Is She Really Going Out with Him?

Chapter 19

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The next time I see Will, he’s sitting in a coffee shop laughing with someone. I’m walking past and he’s in the window, impossible to miss. I’m surprised to see him in this part of town. He doesn’t live anywhere near here. Then I recognize his coffee companion—Deedee. They’re laughing together; she has her hand on his arm as Will shows her something on his phone.

My body tenses, in anger or jealousy, I’m not sure. Logically, I know I have no right to feel aggrieved. Nothing really happened between us, I don’t have a claim on him. He’s writing a column about dating other women. But this feels different. He told me he doesn’t go on more than two dates unless he thinks it could be serious, so is this something serious? Why would he be meeting her all the way out here and why was he so cagey when she called him in the car? Tucking myself around the next street corner, I can’t help testing a theory. I pull out my phone and call him. He picks up after two rings.

“Hi, Anna,” he says, his voice warm, almost affectionate.

“Hey. I’m on my way to the office, I’m passing Colonna it’s too hot. My shirt feels as though it’s clinging to me, and my neck tingles with heat.

“There’s this tech-free retreat,” Will explains. “It’s up in the Mendip Hills, they want a local journalist to write a review. You go off-grid for forty-eight hours in a bid to ‘connect with each other more deeply.’?” He pauses, dropping his gaze to the floor, then lowering his voice. “It’s a couples’ thing.”

“Sorry, what? A romantic retreat? You and me?” I ask, then when he nods, I frown. “Was this your idea?”

Will laughs. “Anna, if I wanted to get you alone, I wouldn’t have to pitch some lame dating retreat to the Times to do it.” Okay, so that put me in my place. He shakes his head. “Obviously it wouldn’t be a real date if that’s what you’re worried about. We would just need to write it up that way.” He pauses, fixing me with a perplexed look. “Have I done something to upset you? Cinnamon bun too cinnamony for you?”

“No, I’m just stretched as it is, and this is one more thing, one more weekend away. You should have consulted me first.”

“I can take someone else,” he offers, and I wonder if that’s what he wants.

“But it’s my column idea they like? They want both of us?” I ask, and he nods. “I’ll make it work. Just send me the e-mail.”

“It’s in your inbox already.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” We glare at each other, the fizz morphing back into friction. He’s right, this is a great opportunity. I’m just annoyed because he’s sprung it on me, because he lied about Deedee and it makes me wonder what else he might be lying about. I don’t trust him. Or maybe it’s that I don’t trust myself to spend a whole weekend with him.

Looking into his swirling green eyes, at his dark lashes, I remember his words on the phone, saying he thought I was beautiful. My eyes fall to his lips and my breath catches in my throat. I need to get out of here. Will doesn’t make a move to leave, so I reach past him for the door handle, my arm brushing against his hip in my hurry to leave. He turns sideways to move out of my way, but then I appear to have forgotten how door handles work, as I turn it from left to right and nothing seems to happen.

“Let me,” he says, putting his hand over mine on the knob, gently twisting it, tugging it, and then finally the door is open. I lurch into the corridor, like a greyhound released from its pen, and don’t dare look back as I cradle the hand that feels marked by his.