Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
We walk into town, keeping the conversation light as we ease into safer topics.
We pass between dramatic old colleges in Cambridge amid the bustle of tourists and students every which way.
And before long, we take refuge for lunch in a pub called The Anchor, with a patio overlooking the Cam and its boats—punts, Will tells me—on the river in the middle of the afternoon.
Wooden punts are tied up beyond The Anchor’s patio, and beyond, people punt, pushed along with long poles as someone stands on the back, passing by the low Silver Street Bridge.
The day is bright, the sky incredibly blue with a touch of broken cloud, the dreamy height of summer.
We’ve been having fun, but his mood shifted after I asked about his leg. I regret bringing it up to upset him.
“I didn’t really answer your question before. About museums. And feeling passionate about something.”
“You’re not obligated to tell me anything. Even with our pact. Which, by the way, I take very seriously.”
He smiles at the reminder, his shoulders easing slightly. Which makes me feel better. “I know. I… I see how excited my parents are about their work and my brother about his. And I kind of want to feel excited about something. Hopeful, I guess.”
I chew my lip, gazing at Will. There’s a lot to take in there. I try to think of what to say that won’t put him on the spot again. “Does working at the museum make you feel hopeful?”
Will nods after a moment. “I think so. I was nervous at first, especially when they sent me to Curatorial from Development. I was totally out of my depth. But you’ve done a lot to help put me at ease and to learn.
So, thanks for that. You’ve made a world of difference.
You made it possible for me to stay in Curatorial and not feel useless. ”
“Aw, thanks. You’re a way better student than I was, believe me.
I can’t believe you read those books cover to cover.
” I brighten, pleased. I reach for his hand across the table.
He tenses for a moment, then relaxes and squeezes back.
I gaze down at our hands. “You know you can tell me to fuck off if I’m pushing my luck. ”
Will shakes his head. “No, you’re not. I like you, Dylan.” He swallows. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out with anyone quite like this. Like on a date.”
“Don’t worry, it’s only me here. And I like being on a date with you. I’m having fun. I hope you are too.”
He smiles, reddening. “Yes.”
“And the last thing I want is for you to feel bad or awkward.”
“I don’t feel bad. I… I might be liking this a bit more than I want to admit. Getting to know you.”
Whatever I thought he might say, it wasn’t that. And I’m thrilled, even if I’m scared to admit that to myself, what that might mean especially for a one-off thing. We’re saved by the arrival of our meal, and then we linger over a couple of pints and banter.
“Would you like to go punting?” Will asks once we’re outside in the sun.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“You can hire someone to do the punting for you. Or I can. I’d be happy to. I’ve punted along the Cam plenty of times.”
My eyebrows lift, looking from him to a nearby punt, where someone stands on one end, pushing the small boat along with a pole in the shallow river. It looks precarious, even though the water’s calm and the river narrow.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of water.” His teasing grin is to die for. His eyes dance.
“Only if there’re sharks in it.”
“The Cam’s blissfully shark-free. Let’s go, it’ll be fun.”
Which is how I soon find myself in the punt, with Will standing at the back with perfect balance, taking us along the Cambridge Backs and its expanse of endless green lawn by Kings College and Trinity and St. John’s.
Plus others. And I gaze at the scenery, most of all Will, and the expanse of blue sky above him dotted with clouds.
He stands with confidence at the back of the punt, maneuvering us with skill along the river.
There’s no way to guess which is his prosthetic leg from looking at him in motion.
From what I saw from our night together, he has an enviable six-pack, which doubtless contributes to excellent core strength.
It kind of feels like I’m in a dream, something so far away from my life in Canada and this dizzying reality with him.
The wind teases his wavy hair, his eyes hidden by his aviators.
He smiles warmly at me, and it’s everything I can do to either keep from spontaneously combusting or making my usual smart-ass comments when I’m feeling vulnerable.
“What are you thinking over there?” Will asks after a while.
“That I could get used to this, keeping you as my personal ferryman,” I quip. “As long as this isn’t the River Styx.” And frankly, I wouldn’t complain even if it is, as long as Will’s there. What a ridiculous thought. I sigh with contentment.
Will laughs, his forearm muscles shown to great effect with his rolled-up sleeves, tugging along his biceps. He continues to push us along the river. “I promise I’m not Charon.”
