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“By the skin of our teeth,” he says without emotion.

He looks so frustrated, I pity him.

“And the people who do remain are—for the most part—loyal and talented. We may not be Sterling, of course, but the people at Pennington do love their jobs. We’re even, in our own odd sort of way, like a family.” I smile good-humoredly. “Even with Giselle being the classic wicked stepsister. We’re going to come out of this. You’ll see.”

His expression shifts as I talk—an expression that for some reason makes my spine start to tingle. The fury in his eyes isn’t totally dissipated; it’s more like embers now, glowing in the background. They’re clearly going to be burning for a long time. But there’s now a sort of thoughtfulness in his eyes, too, as he gazes into my own.

Somewhere in the distance “Big Green Tractor” starts to play. Out of the corner of my eye I see a couple of people shuffling closer, eyeing the dartboard enviously.

“Well,” I say after a long pause. “I think we may need a new game.”

There’s another long pause, and we both just look at each other, trying to sort out how the next moment will go. It seems like we’re standing on a scale, trying to decide in the middle of a millisecond our next move. On the one hand something feels decidedly off—me chatting with the boss, sharing secrets. Talking too much. But on the other hand . . . the more tempting hand . . . it’s nice here. Cozy.

We both hear a phone ringing from his pocket, and after some hesitation, Will pulls it out. He looks at the name on the screen for a moment, then at me. “I probably should get going,” he says.

“Me too,” I agree—all too readily. I gather my things.

As we move back onto the street, I feel the ambience shifting, the evening festivities coming to a close despite the continued party around us. Will shoves both hands into his pockets.

Almost like we’re in high school and he’s walking me home.

But why?

The thoughts continue, pestering me as we head back to the Polar Star. What exactly made Will come here tonight, alone? Who exactly called him, telling him it was time to leave?

The buzzing on his phone was the reality check that he has a life behind a door I haven’t been welcomed through yet. Perhaps will never be.

The thought disappoints me, silly as it is, and I scrabble to ignore it.

“So,” I say, not even sure where the rest of my sentence is going to go. “I never got to ask you any questions.”

“I suppose you didn’t,” he replies, nodding to the men on either side of the door as we brandish our IDs.

A part of me feels my spirits lift as I realize he’s coming in behind me. He’s coming inside, not parting ways at the sidewalk and drifting off into the stream of traffic.

Up the narrow stairs to the restaurant’s main floor. He’s not leaving. Yet.

And for the first moment of our acquaintance, I admit to myself, just a little, how aware I am of Will Pennington. He’s scary, sure. Terribly intimidating when he stands at the podium, looking over the group of us with a sort of intense weariness that says, What am I going to do with this lot? But . . . he’s playful too. Spontaneous. Fun. He clearly doesn’t just live for work all the time.

He can’t be but a few years older than me, but he’s like a grownup, a real grownup who dresses the part, acts the part, is the part. Unlike me, who rents a room from my younger sister, chases after outlandish and unpredictable dreams like writing, and has a real fear that someone will discover I still have no clue how taxes work. I’m just a kid playing in an adult’s body.

Will, on the other hand . . .

I glance back, see the way his wavy hair lifts carelessly to one side. A touch of hair product on it. Just enough to style, not enough to overwhelm.

He’s truly . . . a man.

“So,” I continue, holding the railing as I move up the stairs. “Do you like country music?”

It’s the worst, the lamest, question in all the world, but it’s all I can think of as I reach the top step.

“Hate it.”

“There you are!”

I halt. Because there, standing right in front of us, is Giselle.

Chapter 12