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His eyes slide shut, his pale, silvery blond hair flopping back. His Adam’s apple juts out, dipping with a swallow, and then Ivy’s blocking him completely as she brings the makeup brush to his face.
My throat feels thick all of a sudden. I don’t realize how closely Will’s watching me, not until he grabs my upper arm, pulling me toward him.
Our chests bump, and I snap my head forward. We’re practically nose to nose, so I don’t miss how he flits glances between me and the scene behind me, a deep furrow forming between his brows.
Shit.
Without a word, he lowers his hand, tangling our fingers together. His deep blue eyes find mine, but whatever he’s thinking is a mystery to me, hidden by something I can only define aslove.
In fact, it’s getting a lot harder to see anything else when he looks at me.
Funny how that works.
He jerks his head to the side in a silent gesture to come on, before turning and leading me out of the room. His old bedroom. The room he spent the majority of his childhood in. The room that saw him grow into himself throughout his teenage years.
It’s a sad thought, knowing I’ll never get to meet all the versions of Will that existed. Ten years’ worth of experiences I’ll never be part of.
It’s ridiculous and absurd and probably super fucking melodramatic. But it’s sad, okay? It makes me sad. Fucking sue me.
A frown stitches my brows together as Will’s steps lead us toward the end of the hall, where he opens a door to a hidden flight of stairs. Music filters through the hall, coming from downstairs—a muffled heavy rock song I only vaguely recognize, but couldn’t put a name to. A voice—Mason’s—calls out something, but I can’t make out what it is. It’s followed by a high-pitched squeal that trails off into an infectious laugh.Phoebe.
We’re in Philly for the weekend, the whole lot of us, and Will’s parents were nice enough to let us all stay in their townhouse while they’re off vacationing in the Caribbean. It’s my third time here, but this is the first time he’s taken me up to the top floor.
The door closes behind us, sealing us in the dark, but it only lasts a second before a lightbulb buzzes to life, swinging over our heads. Will drops his hand from the chain he must’ve just pulled to turn it on. He reaches past me, not breaking our gazes, and twists the lock on the door with a softsnick.
My mouth twists, and my heart gives a mighty thump.
Keeping our hands locked, he flashes me a wink before turning around, and leading me up the stairs.
The floorboards creak under our boots. It’s musty, the scent of mothballs and sawdust cloying the stale air. When we reach the top, I pause with my foot on the landing, glancing around as I take in the sparsely furnished attic.
The floor matches the slatted walls and the peaked ceiling bowing over our heads. It tapers to a high enough point that we don’t have to crouch so long as we stay toward the center. Boxes line up along the walls, along with other various storage items, like lamp stands, mirrors, and paintings.
At one end of the attic, there’s a single window, and in front of it, there’s a weathered, blue plaid sofa lit up softly by the early morning light peeking in. On the floor in front of it, a gray rug.
It’s a cloudy day so far, but it’s supposed to clear up later. No chance of rain. It’s mid-June. Not yet summer. So it shouldn’t betoohot or humid for the parade today.
Will flicks me a quick look over his shoulder, and tips his head toward the couch. With a little tug of my hand, he starts leading me over.
It’s quiet, save for the soft thud of our boots padding across the floor, and the muffled sounds coming from outside. Cars whooshing by. An occasional shout, or horn beeping. Heavy bass music thumping from someone’s speakers.
Typical sounds one would expect in a city.
Rather than take a seat, Will comes to an abrupt stop and whirls toward me. Releasing my hand, he reaches up and clutches my face in his palms instead, catching me just as I stumble into him.
He ducks his gaze to meet mine head-on, his fingers brushing my neck, the cushiony spots of his thumbs cradling my jaw. “You know I love you, right?”
Wide-eyed, mouth gaping, I stare at him.
A small, knowing smile lifts his face.Way,he mouths, his full lips puckering and releasing like a kiss.
And my body just…wilts, stilling. The tension in my shoulders unfurls, my spine releases, and my racing thoughts grind to a stop.
The anxiety I almost forgot was there a moment ago…it retracts, like claws curling back. Sometimes, I get so lost in that restless, itchy, short-tempered feeling, I don’t even realize what it is I’m experiencing. As if that is my natural state, and this, relaxed and safe, is not.
Eyes and nose burning from the emotional whiplash, I nod jerkily in his hands. “Of course I do,” I whisper roughly. My eyes dart between his, like it’s critical I don’t miss even a single glint of emotion in either of those deep, ocean blue eyes.
His smiles turns gentle, if not sad. “Good. Now that that’s out of the way…” he says, releasing my cheeks to circle my wrists with his fingers instead. Each digit feels like a hot brand on my skin, a sharp contrast to the chills skittering down my neck and across my shoulders.
