind them. “One of us should be.”
“I told you to get it in red. I was extremely helpful.”
“You were decisive.”
“You like that about me.”
“I like several things about you.”
Y/N’s eyes dropped to the box beneath his arm again. “Apparently.”
Henry took the bottle from her and added it to the small collection in his hands. “Then I suppose we’ve finished assessing.”
Y/N glanced toward the shelf behind him. “Unless you want the star student costume.”
“No.”
“You answered too fast.”
“I’ve already told you not to purchase it.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t like it.”
Henry began walking toward the register. “Put it out of your mind.”
Y/N hurried after him, grinning. “That means you like it.”
“It means I’m not discussing it.”
“In public?”
“Ever.”
She caught his free hand and laced their fingers together. “We’ll see.”
Henry looked down at her, then at the costume display across the shop.
His grip tightened slightly around hers.
“Do not go back for it.”
Y/N smiled sweetly. “I won’t.”
He narrowed his eyes.
She leaned closer. “…Today.”
. . .
By the time they reached the bar, Y/N had transformed the simple idea of “going out for a drink” into an event.
She wore the black dress she had pulled from her suitcase that morning, the one with thin straps and a hem short enough to make Henry look at her twice when she stepped out of the bathroom. Makeup darker than she usually wore during the day, and the silver necklace at her throat caught the light whenever she moved.
Henry had said nothing for several seconds.
Y/N had smiled. “You’re staring.”
“I’m aware.”
“Do I look good?”
Henry’s gaze had moved over her once more, slower this time. “You know you do.”
That had been enough to carry her all the way into town.
The bar sat just off the main strip, close enough to the water that the open windows let in salt air between bursts of music and conversation. Inside, amber lights glowed over dark wood, people crowded around small tables, and a live band played near the back beneath strings of colored bulbs.
It was louder than Henry would have chosen.
Y/N loved it immediately.
She slipped her hand into his as they made their way through the room. “See? Nightlife.”
Henry looked around at the packed tables and raised his voice slightly over the music. “I’ll concede that people are awake.”
“That’s practically enthusiasm from you.”
“I’m trying not to alarm you.”
They found two open stools at the end of the bar. Y/N sat first, crossing one leg over the other while Henry took the seat beside her, his knee brushing hers beneath the counter.
The bartender approached after a minute, setting down two napkins. “What can I get you?”
Y/N glanced at the drink menu written in chalk behind the bar. “Something fruity.”
Henry looked at her. “Very specific.”
“Shush.”
The bartender smiled. “We’ve got a rum punch, piña colada, daiquiris—”
“Strawberry daiquiri,” Y/N decided.
Henry ordered whiskey, neat.
The bartender nodded, then looked at Y/N again. “Can I see some identification?”
There it was.
Henry’s head turned towards her.
Y/N didn’t hesitate.
She reached into her purse, opened her wallet and slid out the card she had carefully avoided mentioning all day. Henry’s eyes followed the movement, his expression neutral until the bartender took the license and glanced between it and her face.
For one long second, Y/N’s heartbeat climbed into her throat.
The bartender looked at the card again.
Then handed it back.
“Thanks.”
Y/N tucked it away with practiced calm.
Henry waited until the bartender turned to make their drinks.
Then he looked at her.
She kept her attention fixed on the shelves of bottles behind the bar. “What?”
“You have a false identification card.”
Y/N turned toward him with an innocent expression. “That sounds so criminal when you say it like that.”
“It is criminal.”
“Technically.”
Henry stared at her.
She leaned an elbow against the bar. “I’m a college student who already smokes the devil’s lettuce. This really shouldn’t surprise you.”
“The phrase ‘devil’s lettuce’ does not make this more reassuring.”
“It makes it charming.”
“It makes it sound as though you were raised by a prohibitionist.”
She smiled. “You’re surprised.”
“I am.”
“You thought I spent every weekend in the library?”
“I know you don’t.”
