I normally try to get an earlier start than this—and if I’mreallyearly, I’ll ride my own bike to work and get ready at the office—but I spent too much time in front of the mirror this morning, perfecting my makeup, my hair, my outfit, reciting my presentation until I had it memorized back to front.
I send up a prayer that this unwanted reunion isn’t a bad omen.
When I turn off my ignition and climb out of my Ford Escape, Will is standing five feet from my bumper, frowning at it with his hands clenched around his mangled handlebars. Even the second time, it’s a jump scare to see him in person.
“I dented your car,” he says. “Sorry about that.”
“You couldn’t possibly have—” I cut myself off as I turn, eyeswidening at the small dent on the bumper just below the rear door. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“How fast were you going?”
“Fast,” he murmurs darkly. “I was running late, trying to sneak past the car traffic.” After another moment he adds, “I was weaving.”
“Weaving is dangerous,” I say, like a rule-following dork.
“No shit.” He winces as he taps at a quickly forming bruise on his face with two fingers.
Will’s legs seem okay, but there’s a tear in one pant leg near the knee, and his white shirt is covered in street tar. A small scrape on his upper left cheek is perforating his skin.
A nearly dominant part of me would like to finish assessing our collective damage and get out of Will Grant’s presence as quickly as possible. My instincts are screaming at me to retreat. But, as is often the case, my people-pleasing personality wins out. I can’t leave him now that we’ve broken this ten-year barrier until every wrinkle has been smoothed. Until every wound has been cleaned, sterilized, covered up, and hidden away.
“I have a first aid kit in my car. And I can drive you,” I add. “To wherever and whatever it is you’re late for.”
Will tilts his head, his blue eyes locking on mine.“Ihityou.”
“I know that. But I still want to help.”
After a beat of silence where Will openly stares at me, he asks, “Why on earth would you want to helpme?”
I laugh, the sound burbling out of me like shaken-up fizzy water through the neck of a bottle. Too many feelings, nowhere to go but out. My skin is hot and tight. I search my lexicon for an adequate response before settling on “I don’t know.”
Will’s gaze softens. I feel awkward. He probably (definitely) feels awkward. This entire situation is so damn awkward, and now my abs are starting to hurt.
I glance down at his bike, willing it to self-repair. “That doesn’t look operational, I’m afraid. A ride is the least I can do. Where are you headed?”
I don’t ask the other question—What the fuck are you doing in town at all, and on the most important Wednesday I’ve had in a while???—even though it’s what I’m dying to know.
There isn’t a family-oriented holiday coming up; it’s early June. And anyway, I don’t remember the Grants being close with the family they left behind in Austin when they moved away. Will’s parents are in Nashville, and his career and personal life are in New York.
Why. Is. He. Here?
Traveling for work is my best guess, but the bike is throwing me off.
Will’s lips tug up on one side again as he considers me more seriously. It’s still not a smile, not even close. He completely ignores my previous question and says, “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be fine—”
“You were going fast enough toput a dent in my car,” I interrupt. “Obviously, whatever you have going on this morning is important.” For some reason, this makes his half-baked smile kick up another twenty degrees. “Calling an Uber or even a friend, if you’ve managed to acquire one of those since we knew each other”—he snorts softly—“is going to take forever in this traffic. Please let me help you?”
Will sighs and his expression gives. I’ve worn him down. “I can’t show up to meet my client in these clothes.”
“In that case,” I say, “today is your lucky day.”
“How onearth,” Will says, “is today my lucky day?”
“Because you hitme.And I have an entire closet in my trunk.”
He eyes my body, hands clenching the handlebars tighter. “I don’t think you and I have the same style, Josie.”
