Page 36 of Handle with Care
We fall quiet.
It’s a very reasonable idea. But why do I also feel a loss at the same time? It’s not like I’m looking for anything more than a date or a hookup. Least of all with Will, who is out of the league of mere mortals like me and the rest of us on Earth, frankly. There’s no way that’s happening this lifetime, even if I wanted it. Which I don’t.
Our fingers brush as we reach for more sparkling water, and we both yank back at the same time.
“Sorry,” I blurt.
“My mistake,” Will says at the same time, flushing.
This is going to be just fine.
We stand by the Land Rover. Well, Will stands as I put the picnic food and blanket in the back. He walks a small circle, takes his—my—hat off, and runs a hand through his hair. He’s not looking well.
I sit against the bumper with the hatch open, considering him as he stops again and tosses the hat in the back.
“What do you want to do?” I ask. “How’re you feeling?”
“Let’s get back to London.” Will pulls the keys out of his pocket, fidgeting with them. He’s giving me another squinty look, even through his sunglasses.
“You’re okay to drive?” I ask, skeptical. “Because you don’t seem okay.”
Will bristles. “I’m fine.” Then he sits beside me, carefully not touching, and sighs. “Please give me a minute.”
I shake my head. “Listen. We can get another room somewhere around here. Two rooms, even. And go back tomorrow?—”
“No. We should get back today.”
“’Kay. Or, you know, I could drive—” I offer.
“No way.”
I frown at him. “I’m not exactly feeling reassured about your ability to drive all the way to London.”
“I got us here, didn’t I?”
“A little country lane is not the same as the highway. For hours and hours.” I sigh. “Listen. Believe it or not, I have a driver’s license, and I’m an excellent driver, for the record. And yeah, I might not be on your insurance, but I’m not going tocrash your car. And fuck, even if I did, I’m sure you could afford it?—”
He reddens. “Not a chance. You’re not used to right-hand drive.”
“They rent cars to tourists here all the time,” I point out. “It’s not that different. Except your Land Rover’s probably fancier than the average rental, I’ll give you that. But I promise to be extra careful?—”
“There’s no way you’ll be able to navigate London. It’s a nightmare at the best of times?—”
“That’s what the GPS is for,” I say cheerfully. “Unless you want to go somewhere else? I mean, it would be nice to get home if we’re going all that way.”
Will’s quiet, considering. He takes off his sunglasses and wearily rubs his eyes.
“Keys,” I say sternly, holding out my hand. “There’s no way you’re driving.”
“I guess you’re right. I still have an aura. I think.” Reluctantly, he drops his keys in my hand with a jangle.
“I don’t even know what that means, but I’m glad you’re finally seeing some sense.”
“Migraine aura. It’s a visual thing. Usually, they’re gone by now. Or maybe it’s another one.”
“Double glad I’m driving.” I give him a sidelong glance. He’s back to pale again. Probably too much brightness and he didn’t want to complain about it. Shit. “So, home?”
“Maybe… maybe Cambridge?” Will thinks aloud. “Maybe you can drive to the station. You can get the express train to London from there in an hour. And my parents or someone can come and drive me to their home if I’m not feeling better by then.”
