“I know. Iloveit,” he emphasizes.
“I need…”
His lips settle against my forehead. “Tell me exactly what you need, Josie.”
I take a deep breath in, filling my lungs with his heady scent. “I need to go look at buildings with you. To give myself time to… calm down. It isn’t that I don’t want this. But I want to begoodat it when we do it.”
“You want to be good?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t need you tobeanything—”
“Please, Will. I want to be in it with you.”
He tucks his head and breathes. Breathes some more.
“Okay,” he whispers after a few seconds. There’s nothing resentful in his tone. Just a calmness that almost feels anticipatory. “Let’s go look at some buildings.”
He takes a step back from the desk, adjusting himself in his pants. I sit up, hands pulling my top down to meet the waistband of my shorts. “I need ten minutes to get ready,” I say, finding my footing against the carpeted floor.
Will nods, his eyes a sky-bright color. The evidence of my hands in his hair is blatant, but it works on him.
“I’ll wait in the lobby.”
He turns to go, but something makes me say, “Wait.”
Will twists back, his gaze patient.
“I’m not using you. This isn’t just about wanting to have sex.”
Will’s expression warms. He smiles easily, both of his dimples flashing, his kiss-bruised lips pulled up. “What’s it about, in that case?”
It’s hard to put into words, but I try. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. About dating distracting me from work or having a partner causing me to be less productive. Aren’t people stronger together? Better versions of themselves around another person? I mean, Camila is a hard worker, and she’s productive, and she’s also in love,” I say. “Not that I’m in love with you!” I jump to add. “And not that I’m assuming you’d ever want to actually be my, like, officialpartner,I’m just explaining why I—”
Will crosses back to me, his lips taking mine again in another long, slow kiss.
“For the record,” he grunts, landing two small kisses on my nose.“I would very much want to be your official partner. The truth is I’ve been disguising the way I feel about you as best as I can. But I’ll stop that now. If you want.”
His words launch an avalanche. They create waves. They crack earth.
I cling to him, rubbing my nose against his soft shirt. “I want.”
Will tips my chin up and kisses me. Softly, softly. I feel positively lost in him, happier and more carefree than I’ve felt in a long time. “I am happiest,” he says, “when I’m giving you what you want.”
I change into jean shorts and a T-shirt, braid my hair, splash cold water on my face. When I get downstairs to the hotel lobby, I spot Will talking to the concierge.
He looks down at my feet when he notices me. “Closed-toe shoes. Perfect.”
“For?”
“Cycling.” Will grins and nods to the concierge. “I rented us some bikes.”
I grin back, feeling giddy.
Outside, we climb onto two cornflower-blue cruisers with wide handlebars and kickstands, our reusable water bottles filled, helmets firmly secured. Our hotel is on the outskirts of the city, close to the supplier we’ll be visiting in two days. We find the bike lane on a busy street and ride it into the heart of downtown.
The first place we stop is a small café with a faded red awning and a Tripadvisor sign in the window. Will locks up our bikes and pays for my drink—sadly not an ICOML, which wasn’t on the menu, but instead (on his recommendation) a café con leche that’s honestly delicious.
