Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PRESENT DAY
When I wake up, it’s Saturday morning, and the apartment is quiet.
Will is nowhere to be found. I breathe a sigh of relief as I make avocado toast in the kitchen.
It’s one of the only things I’ve ever mastered on my own.
In the city, I ordered most of my meals.
Here, though we have meal delivery services, it’s rarely worth the chance that dinner might appear at my door in the hands of an ex, or an old teacher, or someone equally awkward.
And why bother, since Will is apparently a chef now—a reality that’s especially strange considering the many, many times he ruined meals when we were kids.
Margie tried to teach the boys, she really did, but Will was hopeless.
Always forgetting an ingredient, swapping sugar and salt accidentally, or salt and baking soda.
And then there were all the meals he tried to invent, like the time he was convinced he’d created the next big thing by boiling cereal and milk, just to end up with soupy mush.
Once, we were both hopeless in the kitchen. Now it’s just me.
There’s a flash of the memory again—me in the kitchen working tirelessly on a volcano for the science fair. Will ruined it the day of, allegedly by accident. Like he ruins everything else.
I shake the thoughts from my head as I finish my breakfast and get dressed for the day, then zip out to the car. I’m going to surprise Mom. It’s weird now, being able to visit her any time I want to. I’m so used to being hours away, only seeing her for special occasions.
Growing up, Saturday mornings were one of the only times I had Mom all to myself.
I’d wake to the smell of cinnamon rolls or apple fritters or blueberry muffins.
It was practically the only time Mom baked outside of Christmas and Thanksgiving.
She’d turn music on while we ate and leave it going as we cleaned the house together.
By the afternoon, Margie, Ruth, Cory, and Will would be over, or we’d be at one of their houses.
Or out in the yard if the weather was nice.
But the mornings were just ours.
The drive to Mom’s is short, and the sun is shining despite the cool temperature. I roll down the windows, letting my hand ride the wind, my favorite Maisie Peters album playing loud through the speakers.
When I turn into her driveway, the first thing I see is Will’s truck parked in front of his mom’s house. Huh.
I step out of the car, hoping he didn’t hear me pulling up, though he’ll definitely realize I’m here when he comes outside later. Maybe he’ll just leave us alone.
Maybe.
Mom’s door isn’t locked, it never is, and I don’t knock—she’d be offended if I did. I just push it open and step inside.
My heart sinks.
There, at the kitchen table on the far side of the room, sit Mom and Will.
Mom beams. “Well, look who finally stopped by.”
I shut the door behind me. “I was here on Wednesday.”
She bobs her head. “Come on in. We’re having breakfast. Want some pancakes?”
I swallow. My throat suddenly feels like I’ve already shoved pancakes into it, like I’m choking. Drowning.
Ruth.
Her face flashes in my mind at the word. The reminder.
I blink it away, then cross the room and stand next to the table. Will is sitting there, hands resting on either side of the plate in front of him, looking too calm. Far too happy.
“What are you doing here?”
“I—”
He starts to answer, but Mom is faster. “Will fixed my sink for me.”
“Fixed your sink?”
“Oh, yeah. It wasn’t draining again. He has to come fix it for me every once in a while.”
“Well, that’s…” I clear my throat, trying to form sentences. “Since when do you know how to fix sinks?”
“Oh, Will fixes all kinds of stuff for me. The sink, the back porch steps, a few cracks in the walls, some loose shingles on the roof.”
I don’t know what to make of this. The Will I know can’t do any of those things. I can’t even imagine him holding a hammer. He’s…a jerk. He’s not helpful.
What does he want?
“Sit down, now,” Mom says. “I’ll get you some breakfast.”
“I’ve got it,” Will says, standing up. He moves past me, his hand brushing my wrist, chest nearly touching my arm.
I don’t hold my breath quickly enough to avoid the scent of him.
No longer all grass and sweat and boy. There’s something older there, something heavy like driftwood and rain-soaked earth. Almost electric. All grown-up.
I hate that I still notice. I hate that I remember.
He opens the cabinet and draws down a plate. Maybe this is how he’ll poison me. Get me to let my guard down last night, then strike to get the job done today.
I move forward toward the stove, but as I reach, he’s quicker. He leans around me, boxing me in as his hand slides down over mine to take the spatula.
“Sit with your mom,” he says, his voice low, controlled. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your pancakes are swimming, just the way you like ’em.”
My breath hitches as I feel his exhale on the back of my neck. I jerk away, but only slightly. Not enough. “You don’t know what I like.”
There’s a laugh from somewhere deep in his chest. “I think we both know I do.”
I pull back farther until he retreats, giving me two more steps of space. I hold out one hand, then the other. “That’s okay. I’ll do it.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking over mine for longer than necessary. The faintest twitch of amusement lifts his lips. “Whatever you want, Opal.” He sets the plate and spatula in my palms.
My chest tightens. Rage flares. I hate that he knows how I like my pancakes. I hate that he’s here helping my mom. And at the same time…I don’t.
And I hate that too.
I drop two pancakes onto my plate, smothering them with syrup.
Back at the table, Will eyes my food. “My god.”
“See, you wouldn’t have done it right. Don’t judge just because you prefer your pancakes with only an essence of syrup.”
“And you prefer yours with a side of heart attack. You need a spoon.” His tone is teasing, but there’s an edge to it.
I lift my fork, twirling it in slow circles as the syrup drips off in lines.
He tracks the movement, his focus dropping to my lips.
My skin prickles under his scrutiny. He stays locked there, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow, until the very second I open my mouth.
His gaze snaps away so forcefully it’s as if he just realized he was staring.
I bite back a grin.
Mom chuckles. “Ahh, just like old times with you two. Speaking of, Will brought me two steaks for dinner. Want to join us? I won’t eat a full one anyway.”
“Oh, uh…”
Why is Will bringing my mom dinner? What the hell is he doing? My mind spins, trying to assign a motive. Decide what he gets out of this. Why he’s being…nice.
“Actually,” Will says, before I can come up with a response, “I forgot I have something to do later. Why don’t you and Opal just share them?”
“Are you sure?” Mom asks, looking confused.
“Yeah, of course. It works out.” His eyes flick to mine, holding my gaze just long enough to make me shift uncomfortably, then drop to his last bite of food. “You deserve time to catch up, anyway. I should go see Mom. Unless…you want me to stay.”
He’s asking her, but looking at me. I press my lips together. A flicker of disappointment I don’t understand spikes through me. “You’re free to go.” My answer comes before Mom says a word.
He grins, but it’s small, tight. Then he stands, sleeves rolled up, and heads for the sink.
“You leave those,” Mom says, waving him away. “I told you last time. You’ve done enough.”
“Not happening, Betty. You and Opal catch up. I’ll get these washed and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
I catch him watching me for a fraction of a second, his head quirked to the side, and I dart my eyes away. My chest flutters with confusion and annoyance.
When he finishes the dishes, he hugs Mom and brushes his hand over my arm, eyes locking on mine for the longest second of my life.
“See you at home.”
I scowl, rubbing away the warm outline of his palm. For some strange reason, it seems to linger on my skin long after he’s gone.