“Wow, that hurts.”
I feign regret. “You’re right. That was too far. I wouldn’t sling that insult against my worst enemy.”
He laughs and scoops me closer. “Good to know I’m not yourworstenemy.”
“No, not the worst.”
We fall into silence until his next words burst out. “Well? What did Lenny have to say?”
I give him a look. “He’s been texting and calling all weekend. He says he wants to see me.”
Will pulls me in another direction to avoid bumping into Tonya and Matt, his back rigid. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I’m… not sure.” I worry my lower lip through my teeth, avoiding his intense stare beneath those mesmerizing eyelashes. “It’s complicated.”
And that’s the truth. So many emotions. Hurt is at the forefront. But sadness is there too. Embarrassment. And crazy enough, the memory of the love I used to feel. That’s the worst because I don’t want to feel it. To remember it.
Will doesn’t reply right away, but I can sense his discontent with my answer. And why does he care anyway?
“How long did you date before you broke it off?”
“Well,Ididn’t break it off.” The string of lights over his shoulder glints in my vision. His breath rustles the hair at my temple. Minty. “He did. At a wedding. A lot of people heard.”
“Is that why you hate weddings?”
“That’s part of it.”
“There’s more?”
Fran sashays by. She and her husband flow around the dance floor, putting everyone else to shame. She spins toward us. “As I was saying, Morgan. We could use your expertise this evening.”
I try to respond, but Fran swirls away.
Will mutters, “Show off.”
“Yep.”
“So what was that about?”
“She wants me to bake cookies for brunch tomorrow. Not just any run-of-the-mill cookie. Full-on decorated sugar cookies like you buy from a bakery.” Like people used to buy from me.
“But you don’t want to. Because you don’t bake anymore.”
“Right.”
“You ready to tell me why not?”
“Not really.”
He tilts his head at the string lights and crossbeams. “Let’s see. Maybe it’s because—you suddenly developed a deadly sugar allergy.”
“No, thank goodness. That sounds terrible.”
“Or maybe you were abducted by aliens, and they made you bake for them—”
I release his fingers and press mine over his mouth. “Please don’t finish that. I’ll tell you.”
He shrugs, one corner of his mouth quirking. His fingers flex against my back. “I’m good at wearing people down.”
