Page 57 of Handle with Care
“Stress is a trigger, yes. But life is stressful. Big fucking deal.”
At his unexpectedly bitter tone, which is very unlike the Will I’ve seen, at last I get very serious. I roll up close to him. He’s staring down at his laptop.
“Will,” I say softly. “If you don’t want to do this again, I’ll respect that. I’ll be disappointed, but I understand.”
“You… you said you have a no-boyfriend policy. And even if you didn’t have that, you’re only here for the summer. That’s what you told me. There’s no point in getting emotionally invested?—”
“Nobody said anything about emotional or any kind of investments.” I frown, my mouth tugging down. “All I said was we could do it again, casually, another time if we wanted. That’s it. You’re doing something with a cart in front of a horse. Possibly horses.”
He lifts his head to finally look at me, eye to eye. He’s close enough I could touch him.
“I don’t think we should—” he begins but stops instantly when the door opens. We both sit upright instantly as Lily walks in, folders under her arm.
She looks from Will to me. “I hope I’m not interrupting something important?—”
“We were planning a pickup—” Will blurts.
“I was telling him about what he missed—” I say at the same time.
Lily stares at us, as if she’s caught us wanking together.
“And I was, er, bringing Will up to speed,” I explain in the heavy silence. “As it turns out.”
Then I make myself stop talking and do my discreet best to wheel back to my laptop at the far end of the board room table. My chair creaks in the dead silence.
Lily sets down the stack of folders between us. “These are copies of the latest loans I’ve completed and the acquisitions ready for pickup. You can update your tracker. And we’ll need to add transfer receipts to the folder, and don’t forget to log all the exhibits once you’ve brought them on-site.”
“Of course,” I confirm quickly, ignoring the heat in my face. At last glance, Will is also having the same problem. “Have we missed anything?”
“No, but some of these objects are quite sensitive, and I only want to remind you. You both have been working wonderfully together on this project. I’m so pleased. Keep up the good work. But time is winding down with the closure of the main show at the end of next week. I hope you can pick these all up by end of day Friday. It’s important to keep on schedule. I know it will be a push.”
She smiles at us, pats the stack of folders, and walks out, leaving us staring at each other, the ticking clock the only sound in the room, as if it’s counting down to the end of the summer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The awkwardness soon settles in for the rest of the week between Will and me, like heavy clouds in Vancouver caught against the mountains during November, with its promise of unrelenting rain. We expertly navigate work through perfectly on-topic conversations. We plan pickups, coordinate drop-offs, complete the requisite paperwork.
On Thursday night, I cancel my impromptu distraction hookup, then delete and reinstall Grindr twice. I complain to Stephen over a video call before work, and after work to Russ over drinks. Stephen happily tells me there’s still most of London’s population of gay men for me to work through. Russ, by comparison, is more measured, and over his Guinness at the pub on Thursday night, he tells me he thinks it sounds more serious with Will than I’m making it out to be.
“But… it’s Will! Mr. McLaren! It’s not serious.” Even as I say it, it’s not believable to my ears either. “Shit.”
I clutch my now silvery-dyed hair with its white ends at our pub table, leaning on my elbows with my ale between them. It’s hard to say whether Stephen’s or Russ’s take is worse.
“What if…” Russ leans in. “What if you actually really like him?”
I make a sound that’s kind of like a squawk of betrayal. Or the sound of something feral. “No! That can’t be it. You’re wrong. No way, no chance. It was only one night of meaningless, frivolous sex. That’s it.”
“I saw you change three times before you went out on Saturday.” There’s a smile in Russ’s voice. “You wanted my opinion on what you were wearing, which you never do.”
“You,” I say, looking up at him at last, giving him an accusing look, “weren’t supposed to notice all that.”
“Sorry. Noticed.”
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” I moan, rubbing my face as I lean back in my chair, then start jiggling my foot. “C’mon. Seriously? No way. It’s not true. Besides, I’m leaving at the end of the summer.”
“Well, how about thinking of this another way. If you’re in such deep denial. What if it actually meant something to Will?”
I screw up my face. “Nah. He probably still secretly hates me.”