“Then what did you think I was doing?”
Henry’s expression suggested he was reconsidering several things at once. “Apparently not asking enough questions.”
The bartender placed their drinks in front of them. Y/N thanked him and immediately took a sip, closing her eyes with approval when the cold sweetness hit her tongue.
Henry had not touched his whiskey.
He was still studying her.
Y/N lowered her glass. “What now?”
“Are you hiding anything else from me?”
She laughed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He counted calmly against the bar. “Tattoos. Piercings. An inheritance. A second identity.”
Y/N nearly choked on her drink.
Henry reached for a napkin, handing it to her without looking particularly apologetic.
She dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “First of all, heavy no on the money. I am aggressively broke.”
“That one I believe.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
“And second…” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You have seen every inch of my naked body. I think you would know if I had any secret tattoos or piercings.”
Henry’s eyes shifted toward her face.
The surprise was gone now.
Something quieter had replaced it.
“I suppose that’s true.”
“You suppose?”
“I was attempting discretion.”
“In a bar where no one knows us?”
“A habit.”
Y/N smiled and took another sip. “No tattoos. No piercings you don’t know about. No secret trust fund. No hidden husband.”
Henry lifted his glass at that. “Comforting.”
“Although the night is young.”
His gaze sharpened just enough to make her laugh.
“I’m kidding.”
“I know.”
“You checked.”
“I assessed.”
She nudged his knee beneath the bar. “There’s that word again.”
Henry finally took a drink, his expression smoothing as the whiskey settled. “How long have you had it?”
“The ID?”
“Yes.”
“A while.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
He gave her a look over the rim of his glass.
Y/N smiled sweetly. “See? We’re learning from each other.”
“That is not necessarily a good thing.”
She turned on her stool to face him more fully. “You’re not actually angry.”
“No.”
“Disappointed?”
Henry considered before answering. “Surprised. Concerned by your apparent confidence in committing minor crimes.”
“It worked.”
“That does not make it wise.”
“It made the daiquiri possible.”
“That is not the compelling argument you think it is.”
Y/N lifted the glass in a small toast. “To poor judgment.”
Henry looked at her drink, then at her. “To the limited consequences of poor judgment.”
Their glasses touched softly.
Y/N took another sip and smiled as the band shifted into something faster. Around them, the room grew louder, couples moving toward the small dance floor while conversations rose over the music.
“This is good,” she said.
“The drink?”
“The whole thing.”
Henry glanced around. “You enjoy crowded rooms more than I expected.”
“I don’t. I enjoy not having to hide.”
That softened him.
Y/N rested one hand lightly against his thigh beneath the bar, not suggestive, just close. “No one here knows you’re my professor.”
“No.”
“They just think you’re the older man staring at me like he’s trying to decide whether to take me home.”
Henry’s mouth curved. “That decision was made before we arrived.”
Her smile widened. “See? You’re having fun.”
“I’m having a drink.”
“With me.”
“That improves it considerably.”
She turned back toward the band, shoulders beginning to move slightly with the rhythm. Henry watched her for a moment before resting his hand at the small of her back.
Y/N looked over. “You know I’m going to make you dance eventually.”
“I know you’re going to attempt it.”
“And succeed.”
“Optimistic.”
“Confident.”
The bartender passed again, and Y/N lifted her mostly empty glass. “Can I get another?”
Henry glanced at the glass, then at her. “Slowly.”
She looked offended. “I know how to drink.”
“You held a secret.”
“It wasn’t a secret if someone knows and Nancy knew. Also that has nothing to do with pacing.”
“It has everything to do with my faith in your judgment.”
The bartender waited, amused.
Y/N pointed at Henry. “He’s not my father.”
Henry’s expression went still.
The bartender looked between them.
Y/N realized the mistake half a second too late and immediately began laughing.
Henry closed his eyes briefly. “A second daiquiri for her.”
The bartender nodded and walked away, clearly suppressing a smile.
