Chapter Nineteen

· Nineteen ·

Juliet

Mom wraps me in a gentle hug, always gentle these days. The sting of that gentleness fades when she says, “Hi, birdie,” a nickname she and Dad use for me and my sisters that always makes me feel loved.

I melt into her hug. “Hi, Mom.”

Her gaze darts past me to Will as she pulls back. “And who is this?”

“Mom, this is my friend Will Orsino. Will, my mom, Maureen Wilmo—”

“Orsino!” Mom claps her hands on her cheeks. “Oh my goodness, you’re Isla’s son, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yes,” Will says, smiling nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I was expecting Mom to put the pieces together, especially considering Orsino is a rare last name. I imagine Will was, too. But I’m still not prepared, and I don’t think Will is either, for the moment she launches herself at him and wraps him in a hug.

“My goodness, let me look at you,” she says as she pulls back. “Isla’s gorgeous red hair.” Her hands land on his face, framing it. “Her incredible cheekbones, well, I think so at least, you’ve got an awfully thick beard, don’t you?”

“Mom.” I swat her gently. “Down, girl.”

Mom swats me back. “Oh, let me admire him. This is so nostalgic. So special. To see Isla and Grant’s kid, the product of that incredible summer—”

Dad clears his throat and smiles. Mom waves her hand. “It’s just the best surprise,” she says.

Dad offers his hand, and Will takes it. “Good to meet you, Will.”

“Dad, Will Orsino. My dad,” I tell Will. “Bill Wilmot.”

Will nods politely. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Dad grins, his eyes squinting behind his glasses as he smiles. “I always like a guy with the name William.”

I groan at the joke. Dad’s name, like Will’s, is short for William.

Will grins down at me.

“So,” Mom says. “What are you two up to? How did you meet?”

I tell her that Will is a friend of Christopher’s from college, how we met the morning after Christopher’s party a few weeks ago, our agreed narrative since we hatched our plan; that Will’s in the city on weekends doing work, and we decided to pay a visit to the conservatory. Straightforward and to the point.

“How nice,” Mom says. She gives me a squinty look, like she’s trying to sniff out the truths I’ve carefully omitted.

I just smile wide and bat my lashes. Who me? I have nothing to hide.

“Well, this is just too small a world,” she finally says, turning to Will. “I’d love to hear all about you. Get caught up on your parents. Oh, I just have to give Isla a call. She’ll be so thrilled you two met. Tell you what.” She claps her hands together and smiles wide. “Why don’t you come to family dinner?”

—

Will, of course, is too polite to say no. And he’s so polite, he offers to drive my parents, who rode the train in, back to their house.

Which is how we end up flying down the highway, Dad in the front seat picking Will’s brain about the mechanics of his electrical truck, a turn of events that Will, given his very enthusiastic, in-depth responses, seems all too pleased with.

I fend off my mother’s periodic knee squeezes and meaningful glances up front.

Just friends , I mouth.

Mom winks and mouths back, very sarcastically, Got it.

I roll my eyes.

The drive is smooth, not too heavy on traffic, and soon we’re walking into the house, Mom bustling into the kitchen, telling us to get comfortable and pour ourselves a drink.

Dad serves Will the water he asks for, since he’ll be driving home soon, and me a glass of white, because I won’t and I need something to fortify me while I navigate this surreal spin on the evening.

“So, Will,” Dad says, swirling his whiskey in its glass as we stand in the family room, pictures covering the wall that I keep catching Will glancing at, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Talk to me about casks—the charring process, I’m fascinated by it. If you don’t mind, that is,” he adds.

The front door opens, and in walk Jamie and Bea.

“Did I hear someone asking about oak casks?” Jamie calls.

Bea’s eyes widen as she clocks Will, then snap to me. I give her a deer in the headlights look that she reads perfectly, smoothing her expression and pasting on a smile.

Jamie immediately jumps into the conversation with Dad and Will. I drop back and whisper to Bea, “They found us at the conservatory, and before you know it, Mom’s invited Will to dinner and he’s driving us home.”

Bea searches my eyes, looking for answers to fill in the missing pieces. But I don’t have them, at least, none that I’m ready to share. “The conservatory, huh?”

She doesn’t say it, but I know what she’s thinking. Awfully romantic.

I flash what I hope is a convincing smile. “Turns out, we both like flowers!”

Relief rushes through me when she doesn’t press me, doesn’t call me out. She just clasps my hand in hers and says, “How about we go set the table?”

The door opens again as we cross the entranceway, Christopher holding the door for Kate. “Did I miss setting the table?” Kate asks hopefully.

