Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
On Monday, there’s no sign of Will at work.
My mind races a million different ways, backwards and forwards as I try to make sense of our weekend together.
He’s got to be avoiding me. Then again, weirdly, things aren’t always about me.
What if it was all too much and he’s not feeling well?
I’m taken right back to the aftermath of our trip up north.
Will doesn’t message me, even though he has my number now. And not wanting to intrude, I don’t message him either.
When Tuesday rolls around and there’s still no sign of Will, I at last cave and message him at lunchtime, a simple “thinking of you,” which I think about way too much about before sending.
All I got out of Lily was that he’d called in sick both days.
Whether that’s real sick or fake sick, I don’t know.
And no response comes. At least not during the day.
Which means it’s either something I did, or he’s actually sick.
Maybe he’s embarrassed after opening up to me.
Obviously, talking about his past didn’t come easily.
I chew my lip, fidgeting with the strap of my bag as I wait on the tube platform to get to the latest exhibit pickup in central London.
He did say this was the anniversary of his accident, though, and probably it has to do with that.
There’s no way to avoid the pain of that memory, which obviously weighs heavy on him.
It’s late that night when I’m in bed reading the latest rom-com I got from Barnes Books when my phone buzzes with a message on the bedside table. I practically dive for it, praying it’s not Stephen or Russ or some spam call. And as luck would have it, it’s Will.
Sorry to disappear. I wasn’t feeling well. X
I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the keypad as I try to think of what to say.
I worried it was something I said or did X
I had another migraine. And don’t worry, it’s not your fault. I’ll be back at work tomorrow. I’ll make up for lost time.
“Fuck, I knew it.” I groan, shaking my head. He’s not going to overdo it again on my watch. Probably the stress of the anniversary of his accident didn’t help. And probably the vigorous sexing after a long day didn’t help either. Call it lesson learned.
Can I do anything to help?
No. It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Dylan. X
G’night X
Shit. That’s a dismissal if I ever saw one. I stare at the dark phone in my hand for a long time till I admit defeat in favor of tossing and turning in bed.
On Wednesday, I blearily good morning my way from reception to the tearoom, across the office, and up to the boardroom that serves as our collections command center for the exhibition.
When I enter, Will studiously taps away on his laptop.
I’m surprised to see him for the first time wearing glasses, stylish of course, the waves of his dark hair falling over his forehead.
He looks haggard. Handsome, but washed out.
I shut the door after me with a small click, leaning against it. The blinds are down but open. Will finishes typing out whatever it is he’s doing and at last lifts his head to look at me seriously.
“Hey,” I say as casually as I can muster, my heart thundering around the confines of my chest. Something about this already feels off. Like he’s breaking up with me when we haven’t even started dating. Narcissistic behavior, I tell myself sternly. He had a migraine. It’s not about me.
“I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have led you on.” Will’s voice wavers very slightly.
I blink at him. Twice, for good measure, as I try to make sense of what he’s saying. Good thing I shut the door. “You… didn’t?” I shake my head. “God’s sake.”
Will gives me an even look, a neutral expression veiling his true emotions. His hand is white-knuckling the edge of the expansive boardroom table where he sits beneath the clock. “We need to talk.”
“Fuck.” I toss my bag into one of the boardroom chairs, then flop heavily into another. I quickly wheel my way over to Will, near but not in his personal space, even by spacious Canadian standards. “Will,” I complain theatrically, “you can’t break up with me because we’re not going out.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I straighten in my chair, lacing my fingers over my stomach. We stare each other down in a stalemate. “Dead serious,” I say provocatively into the cutting silence.
We can hear the clock ticking behind Will like an unwelcome metronome keeping score of our volleys.
“On reflection, I think it’s illogical to let things go any further.”
“Who are you? Spock? What did you do with the real Will?” I frown hard at him. “Unless you were part Borg this whole time and didn’t tell me. Which, by the way, is something you really ought to tell someone on a first date, just saying. Takes poly to a whole new level.”
Will frowns at me. And he’s totally hot, which really isn’t helping. And he looks genuinely annoyed. Which is good because I’m also genuinely annoyed.
“Dylan.”
“Don’t Dylan me. I have an excellent point.”
Exasperated, he runs his hands through his hair. Then he takes off his glasses with one hand and rubs his eyes with the other for a long, pained moment before putting them back on.
