Page 46 of Handle with Care
He glances over, bemused.
“Road.” I gesture at the motorway in front of us.
He glances back.
“Now you’re trying to get a greedy look in.”
Will turns off at the sign for Grantchester. Before long, we’re parked and walking to the Grantchester Meadows Tea Room, Will informs me. Soon, we entered the promised lush meadow, dotted with lounge chairs around tables, and we claim one for ourselves. There are lots of people around, tourists and students, judging by the number of bikes lying around and propped against the trees. We have tea and cake and bask in the warmth of the afternoon. I remember Will’s migraine from our last road trip.
“It’s not too bright or anything?” I ask over my lemon cake slice.
“No, this is great,” he assures me from beneath the brim of his navy sunhat. “I’m fine today.”
“Okay. Please let me know if that changes.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you.”
Satisfied, I nod and polish off the rest of my cake. Then, I fold my hands behind my head on the lounger, enjoying the sunbeam and also the sneaky admiring glance Will gives me.
“Now you can get all the greedy looks in you want,” I tease him.
Caught, he laughs, then looks at me, his face softening. “Well, Dylan. You’ve given me a lot to look at.”
“Ha. You’ve seen nothing yet. Plus, you haven’t seen me dance yet either. Not properly. Then you can see me in real action.”
Will chuckles. “I’m not sure there’s much dancing planned for the meadow, to be honest.”
“Real shame. You’ll need to use your imagination, then. But hey, I’m your meadow party boy.”
“Let’s go explore it,” Will suggests as we finish our tea. And soon, we’re walking along the River Cam beneath sunny July skies. The path is busy with walkers and cyclists enjoying the day. More than anything, I’m more than happy with Will in the hum of the afternoon. Even if my imagination is going wild about the things we could do in a meadow if there isn’t a crowd around.
“I went to Cambridge,” Will tells me. “For my economics degree.”
I nod as we pause beneath the shade of a tree on the outskirts of Cambridge. We pause to sit on a fence and take a break from the sun. Will takes some sunscreen out of his bag and appliesmore to his face and arms, then passes the tube over to me. I follow suit.
“Did you like it?” I ask, curious. “I mean, admittedly, I’m dying to know how you went from economics to a museum internship.”
“I did like it. But I have to admit it’s not my passion, though it’s interesting and useful. Economics can open a lot of doors.”
“Why the museum door?” I can’t help it, even if it fringes on rehashing our early arguments back at work over cronyism and the like. It’s dangerous territory, but it’s even more dangerous sitting so close to him. We’ve been very careful not to touch each other in case we fall back into the one-bed situation back in the hotel that time. And so he knows I’m not trying to rile him up, I put my hand over his between us on the fence.
His lips part, and he gives a soft huff. Will glances down at our hands, flushing in a delightful way as I look at him. He holds my gaze. There’s a lingering moment while we search each other’s eyes, trying to suss each other out. I could kiss him, here amid the expanse of fields and the flow of the Cam and the promise of the summer’s day.
Yet I hold back. And so does he.
“The museum door,” Will says at last, a little dazed. “It’s something I could be passionate about. With my family, we often went to museums. Gray is a gallerist, in Cambridge. He read Art History, though he’s now working in contemporary art. The whole art world felt forbidden to me. He was the proper artist, even though I drew a little too. I was the academic one. And the athlete.” Will gives me a solemn look at the confession. “So that’s how I went to the museum path in the end.”
“You’re totally free to do what you want.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Some of us don’t have as many options.”
It’s hard to imagine that, with the McLaren and doors opening for him so easily, but I don’t bring it up because that would provoke him. And I don’t want to provoke him quite that way. I’ll take a different route. Instead, I slide my hand gently up his forearm, enjoying the sensation of the firm, lithe muscle beneath his skin. When he shivers, I smile.
“Don’t underestimate your power,” he says softly, his gaze fixed on me till he looks away.
“Don’t underestimate yours.”
He shakes his head, exasperated. There’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
