“Still good?” he’d ask, every time they entered some new phase of it. He wouldn’t even look at her as he said it; he’d ask it like it was all part of the checklist. But behind it was something serious, something focused.
Something kind.
Now, Nora stepped over the lip of the shower, determined to alleviate any of his concern over their shared project. She reached out and grabbed the old towel rack from the counter. “I’m thrilled,” she said, holding it up. “Thrilled enough to send this thing to the garbage.”
Probably she wouldn’t actually send it to the garbage; Nonna would hate that. But she didn’t want to say so to Will. She set it gently down on the floor between the vanity and the toilet, promising herself that she’d deal with it later. Surely someone else had need for a deeply annoying, vaguely threatening household accessory.
When she looked back up, Will’s glasses caught the light from overhead, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the lenses.
“What?”
“You’ve got . . . uh.” She pointed in the direction of her own eyes, and Will furrowed his brow, then turned toward the mirror, leaning in.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said, and she liked the laugh that came out—part amusement, part embarrassment. “It’s drywall dust. Let me clean them off real quick.”
When he pulled them away from his face, Nora could see—small bathroom, striking again!—the pink indentations left on either side of his nose, and for some reason that felt so tender and so tempting that she moved quietly past him, stepping into the hall, conscious of her every breath as she went.
After a few seconds he came to the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his freshly cleaned glasses back on, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Behind him, the leavings of their work—his toolbox, discarded packages and tags—sat tidily, ready to be taken out, and she felt absurdly disappointed that the night was almost over.
Will cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, something tentative in his voice. She hoped he felt the same disappointment, but then she remembered their conversation from back when he’d first arrived.
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Right, jeez. Let me get the money I owe you.”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t mean that. I wanted to mention . . .” He trailed off, dropped his eyes. “You know, never mind. I could send you an email. It’s official building business.”
Ah, Nora thought, bracing instinctively for the shudder of anxiety she was used to feeling when they talked about the rental.
It still came, but it wasn’t nearly as . . . shuddery. Anxious-y.
“You listed your place?” she guessed.
“Yeah. The day after we went to the beach. But it’s actually—” He broke off, cleared his throat again.
She smiled across the short space of hallway, encouraging. “Might as well tell me now. I’m in such a great mood about blow-drying my hair later that I can take it.”
He smiled back, and a different sort of shudder tried to take up residence in her body.
But after a second, he turned serious again.
“I didn’t expect to get so much interest so quickly, but . . . uh. I’ve got someone booked starting Tuesday.”
Tuesday. That was so soon. She swallowed, nodded. Did not make eye contact with either of those new bathroom rods.
“She’ll be staying for about four and a half weeks. I know the real short-term stuff isn’t the best thing. For everyone here, I mean. So I’m going to try to keep it to longer-term renters, as best I can.”
She blinked up at him, grateful for this concession. She hoped it wasn’t four and a half weeks of a total nightmare, but ithadbeen good of him to consider everyone.
“The woman who’ll be staying, she and her daughter—the daughter’s about ten, I think—they need a place to stay while their condo gets some big repairs done. She’s been a homeowner for about fifteen years, so she’ll be responsible. She owns her own business, too. Consulting work, I’m pretty sure.”
Nora cocked her head, confused. She’d been on the rental site an awful lot since Will Sterling had shown up in her life, and she knew for a fact that owners didn’t have to bother getting a bunch of information about their tenants before finalizing an arrangement. That was pretty much the whole point for property owners, so far as she could tell: to collect their money, without much inconvenience or involvement.
Had Will . . .interviewedpeople?
“After her, I think it’s possible I can get people who are doing rotations over at Northwestern. It wouldn’t be the most convenient location, but as it turns out, Sally knows the placement coordinator there, and she said she’d direct people my way. And those people, they work so much it’s likely you won’t ever see them. They probably won’t even care if you do that projector thing using the balcony down there.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How did you—”
