David grins. “My kind of customer.” He slides down toward Camila, and the two of them switch back to Spanish again, their voices dropping low.
“Were you and Brooks close?” I ask Will.
His voice goes soft as he watches Brooks’s back. “We were best friends in high school.”
“You didn’t keep in touch?”
Will shakes his head. He says nothing for several seconds. Then he rubs a thumb over his lower lip and murmurs, “He’s the one my high school girlfriend dumped me for.”
My eyebrows jump into my hairline. “The girlfriend youlong-distance dated when we were seniors? The girlfriend who kept you so damn moody all the time?”
Will shoots me a look. “I wasn’t moody all the time.”
“Youwere.Do you want me to break out the references you won’t understand again?”
He shrugs, lips quirking. “Sure, why not.”
“You were James fromfolklore.You were Kylo Ren when he could see Rey through the force bond but couldn’t touch her. You were Zayn right before he left One Direction. You were—”
“I changed my mind,” Will interrupts.
I move on without a hitch. “I wonder if she and Brooks are still together.”
“They’re not,” Will says.
“You know this…”
“Because I have Instagram, Josie, you should try it sometime. It’s the perfect way to sate your curiosity about a person without having to speak to them.”
“I sometimeslikespeaking to people,” I inform him.
“From high school?” He shoots me a disbelieving look.
I ignore this and shift the conversation back to him. “So does that mean you’ve forgiven Brooks? For making a move on your girlfriend once you went to Nashville?”
“Of course I forgive him.” Will grabs a tortilla. “It’s been ten years since we were seventeen-year-olds. And anyway, it would be good to catch up with Brooks. I’m trying to…” He drifts off, ripping the tortilla in half.
“What?” I probe. Will aims a wary look at me. I flush. “Sorry. You don’t have to—”
Quickly, he says, voice ragged, “I’m trying to get back to the man I used to be. Actively trying. Every day, all the time.”
The man I used to be.It implies he wants to get away from the man he became.
I have so many follow-up questions, all of which, I’m pretty sure, are too personal for the relationship we’ve established.
Yesterday, while Will was “picking my brain” in one of the Revenant conference rooms, we buried our admissions from the Eberly dinner the night before and focused on work. On strategy. On Will becoming my professionalfixer.But now, two nights later, we’re right back to it. Big questions with vulnerable answers.
“Is it working?” I ask softly. “Getting back to your old self?”
His blue eyes slant in my direction, cascading up and down my face. “Yes and no. I feel more centered than I have in a long time. But I don’t think it’s possible to go back. You have to grab the pieces of yourself you want to hang on to and let go of the rest of it, then move forward anyway, the best you can.”
My lips pull up as his wisdom settles over me. “Will Grant,” I say. “You’re nothing at all like the other finance bros of my acquaintance.”
He smiles back, dimples flashing, eyes dancing. “That’s the point, Josie.” He turns back to the food in front of us, dipping his tortilla into the mole. “That’s the whole entire point.”
When we finish dinner, Cami heads home in our U-Haul to her and David’s house in North Loop after we relocate my bike to Will’s rental car. He drives me home, where my newly repaired SUV waits in the driveway.
“It’s like you were never there,” I joke, gesturing at the bumper. “I can’t believe you wanted toget rid ofthe imprint of your face on my car’s ass.”