Y/N leaned toward Henry, still laughing. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I am a little.”
“You’ve just made this evening significantly worse.”
“That is not true.”
“Someone is going to assume things.”
“They already assume things.”
Henry looked down at her dress, then back at her face. “I can’t imagine why.”
Y/N slipped her arm through his and rested her head briefly against his shoulder. “You like me anyway.”
“Against my better judgment.”
She lifted her head. “That’s practically romantic.”
“I thought so.”
The second drink arrived.
Henry kept his whiskey.
And for the next hour, they sat close at the end of the bar, trading sips, teasing each other and watching the room move around them, just another couple out late, with nowhere they needed to be until morning.
By the time Y/N finally pulled Henry onto the dance floor, she had finished enough of her third daiquiri to stop pretending she intended to take no for an answer.
“You promised me nightlife,” she reminded him, both hands wrapped around one of his wrists as she tugged him away from the bar.
“I promised to accompany you into it.”
“That includes dancing.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to that.”
“You came into a bar with live music and a girlfriend wearing this dress.” She gestured toward herself with complete confidence. “You knew what was going to happen.”
Henry glanced down at the black fabric skimming her thighs, then back at her face. “I knew what you hoped would happen.”
“And now it is.”
He allowed himself to be dragged into the crowd with the expression of a man being taken somewhere against his will, though his hand settled at her waist the moment she turned toward him.
Y/N smiled triumphantly. “See? Natural.”
“I’m standing.”
“You’re moving.”
“Only because you are.”
“That still counts.”
The band played something fast and bright, filling the small room with guitar and drums while couples crowded closer together. Y/N moved easily, one hand on Henry’s shoulder, her hips following the rhythm with enough enthusiasm to draw a few glances from nearby tables.
Henry noticed every one of them.
His fingers tightened slightly at her waist.
Y/N looked up at him. “You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Assessing the room.”
“I’m dancing.”
“You’re glaring over my shoulder.”
“I’m looking.”
“At anyone who looks at me.”
Henry drew her a fraction closer. “They’re entitled to look.”
“How generous.”
“I didn’t say I had to enjoy it.”
She laughed and looped both arms around his neck. “There he is.”
“There who is?”
“My hot, mysterious, jealous older boyfriend.”
“You’re very pleased with yourself.”
“I’m having a wonderful night.”
The song slowed into something easier, and the crowd around them shifted. Y/N rested her cheek briefly against his chest, the alcohol leaving her warm and pleasantly light without making the room spin.
Henry’s hand moved along the small of her back. “Still enjoying the famously dangerous nightlife?”
“Very much.”
“You’re going to be insufferable about being right.”
“I already am.”
“That’s true.”
She tilted her head back. “You’re enjoying yourself too.”
Henry looked at her for a quiet moment before conceding, “More than I expected.”
Y/N’s smile softened. She rose on her toes and kissed him, brief but unashamed, right there beneath the dim bar lights where no one knew enough to be shocked by them.
When they finally returned to their stools, she finished the water Henry placed in front of her without complaint.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said, slipping from her seat.
“Do you know where it is?”
“I’m tipsy, not helpless.”
“You walked toward the kitchen ten minutes ago.”
“I smelled fries.”
Henry’s expression remained unconvinced.
Y/N leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back.”
She made her way through the crowd, found the restroom without incident and spent several minutes fixing her lipstick and staring at her reflection with the happy disbelief of someone who had somehow ended up exactly where she wanted to be.
Vacation.
A black dress.
Drinks.
Henry waiting for her at the bar.
She smiled at herself, tucked her lipstick into her purse and stepped back into the noise.
The smile disappeared almost immediately.
Henry was still at the bar.
He was no longer alone.
A woman stood close beside his stool, one manicured hand resting on the wooden counter near his arm. She was attractive, older than Y/N but probably younger than Henry, dressed in a pale blue blouse and fitted white trousers that looked far too expensive for spilled drinks and crowded dance floors.
