Page 87 of Handle with Care
“Let’s go in, see if we can track Will down.” Gray nods at the house a couple of minutes later after he finishes texting. He slides his phone into his pocket.
We walk into an impressive entrance hall with lofty timbered ceilings. A golden retriever comes to greet us, tail wagging.
“That’s Millie.” Gray crouches to pet her. “She’s the best girl.”
Millie wags her tail enthusiastically in agreement.
“There’re also a couple of cats around,” he says.
We walk through the house to the large country kitchen at the back, complete with farmhouse sink and dine-in pine table with eight mismatched wooden chairs around it. It looks comfortable and lived-in and warm. The view beyond is amazing, to a drystone wall encircling the expansive garden around the house, which includes a pool.
Gray peeks out the back door. “I think he’s out there.”
Which seems to be a reasonable place to be on a sunny, warm afternoon. I don’t see Will at first, and then Gray points him out on the far side of the pool under the shade of a tree, seated on a bench. He’s a dark shadow beneath broad branches, a pale blanket around his shoulders, head down.
“Let’s try our luck,” Gray says cheerfully, leading the way.
Good thing he’s taken charge, too, because at the minute, I have an incredible moment of imposter syndrome that if theyknew I was living from paycheck to paycheck on my intern stipend, I’d be booted out of not only this beautiful estate, but right back to my student digs in Canada. I gulp down my nerves.
This is an outrageous thing to do, hunt down Will’s brother and not even text that I found him and was coming to his family home. Though, to be fair, Will has studiously ignored my texts for most of the week, so there’s no reason to think he might do anything different now.
We walk around the pool, past vibrant flower beds and shrubs, toward rosebushes near where Will sits on a wooden bench. He’s wearing a dark navy sunhat that I recognize, with a string under the chin secured against the breeze. Will’s reading a book, and he lowers his book as he sees us approaching.
He looks stunned. Not happy. Not angry. Shocked. He stares, glancing from me to a pointed look at Gray.
“Dylan found me,” Gray says lightly, explaining how I’ve manifested. “I thought it might be a good idea for you two to catch up.”
Will gives his brother a warning look like a summer storm, frowning.
Shit. Bad idea to show up unannounced.
Will sets his novel down beside him, something thick and literary-looking, and he pulls the blanket tight. Then I notice the crutches beside him, leaning against the side of the wooden garden bench. There’s a U shape of chairs, including a swinging bench and another more traditional wooden garden bench, the wood silvering from the elements.
Gray pauses, hands on his hips as he considers his brother. Will still stares at him.
“Dylan can’t see me like this,” Will protests, flushing.
It kills me to see him so upset.
“It’s fine, old bean. Don’t worry.” Gray gives him an easy smile.
“Hi,” I offer tentatively to Will. My heart’s in my mouth again. This was a terrible idea. But I’m committed now. Plus, I have no idea how to get out of this place even if I wanted to. “I… well… you weren’t returning my calls. And… and I really need to talk to you.”
This sounded way smoother in my head. Too bad my rehearsals didn’t pan out.
Will’s gaze is fixed on me.
“Right, that’s my cue to leave you two to it. And Mum’s still in her meeting, by the way. Dylan, you will stay for dinner, won’t you?” Gray gives his brother a nod, claps my shoulder, then turns to retreat back to the house.
Leaving me alone with Will and all the awkward in the world.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Sorry.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, my voice meek. “I didn’t mean to intrude. But I’ve been losing my mind this week, worried about you since you went dark after the meeting with the director and Lily.”
Will’s definitely sending the sort of energy that doesn’t equal dinner-invite vibes. Or any sort of invite. He folds his arms tight across his chest after he takes off his hat. He’s pale. He doesn’t say anything. His knuckles are white as he grips the throw blanket around his shoulders.
Tentatively, I take a seat on the other wooden bench at a right angle to Will’s bench, no matter how tempting the swing might be. I search his eyes, looking for the Will I know. And want. Instead, he looks hollow.
