Page 52 of Handle with Care
Chapter Twenty
I’m the first to wake, but I lie still as I memorize this morning. The way the sun fills Will’s room with a warm yellow glow. The dancing green of the trees beyond his window as the leaves stir with the breeze. Most of all, there’s the amazing warmth of him in my arms and the soft sound of his breathing. There’s the sensation of his hair tickling my jaw as he remains curled into my side, his arm curved over my chest.
I don’t know how long I stay like that, till he finally wakes. I watch him take stock too. “Good morning,” I whisper.
He gives me a sleepy smile. “Good morning.”
“Bad news. We screwed up on midnight, I’m afraid.”
He laughs, then shifts to look at me. I reach out to lightly rake his jaw and stubble with my fingernails. “I suppose you’re right.”
I search his eyes, looking for clues. “No regrets, I hope.”
Will’s smile is wry. “No regrets.”
There’s something that feels like a pause because I sense he’s not quite up for a repeat.
“But?” I press.
“There’s no but.” I trace his shoulder as he shivers at my touch. “God. Dylan.”
“I’m not actually a god, contrary to popular opinion. But I’m personally really glad you think I am.”
When he laughs again, it’s thrilling. Like a choice reward, knowing that in the moment, he’s happy and at ease. Because I can tell he’s even more gifted at overthinking than I am. “Maybe a lesser deity, then.”
“Lesser! How about greater?”
His grin lights up his face as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The sight of him is delicious: his toned body, the light down that covers his chest. Even the pinkness of his skin from yesterday’s sun. Then he shakes his head at me, resting a hand on my chest. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“What do you want to do?” I search his eyes like there’s a way to decode his mood from sight alone. “Kick me out of your bed for stealing the blankets?”
“Maybe make tea.”
“Or coffee?”
“Or coffee,” he confirms, shifting to the side of the bed. He fumbles in the bottom drawer for boxers. Will sits on the edge of the bed to pull them on, puts on some pajama bottoms, then leans to put on his leg. When he stands, I’m rewarded with the glorious sight of him standing in sunlight like something a sculptor created.
“Mind if I borrow a T-shirt or boxers or something?” I ask after I realize I’m staring.
“Of course.”
Soon, we’re in his sun-filled kitchen. Will makes tea and coffee. He’s in full-length plaid pajama bottoms, with the bare foot of his prosthetic exposed. We’re quiet, as I sense him turning more pensive again when we sit at the kitchen table by the window at the end of the kitchen.
“I’ll need to go to my parents’ for dinner tonight,” he says. “It’s tradition. Or I could say I’m not feeling well and skip it.”
I shake my head. “No, no. Don’t skip on account of me. It’s enviable, actually.”
He blinks, looking surprised. “Is it?”
“Yes.” I hesitate for a moment. “I don’t have parents or a brother or sister to share a meal with. So you should spend the time together when you can. If you all get along, that is.”
There’s a question in his eyes, but he’s too polite to ask. I decide to explain since there’s nothing to lose. “I lost my mom a few years ago, I think I mentioned. And my father hasn’t been in my life. Not since I was a toddler.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. She had an undiagnosed heart condition, it turns out. I stayed with my grandma when my mom passed, when I was fourteen. Then I moved out when I was seventeen.”
He looks surprised. “That’s a lot to happen so young.”