She leaned closer as she spoke.
Henry sat angled politely away from her, his expression controlled. Even from across the room, Y/N recognized the courteous distance in his posture.
The woman did not.
She laughed at something, touched his sleeve and moved closer still.
Irritation went through Y/N with startling speed.
She crossed the bar before deciding what she planned to say.
Henry saw her coming first.
His gaze lifted over the woman’s shoulder, and something almost amused flickered behind his eyes.
The woman turned just as Y/N reached them.
Y/N slipped directly between her and Henry, planting one hand on the bar. “You need to back off, bitch.”
The woman blinked. “Excuse me?”
“He’s taken.”
Henry’s eyebrows rose slightly.
The woman looked between them, her gaze lingering on Y/N’s age before returning to him. “I didn’t realize.”
“You do now. Bye.”
There was enough edge in Y/N’s voice that the woman stepped back.
Henry rested one hand lightly against Y/N’s waist. “That wasn’t necessary.”
Y/N turned toward him. “She had her hand on you.”
“She approached me. I was handling it.”
“She was doing a terrible job of listening to your body language.”
The woman scoffed beneath her breath.
Y/N’s head snapped back toward her. “Was there something else?”
“No.” The woman picked up her drink, visibly deciding the situation was no longer worth the effort. “Enjoy your evening.”
“I plan to.”
She walked away into the crowd.
“Stupid bitch,” Y/N mumbled as she rolled her eyes and turned back to Henry, still visibly annoyed. “What?”
His hand remained at her waist, thumb moving once over the fabric of her dress. “You called me taken.”
“You are.”
“So emphatically.”
“Would you prefer ambiguity?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“You insulted her.”
“…I blame the alcohol on that one.”
He gave her a look.
“Settle down. It’s not like I’m ever gonna see her again after this week.”
Henry turned forward back in his seat, elbow resting on the bar.
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You liked that.”
Henry picked up his whiskey and finished what remained. “I didn’t dislike it.”
“You absolutely liked it.”
“I think she understood you.”
“She better have.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. He should have been annoyed by the scene. At school, he would have been horrified by the attention. Here, surrounded by strangers who knew nothing about them, Y/N had claimed him without hesitation or shame.
Something in him had responded to that more strongly than he intended to admit.
He touched two fingers beneath her chin. “Do you want to leave?”
Y/N glanced toward the crowd, then back at him. “Maybe.”
“You’re tired.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re leaning against the bar.”
“I’m horny, Henry. There’s a difference.”
Henry smiled. “I’ll get our jackets.”
He disappeared toward the other side of the room, where they had left them over the backs of two chairs near the dance floor.
Y/N turned to the bartender and pulled several bills from her purse. “This is for the drinks.”
The bartender glanced at the money. “You already paid.”
“It’s a tip.”
“That’s generous.”
“I’m celebrating.”
The bartender took it with a grateful smile. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
“Leaving already?”
The male voice came from too close beside her.
Y/N turned.
A man around her age leaned against the bar, his cheeks flushed and his eyes slightly unfocused. He held a beer loosely in one hand and wore the overconfident smile of someone who had been drinking long enough to mistake persistence for charm.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m heading out.”
“Don’t.” He stepped closer. “Stay for another drink. Please.”
“I’m good.”
“I’ll buy.”
“No, thank you.”
He looked her over without bothering to hide it. “You here alone?”
Y/N stared at him. “You just watched me dancing with someone.”
“Could’ve been anybody.”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
The man glanced in the direction Henry had gone, then smiled dismissively. “That older guy?”
Her expression hardened. “Yes. That older guy.”
“Looks like your brother to me.”
“Well, he’s not.”
“You could do better.”
“I’m already doing better.”
He laughed as though she had made a joke. “Come on. One drink.”
“I said no.”
His hand moved toward her elbow.
He never reached it.
Henry returned without announcing himself.
