Page 42 of Handle with Care
As predicted, it’s four long days until Saturday. Scientists have to be studying this phenomenon because it’s the longest four days ever known to humankind. I’m sure I’ve visibly aged, twice. Will, though, remains stunning, because of course he is.
To keep up his reputation at work among our colleagues as agreed, he leaves not only a paper jam but a couple of dirty mugs in the kitchen, which spurs a flurry of passive-aggressive notes over the sink (your mother doesn’t work here, pick up after yourself) and a fresh round of grumbles about Will. Or, as I whisper to Nancy once, Mr. McLaren. Except this time, it feels like betrayal, especially after our confrontation weeks ago, and I can’t bring myself to call him that again.
Instead, I make sure not to call him by his name at all because calling him Will feels too intimate. Instead, I say to Lily things like “we’re going out now for our collections” or “we’ll be back by 4:30 p.m.” At our team meeting, Will shows up without a pen, and he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, languid. For effect, I roll my eyes at him.
On Friday afternoon, as we swelter at the end of the day in the boardroom goldfish bowl, or better yet, our terrarium fullyexposed to the sun, I can’t help but play some vintage Nelly and dance along for a moment. I’m rewarded with a wry look from Will, which definitely makes it worthwhile. I give him a wide-eyed look, but the smile he gives melts me.
As we pack up, I at last cave. The boardroom door is closed. And so, emboldened, I ask him for his number.
“For tomorrow. We’re still on?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can manage.
“Yes.” And he gives me his number and a level look. But I can tell he’s entertained at least by my antics. Maybe it’s a hint of a smile on his lips or a glimmer in his eyes or the way he stands, leaning ever so slightly towards me.
“We’re going dancing?” I ask archly as I send him a text so he has my number too.
“No.” Will shakes his head as his phone chimes. “No dancing.”
“What time, then?”
He considers. “How’s 11:00 a.m.? I’ll come get you.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously because of 11:00 a.m. or seriously because I’ll pick you up?”
I consider for a long moment, rubbing the back of my neck as I take in the sight of him. Will’s a bit more rumpled with the heat but still cuts an admirable figure, and I’m frankly admiring. “Both.”
“Is that too early?” He looks tentative then before he slides his laptop into his bag. “And it’s no bother to get you, for the record.”
“No, no. I’ll live,” I tease. “I’ll have a lie-in some other day. And thanks for the lift.”
God knows if this is an overnight date. I don’t dare ask. If only we were stranded out of town again, without the migraine this time. Like in, say, a convenient summer snowstorm.
“Should I… bring anything?” I ask.
“Like what?” He peers at me.
It’s my turn to look flustered. By some miracle, I keep from blurting out anything about condoms. “Well, I don’t know what you have planned. Other than it’s not dancing.”
Will considers me. “Pack a light jacket in case the weather changes and maybe not dress shoes.”
“So you’re saying the Savoy is out, then?”
He shakes his head at me and slings his leather messenger bag over his shoulder. Will looks like something out of a premium fashion line that Lily’s curating for the show. “The Savoy is out, it’s true. Sorry to disappoint. I’m an intern, after all.”
“Damn. I’d say another time, but I know this is a one-off.”
Will nods acknowledgment. “Possibly bring a hat.”
“A hat? Like one of those avant-garde hats you’d wear to a royal wedding?”
He rolls his eyes. “More like something to shade you from the sun, with a brim. Like Jacquemus. Or your hat from when we went up north.”
“Where are you taking me? Like out on some expedition? I mean, you do have the Land Rover, after all. Except I don’t have a pith helmet like some nineteenth-century expedition party member.”
“I promise we’re not going anywhere requiring a pith helmet. We will attend no archaeological excavations. For which, I must say, you would require PPE and not the latest in colonial wear.”
“Zing,” I say, impressed. “That hurt. Fine, fine.” I grab my backpack, toss my empty water bottle inside. “11:00 a.m. tomorrow. Rain or shine?”
