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“Huge,” I answer, dropping into the seat beside him. “I’ll be rehearsing for this podcast I’m scheduled to be on. I’m a big deal, in case you weren’t aware.”
“I am quite aware of how substantial your deal is, Ms. Beach.” He smiles, then shakes his head. “Really? No date?”
It feels like Will Power and I are becoming friends, but we’re most definitely not the kind of friends who share relationship stories. So I will not be telling him that the idea of dating brings on nothing but discomfort since he’s the only man I’ve thought about since our first non-public meeting. I know he finds me attractive and appreciates my company, but it’s also clear that he has no interest in crossing a line from friends to … more than friends.
“I’m surprised that you’re surprised. I mean, what about you? It’s more surprising that a man of your,”—I pause for effect and lick my lips—“a manwithsuch an incredible ass, er, assets, isn’t out wining and dining Hollywood North starlets.”
Will rolls his eyes.
“Seriously, though,” I say, “how did Virginia Rainforest Beach manage to win the boss lottery?”
“You rigged the game and printed your own golden ticket.” Will pokes me in the side, so I grab his hand. Instead of withdrawing, he weaves his fingers with mine. “Stay for dinner?”
A thousand leafy pothos sway in my gut, cheering their support. I stare at our hands and all I can think is that Will has nicer cuticles and nails than I do, and that I really should wear gloves when I dig in soil, but then I wouldn’t be able to feel it and without that direct contact, I won’t know how healthy it is.
“Earth to Virginia.” Will breaks my trance. I pull my hand into my lap.
“Sorry. I was just noticing … never mind. Dinner? Um, uh—”
“Do you have other plans?”
I shake my head.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll have our in-house-chef prepare an extra meal. Is there anything you can’t eat? Any allergies or anything you don’t like?”
I shake my head again and Will picks up his phone.
“Hello, Marcy. Can you add a second meal to my delivery, please?” He smiles at me and nods. “What is it we’re having tonight?” He winks while he listens. “Sounds delightful. Thank you, Marcy.” Will slides his phone onto the coffee table and says, “You’re in luck. It’s pub night, Power style. Bison burgers on house-made sour dough buns, onion rings, twice cooked fries, a green salad with avocado and apple slices, and chocolate milkshakes for dessert.”
Until this moment, I’ve never felt uncomfortable with Will. I’ve acknowledged my feelings for him—lots of them—but never anything like this. This is more than an employer giving his broke contractor half of his giant sandwich. It’s like …
“Will, am I about to have a dinner date with the most eligible bachelor in the Western Hemisphere? Because if I am, I think I need a moment to process this.” I try to sound light and jokey, but inside my spirea bushes are uprooting themselves, jumping with joy.
“Most eligible bachelor in the Western Hemisphere?” He laughs from deep in his belly. “I have three single brothers who would challenge that assertion. And I wouldn’t argue. Of the four of us, I am, without a doubt, the least desirable Power brother.”
I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to challenge him, but he presses a remarkably soft index finger to my lips and says, “I’m an unapologetic workaholic. I’m on the road twice a year for at least two months. My sleep schedule would be impossible to live with. And,”—his playful energy nosedives—“I’ll be dead before I’m old enough to know the answer to life, the universe, and everything. So, no, not a date, simply dinner with a woman who reminds me that there’s more to life than being Will Power.”
My inner daffodils wilt. I’m not sure if I am sadder that Will doesn’t consider this a date or that he seems to truly believe he is undatable.
“I’ll stay for dinner on one condition—that we take our milkshakes outside and drink them in the park.”
Will crosses his arms and leans back. I can’t read whether he’s self-soothing, blocking, or considering. I’ve noticed over the last ten days that my ability to read him has muddied, that I’ve been overlaying his cues with my emotions, expectations, and hopes.
“You want fresh air? What if we go to the rooftop deck? Very fresh up there.”
“No, I want to walk in the grass. When was the last time you walked barefoot on actual earth? Do you know how important it is to connect to the earth, not through thirty stories of steel and concrete, but to actually touch the ground with your bare feet and connect to the energy of life?”
He scowls.
“You don’t believe me.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m sure there’s some study out there to support that idea. It’s just that … it’s not worth it for me to leave the building—”
“What are you talking about? Not worth it? Your physical health. Not worth it? Your mental health. Not worth it? Your—”
“It’s pseudoscience—”
“It’ssciencescience, you dummy.” I gently punch his thigh and he grabs my hand again. “You’ve told me you don’t sleep well. You said since May Day you haven’t slept through the night. Will, that’s over two months. Do this one thing for me. Take a walk in the park with me after dinner, and then tell me if you sleep better tonight. If you don’t, I’ll accept that the great Will Power is above science. But if youdosleep better, promise you’ll go for a walk outside in the real world with me after work at least three days a week until my contract ends. Deal?”