He carried both jackets over one arm, his face calm and unreadable as he approached. He did not ask what was happening. He did not look directly at the man or offer him the dignity of an argument.
He simply stepped between them, pushing past the stranger as though he were nothing more than an inconvenient piece of furniture, nearly knocking the stranger into the barstool behind him.
Then he bent, wrapped one arm securely around Y/N’s thighs and lifted her over his shoulder.
Y/N gasped. “Henry!”
The room tilted.
Her purse swung against his back as he straightened, one arm locked firmly across the backs of her legs.
The drunk man stared. “What the hell?”
Henry still didn’t look at him.
He took Y/N’s jacket from his other arm and tossed it over the back of her dress, covering where the fabric had ridden up her ass.
Then he carried her toward the door.
Y/N lifted her head enough to look back at the bewildered man. “I told you.”
Henry pushed through the door and stepped into the cool night air.
The noise of the bar dropped behind them.
Y/N began laughing almost immediately.
“Put me down.”
“No.”
“Henry.”
“You’ve had enough to drink.”
“That has nothing to do with you carrying me like stolen luggage.”
“You were being bothered.”
“I was handling it.”
He adjusted his hold on her legs and continued down the sidewalk. “So was I.”
“You didn’t even say anything to him.”
“There was nothing worth saying.”
Y/N tried to twist enough to see his face, but from her position she could only see the back of his dark shirt and the line of his shoulders. “You just shoved past him.”
“He was in the way.”
“And then picked me up.”
“You were also in the way.”
She slapped his back lightly. “Liar.”
Henry’s hand lightly came down on her covered ass. “Stop moving.”
She gasped, then giggled. “Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“That was very fast.”
“I’m carrying you home.”
“Because you’re jealous.”
“Because you’re tipsy, wearing impractical shoes and attracting men with poor judgment.”
Y/N grinned, though he couldn’t see it. “You liked when I told that woman you were taken.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“It’s exactly related.”
Henry crossed the road, waiting for a passing car before continuing toward the inn. “You threatened a stranger.”
“I told her to back off.”
“Forcefully.”
“She was flirting with my boyfriend.”
“And the man at the bar?”
“Was flirting with your girlfriend.”
“More aggressively.”
“So you picked me up like a caveman.”
“I removed you from the situation.”
“Over your shoulder.”
“Efficiently.”
Y/N’s laughter softened as she let herself relax against him. The jacket stayed draped over her, held in place by one of his hands whenever the breeze threatened to lift it.
They walked for another minute before she asked, “Are you ever putting me down?”
“When we reach the room.”
“My feet work.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“I can walk.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why—”
“Because I don’t want to.”
The answer quieted her.
Henry kept walking, his pace steady beneath the yellow glow of the streetlamps. There was no embarrassment in him now, no concern that someone might recognize them or question why he had her thrown over his shoulder in the middle of town.
He had simply decided she was leaving with him.
Y/N smiled into the fabric of his shirt.
“You know we’re perfect for each other.”
“That’s a concerning conclusion to draw from tonight.”
“I scared off a woman. You physically carried me away from a man.”
“I didn’t scare anyone.”
“You didn’t have to. You treated him like he didn’t exist.”
“He was drunk.”
“That made it hotter.”
Henry exhaled through his nose. “You need water.”
“And you need to admit you’re possessive.”
“I’ve never denied it.”
Y/N lifted her head again. “You usually call it caution.”
“I’m expanding my vocabulary.”
She laughed and reached down as far as she could, catching his hand where it rested against the backs of her thighs.
Henry turned his palm enough to lace their fingers together, even while carrying her.
Neither of them spoke for the final stretch back to the inn.
Y/N remained draped over his shoulder, her jacket protecting what dignity the dress had left her, while Henry carried her through the quiet Cape night without once slowing or offering to let her down.
Two entirely different reactions to jealousy.
Both unmistakably possessive.
Both, in their own unreasonable way, perfectly matched.
. . .
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