I can’t tell her.
Me: I’m sworn to secrecy. No questions!
There. Not a lie.
Ava: Okay. Keep your secrets. But have fun with Will. Perfect opportunity to get to know each other! *Kissy face* *Winky face*
I can’t keep myself from responding to that.
Me: I may be on a secret mission for my favorite ex-neighbor, but I’m still not dating right now. Give it up. *Kissy face*
Ava: Okay, okay. But don’t let your bad experience with Leo keep you from noticing someone who’s actually great. And, no, all boys are NOT idiots.
Next, she sends a selfie of Hudson and her on the boat.
Me: *eye roll* Yeah, yeah, you two are precious. Have fun!
Ava sends a video meme of someone wiping out on a tube, and I laugh.
“Found it!” Will shouts from downstairs.
I rise and shove my phone in my pocket and meet him at the door leading to the garage.
He presses the opener, and an angular ray of sunlight creeps across the floor as the garage door lifts. A giant box occupies the space where a car might go. It’s already been opened, and gold metal pieces spill over, some even strewn on the floor. What a mess.
“Oh man,” Will mutters. “How are we supposed to get that thing to the church?”
Great question.
He nods toward the corner, curls flopping over his forehead. “Maybe we can borrow the golf cart. I’m sure Evelyn included it in her rental agreement so she could cart everything down the hill.”
I run a hand over the shiny blue paint job. This brand-new vehicle boasts leather seats and an OKC Thunder basketball logo across the front.
We locate the key next to the welcome pack and, after an awkward lifting job, balance the box on the back seat. Improvising, we strip two bathrobes of their ties and use them to secure it to the cart.
At the last second, I grab the two boxes of wedding favors and stow them between us in front. Might as well load up.
We head down the hill at turtle speed. The bright midmorning sun casts shadows through the trees.
“So.” Will drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “What’s your last name?”
I blink, caught off guard. Given how much we enjoy each other’s company, I assumed we’d ride along in stony silence.
“Whitney.” I start to leave it at that. But that would be rude, and I’m totally against people being the rudest in the world. “And what’s yours?”
“Jameson.”
Across the street, a dad and son are playing bocce ball on one of the three narrow courts. They stare as we pass, probably wondering why two teenagers with coordinating T-shirts are carting a giant box of gold down the hill.
Will waves, and they wave back. His hands back at ten and two, he faces the wind, letting it tousle his curls. “Well, Morgan Whitney, what do you like to do for fun?”
So we’re doing this. We’re chitchatting. I release a sigh. “Oh, you know. Reading. Hanging out with friends. Baking sometimes. But I don’t do that anymore.” Why did I bring up baking? “And you?”
“I like reading too. And baseball. Paddleboarding’s my latest obsession.”
“As in stand-up paddleboarding?” I make a face. “I’m not sure I have enough balance for that.”
“It’s not hard. You should try it.”
