I can tell Will’s fighting a smirk as he gets out to help with my bike. Every time I make him battle a smile, I add a tally mark in my head.
I meet him in the driveway and grab the handlebars from him. “You’re headed back to Manhattan in the morning?”
Will clears his throat in a semblance of a confirmation, backing away. “First thing.”
The question launches out of me before I can rethink it: “What are you going to tell Zoe?”
“The truth,” he says. I dig my fingernails into the handlebar tape. “Did you want me to pass on a message?”
“No,” I say quickly.
Will frowns. “She’d be happy to hear from you.”
He says it the way two people often promise to get together for lunch but never do. Like he means well but isn’t positive on the follow-through.
“Zoe made it clear she didn’t want to hear from me,” I say. “It may have been a long time ago, but I want to respect her boundaries.”
His frown deepens.
“You’ll be back in two weeks?” I hate the anxious note in my voice.He signed a contract. He’s not going to abandon me.
Will’s frown lapses into a gentle smile. “Next time you see me, I’ll be the walking encyclopedia of B Corp.”
I tilt my head. “Was that a joke?”
“No,” he clarifies.
“Oh, good. It wasn’t funny.”
Will laughs. Out loud.
“Did I just get you tolaugh?” I ask. “By saying you aren’t funny?”
“I’ve never claimed to be funny.”
“Just moody.”
“I’ve never claimed to be moody, either. And anyway, it’s not exactly a fair comparison, you to me.” He gestures between us.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because anyone compared to you would seem moody. You’re…”
“Chipper?”
“I was going to go withuplifting.”
“Madison Greenberg once told me I was aloof.”
“You can’t be aloofanduplifting?”
“Now or then?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you think I was uplifting then, or do you think I’m uplifting now?”
“Why not always?” he asks.