“I think you’ve come back to work before you should because you’re still migraining. Which is at least partly my fault. And I’m really sorry. We should talk when you’re better. Rain delay. It’s very sporting.”
“Dylan.” There’s a warning in his voice.
I’m quiet, fidgeting in my chair, rolling it slightly from side to side.
“Can you not sit still?”
“Not really. ADHD, I’m afraid. Call it a win for neurodivergence. And running my mouth off.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know. That was rude of me.”
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t know. I’m used to it.
” I shrug a shoulder. Which is more or less true.
My scattershot existence is familiar territory.
My expression shifts to a more solemn one to match Will’s.
“But listen. I don’t regret the other night,” I say in a low voice.
“Tell me you regret it and I won’t mention it again. ”
Uncomfortable, he squirms in his chair. Very maturely, I keep from calling him out on his display of fidgeting in his unease. And he flushes this most amazing color.
“I’m waiting.” I drum my fingers on the armrest of my chair.
Will opens his mouth. Then shuts it. Then he tries again, before failing miserably and shakes his head instead.
“Does that mean, yes, you’re riddled with regrets and hated every second of being with me? Or does that mean I have a point?”
“You’re… you’re impossible.” Will’s frown wavers.
I laugh at that. “Why, thank you. I’ll take that as a point for Team Dylan.”
“This isn’t a reality TV show like Renaissance Man or a sporting event. This is a very serious, adult conversation.”
“Good thing I’m a very serious adult.” A heavy sigh escapes me as I tilt my head to the side, watching him carefully. “Tell me you didn’t have fun.”
“I… can’t.”
“I’ll take it as some kind of progress. A confession, if you will.
” I spin once in my chair for good effect.
When I complete my 360-degree turn, I’m rewarded with the delight of Will’s stare.
He does the eyeglasses-off, eye-rubbing thing again.
But there’s a hint of a smile playing with the corners of his mouth.
“No, really. I don’t want you to have another migraine.”
He stiffens. “That is entirely out of your control. And mine too.”
“Is it, though? Like, I’m guessing stress is a trigger. And I’m obviously stressing you out.”
“Stress is a trigger, yes. But life is stressful. Big fucking deal.”
At his unexpectedly bitter tone, which is very unlike the Will I’ve seen, at last I get very serious. I roll up close to him. He’s staring down at his laptop.
“Will,” I say softly. “If you don’t want to do this again, I’ll respect that. I’ll be disappointed, but I understand.”
“You… you said you have a no-boyfriend policy. And even if you didn’t have that, you’re only here for the summer. That’s what you told me. There’s no point in getting emotionally invested—”
“Nobody said anything about emotional or any kind of investments.” I frown, my mouth tugging down. “All I said was we could do it again, casually, another time if we wanted. That’s it. You’re doing something with a cart in front of a horse. Possibly horses.”
He lifts his head to finally look at me, eye to eye. He’s close enough I could touch him.
“I don’t think we should—” he begins but stops instantly when the door opens. We both sit upright instantly as Lily walks in, folders under her arm.
She looks from Will to me. “I hope I’m not interrupting something important—”
“We were planning a pickup—” Will blurts.
“I was telling him about what he missed—” I say at the same time.
Lily stares at us, as if she’s caught us wanking together.
“And I was, er, bringing Will up to speed,” I explain in the heavy silence. “As it turns out.”
Then I make myself stop talking and do my discreet best to wheel back to my laptop at the far end of the board room table. My chair creaks in the dead silence.
Lily sets down the stack of folders between us. “These are copies of the latest loans I’ve completed and the acquisitions ready for pickup. You can update your tracker. And we’ll need to add transfer receipts to the folder, and don’t forget to log all the exhibits once you’ve brought them on-site.”
“Of course,” I confirm quickly, ignoring the heat in my face. At last glance, Will is also having the same problem. “Have we missed anything?”
“No, but some of these objects are quite sensitive, and I only want to remind you. You both have been working wonderfully together on this project. I’m so pleased.
Keep up the good work. But time is winding down with the closure of the main show at the end of next week.
I hope you can pick these all up by end of day Friday.
It’s important to keep on schedule. I know it will be a push. ”
She smiles at us, pats the stack of folders, and walks out, leaving us staring at each other, the ticking clock the only sound in the room, as if it’s counting down to the end of the summer.