“Lucky. Otherwise, you sure have a lot of explaining to do.”
Before I know it, we’ve disembarked at Bridge Street.
“You must be tired by now.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead, as they say,” Will says cheerfully. “But I suppose I wouldn’t say no to taking a taxi back to the Rover.”
Which we do, and drive to London once more. As we approach the city, we both get a bit nervous around each other.
“You’re sure you’re not tired?” I ask again.
“No.”
“Will. C’mon. I saw you hide a yawn a few minutes ago. I should probably let you go home to rest.” It’s gone on into the early evening, the summer skies shifting to golds and long shadows.
Will’s quiet for a moment, still wearing the aviators, but he turns his head slightly to me before focusing on the road again. “Is our pact still in effect?”
“Till midnight.”
“I kind of don’t want this evening to end,” Will admits at last. And it’s incredible how he doesn’t hear my heart batter my rib cage as it goes into overtime.
“Yes, I’m tired, but then it’ll be tomorrow before I know it…
and I don’t want to think about that yet. But I’m thinking about it, admittedly.”
“Well… we could hang out a bit longer if you’re not sick of me yet. I know I can be a lot all at once.”
“You’re… lovely.” To his credit, his lips twitch only a little before spreading into a smile, which melts me.
I laugh with glee, basking in the compliment. “I’ve been called lots of things, but lovely isn’t among them.”
Then he laughs, too, and looks more serious again, his cheeks pink. And it’s not only from the sun.
“We could go to my place?” I offer into the quiet. “I don’t know if my flatmate’s in, but we’re not obligated to hang out with him. Though he’s great. Or we can go to another pub or something.”
“Do you want to come to my place?” Will dares ask, glancing over. “There’s no flatmate.”
“Bold suggestion. There’s no telling what might happen without a chaperone.
” There’s another burst in my chest. I pretend to act way more chill than I actually am.
“I would love to. Because, frankly, I don’t want it to be midnight yet either.
Also, the voyeur in me wants to see how you live. I imagine like a god.”
He reddens once again, and it’s thrilling to see how he responds to my quips. “Alright. And believe me, not like a god.”
“Where is this flat of yours, anyway?” I ask, as if I have a clue about London geography beyond that of the museum and my neighborhood. Fake it till you make it, they say.
“Chelsea, technically. Near South Kensington.”
And when we reach Will’s neighborhood, it’s decidedly much nicer than mine, which tells me what I need to know about it.
He parks on a street with mature trees providing shade to three- or four-story Victorian tan brick buildings with white trim and bay windows by a park.
Privately, when I glance up and down the street as we get out, I scan for any signs of a red McLaren, but there’s none in sight.
Will gestures at one of the terraces, albeit a bit sheepishly. “This way.”
I follow him up the steps to a black glossy double door as he unlocks it, taking it all in like the greedy tourist I am.
Part of me would kill to tell all to my—our—coworkers, but I’m really starting to like Will, and I wouldn’t betray him, no matter how tempting it is. “You must pay a lot in rent.”
He looks embarrassed as he unlocks the front door of the ground floor flat. “I don’t.”
“You don’t?” I let out a low whistle as we stand in the black and white tiled entry of his flat. He has contemporary colorful paintings and furniture, very much an adult house and not living like he’s some sort of frat boy or in a student dive. “Steal of the century, man.”
“I, er, own it.” Will’s flustered, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Shit.” I’m beyond impressed. The idea of owning any property is about as likely as declaring myself a merman and living an aquatic life in my own castle deep in the sea. “Well, then you must pay a lot in mortgage.”
Will doesn’t say anything, looking at me, taking me in.
I can finally see his eyes now that he’s no longer wearing the aviators.
He’s a little pink, both from blushing but also the day’s sun, despite all the sunscreen.
The reflections from the sun out on the water must have done it.
I focus on his gaze, something vulnerable in his eyes.
“Sorry.” I give him a wry smile. “Too far. I usually go too far. Like my mom said, I’m a chatterbox, and she could always tell where I was by the sound—”
And then Will steps closer, within reach. Purposeful. And I couldn’t break his gaze even if I wanted to. Which I very much want. The intent way he looks at me is everything.
“Dylan.” Will catches my face between his hands. They burn. I gasp with the heat, the sudden nearness of him, the contact that feels so intimate.