29. Will
29
Will
A lice has been with her parents and brother all weekend. I’ve hardly seen her—and I can’t say I care for that. Since we’re keeping our relationship quiet with everyone in Tesoro, she thought that should include them while they’re here. At least for now. So, I’m not touring the city with them.
We are having dinner at my place tonight—since Alice has yet to purchase a kitchen table. I’m anxious to see her, to meet her family.
It’s just dinner with a coworker. With a friend and her parents. At least that’s what we’re calling it.
I can do this. I pretend every day. Why would today be any different? It should be easy not confessing to Alice’s parents that I have completely fallen for their daughter.
I’ve left my door wide open so that Alice and her family could walk in while I’m cooking. The sixth floor is pretty quiet, so I know exactly when they exit the elevator. Their voices trickle into my place, and while I listen, I keep myself busy in the kitchen. I rarely cook—my pots and pans are proof of that—but Alice has made me want to prepare food here. And I want to do this for her parents.
“We love staying with you, sweetheart. The futon is fine,” I hear a woman say—Coco.
“No,” Alice says. “You’ll take my bed tonight. It’s the best bed, Mom. You’re going to want to purchase one after tonight. I’ll take the futon.”
“Does that mean I’m still on the floor?” says a not-so-happy male voice.
“Or you can sleep next to your sister on the futon,” says a man. I’m assuming it’s Alice’s dad—Jude. His statement is followed by a very loud groan.
“It’s not that bad, York,” Alice says, spurring a laugh from my lips.
There’s a tap on my open door, and then?—
“Knock. Knock,” Alice says. “Will? Are you here?”
“Her friend ? Her friend is named Will?” Jude says. Man—the open space of my apartment is fantastic for sound travel.
Coco shushes her husband.
“Come in,” I call. I’ve started making my roux, and according to this recipe, I cannot leave it.
Alice and three people follow behind her. Her eyes light when they meet mine—she can’t even lie when silent. And I love it. It’s a miracle the whole office doesn’t know how we feel by now.
Alice’s parents—I’m guessing they’re going to be much more in tune with her looks.
So, I try to play it cool. They don’t know my looks. Alice isn’t ready to tell them. If anyone can understand that, it’s me.
“Mom, Dad, this is my friend Will,” she says.
“The friend we’re having dinner with?” Jude says to Coco, who elbows him in the side.
“It’s nice to meet you, Will.”
Jude clears his throat. “I’d shake your hand, but you look busy.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” I glance from the couple back to my roux—I really don’t want to burn it. I’m not a bad cook, but I’m not an expert either.
“No problem. You’re cooking,” Jude says.
“Yeah. Alice wanted you to have a home-cooked meal, and I volunteered.”
“Because you’re such good friends .” Coco nods—yeah, she isn’t buying this.
“I’d rather sleep on this guy’s couch than with Alice,” York says.
Alice’s eyes bug. “And this would be my little brother, York. He’s kind of a tool.”
“Alice,” Coco says.
“Sorry,” she says. “He’s great, as long as he’s getting his own way.”
I smirk. York might turn Alice back into a kid.
“My way is the right way. So yeah,” York says.
I laugh. “You might have that in common with your sister.”
“Hey!” Alice whines, but Coco laughs.
“You always did like being right,” Coco says.
I shrug. “She usually is right.” I mix the milk into my roux. According to these instructions, my sauce will just need a few minutes to thicken before I add the parmesan, and then we’ll be ready to eat.
York huffs out a snort, and I turn with the sound—just in time to see Jude give Coco a pointed stare.
Okay, we aren’t fooling him either. And it might be all my fault. Strange, after so many years of pretending—I really should be better at this.
I swallow and attempt a subject change. “York, you’re welcome to sleep in my guest room. I don’t blame you for not wanting to share that futon.”
We sit down to dinner, and while this isn’t a meet-the-parents meal—not in the way that it might have been—Coco and Jude ask me all the questions that they might ask a man interested in their daughter.
Alice’s fingers find mine beneath the table when they ask about my family. But I’m well-rehearsed in most of these questions. I answer not only completely truthful, but I answer as Will, and we make it through.
Three hours later, when Alice’s family stands to leave, York finds a seat on my couch.
“York?” Coco says.
“I’m staying here. Will offered his guest room. I’m gonna take it.”
“York,” Jude scolds.
“It’s Will,” Alice says. “He’s literally my best friend. He’ll be fine here. Let him stay rather than complain all night.”
I must have passed some sort of test with the Taylors, because they quickly agree, letting their seventeen-year-old settle in rather than go across the hall to Alice’s.
“Will you be okay?” Alice says—with her parents already out the exit. “You don’t mind keeping my annoying little brother?”
“I heard that!” York calls.
I smother a laugh. “We’ll be fine.” I smile at her, wishing I could touch her. But I keep my hands to myself.
Her lips twitch, and she clamps down on her bottom lip. “Thanks, Will.”
“So,” York says as I walk back into the living room. “You like my sister? Because she’s kind of annoying. Have you seen that side of her yet?”
I plop down next to York. “We’re friends,” I say.
“Yeah.” He smirks, eyes on his phone. “Well, she’s also my sister. So, if you’re not cool, we’ll have words.”
I nod—the kid’s eyes never meet mine. “Point taken.”
“Have you ever taken these character match quizzes?” York holds his phone out, the screen a collage of superheroes.
“Ah, nope.” I don’t really have time for social media—and as Billy being Will, social media was never a smart idea. I’ve avoided it altogether except for the advertising my marketing team sets up.
“This one figures out which superhero you are and how close of a match.”
“Uh—cool.”
With his eyes on the screen, York starts spouting questions. “Group or individual activity?”
Okay, I guess I’m answering. “Aw, individual.”
“Philanthropist or private investigator?”
I put my feet up on the table—I really should go clean up the kitchen. I wouldn’t let Coco or Alice do it when they offered. “Philanthropist.”
“Late night or early morning?”
“Can I say both?” I ask.
“No.”
I smirk. York is as serious as can be. “Late night, then.” I suppose he can ask me questions while I work. I stand and head into the kitchen, filling the sink with hot water.
York follows me into the kitchen though. He doesn’t offer to help, but he does ask his next question—then another, and another. I’m finishing the last dish and he’s still asking.
“How many questions are there?”
“A hundred and fifty,” he says.
“One hundred and?—”
“Okay,” he interrupts. “Your match is… whoa.” For the first time in thirty minutes, York’s eyes bounce from his phone to me. “Batman. Ninety-eight percent match.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Ninety-eight! You are Batman.” And then he’s reading. “At his core, Batman is a driven vigilante fueled by the trauma of losing his parents. He’s the heir to a vast fortune and uses his wealth and intellect to fight crime in Gotham. By day, he’s a wealthy philanthropist, but by night, he becomes Batman. He lives a life of secret for the good of others.” York peers up from the screen. He stares at me, eyes blinking. “Seriously! Who are you?”
I clear my throat, unnerved. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve never seen anyone get above a seventy percent match before.” His brows pull together, his eyes wide. “Ninety-eight.” His head shakes. “Who are you?”
Holy crap. Have I kept my secret—my big, important, life-altering secret—for over a decade just so this kid can out me with one little survey? With a game?