“Nope!” Bea and I call.

Kate’s shoulders droop. “Damn.”

Christopher laughs as she shuts the door behind her. “Go help them, you menace.”

She throws him a glare. “ You help.”

He grins, leans in, and kisses her cheek. “You and the gals do this. The guys and I will take dish duty after dinner, while you put your feet up and eat as much dessert as you want. How’s that sound?”

She tries to hold her squinty glare, but it falls, and a dreamy smile replaces it. “Fine,” she sighs.

Christopher steals one more kiss, this time on the lips— ew —and strolls off, joining the guys.

Kate gets one look at Will in the mix and immediately glances my way. “Um, what’s he—”

“Come on,” I tell her, taking her by the hand. “I’ll fill you in while we set the table.”

—

Somehow, dinner flows effortlessly. Will’s more reserved than Jamie and Christopher, but that’s to be expected. He’s new to the dynamic, and we’re a rowdy bunch. I remember when Jamie was that way, too, everything about him perfectly polished and tidy, sitting ramrod straight at the table, so painfully polite, when he and Bea were first together, and look at him now, elbows on the table, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed, cheeks flushed pink, as he laughs at something Dad says.

I catch Will’s eye and wink. He winks back, or at least, I think he tries to, but it’s more of a concerted, two-eyed blink.

I smile.

And then I feel the tiniest, painful pinch right in my heart. Because this evening feels so good, so right, I never want it to end.

But it will. And soon.

—

Arms across my chest, I walk out onto my parents’ porch, Will behind me, answering my parents’ calls good night and waving before he shuts the door behind him.

Facing me, Will blows out a breath. “Well. That was a curveball.”

I snort, rubbing my hands against my shoulders. The temperature’s dropped, and there’s a chill in the air that’s giving me goose bumps. “Ya think?”

“I’d say we managed that pretty well.”

I smile up at him. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Definitely not what I had in mind for a third date,” he says, “but then again, real life is like that, right? Unexpected twists. It’s good practice, figuring out how to roll with it.”

The reminder—that this is practice, that all of this is, makes my smile slip, just for a moment, before I manage to tack it back up and meet Will’s eyes.

He’s watching me, his gaze intent. “I really like your parents.”

“They’re a lot,” I tell him.

He shrugs. “So are mine. Well, my dad, not so much. He’s generally pretty chill and quiet, but get a couple whiskeys in him”—he snaps his fingers—“he’s the life of the party.”

I laugh. “He sounds fun.”

“He is,” Will says. “You’d like him.” He pauses, then says, “He’d like you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” Will grins. Then he blows out a breath. “I don’t think your dad hates me. Which is nice.”

I bite my lip. Will doesn’t have to care what my dad thinks of him, but he does. I find it impossibly sweet. “You kidding me? You took him on a deep dive through the history of whiskey distillation. You answered every question he had about your electrical truck. He adores you.”

“We might have swapped numbers,” Will admits.

My mouth drops open. “Seriously?”

Will grimaces. “He asked! I couldn’t say no. Plus…I like the guy.”

“Juliet!” Mom calls from inside, her footsteps sounding as she walks closer. “Don’t let that beau of yours leave without taking some dessert!”

“You hear that?” Will wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m your beau.”

I groan, mortified. “I swear I told her eight times we’re just friends.”

Mom pops her head out, holding a container of trifle filled with summer berries. Will takes it, then says, “Thank you very much, Mrs. Wilmot. I appreciate it.”

Mom’s cheeks turn pink. “Please, I told you to call me Maureen! And it’s no trouble. Now, you drive home safe and give Isla and Grant a big hug for me, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mom clutches her chest and sighs. “So polite.”

“Get back inside, would you?” I gently nudge her in, pulling the door shut, before I turn back to Will. “You’ve got my mom wrapped around your finger, too.”

Will smiles, and there it is, wide and rare, revealing his straight white teeth, setting the handsome crinkles in his eyes.

“What are you grinning about, huh?” I poke him in the chest, a smile breaking across my face, too.

Will clasps my fingers and holds them against his heart as he peers down at me, his smile fading to something soft, something that seems…almost tender. “I had a great time tonight.”

“I did, too,” I tell him.

Gently, he lets go of my hand and takes a step back, then another, before he turns and jogs down the steps.

“Text me when you’re home safe?” I yell.

“Will do!” he calls over his shoulder.

“And make it flirty!” I hiss-whisper, loud enough that I hope he can hear.

When he glances back again, I know he has. He winks in that way of his—a double blink, eyes crinkled. “I’ll give it a try.”