Page 44 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

Will leans a hip against the counter. “Very competitive, though. I thought when I beat Sula at Guess Who, she was gonna throw her game board.”

I grimace. “Yeah. Sula doesn’t like to lose. She’s pretty intense.”

“Sulais intense?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest. “Says the most competitive woman in the room.”

I gape. “What?”

“You did avictory laparound the table when you beat me.”

“It was a tight match,” I say primly, turning back to the sink. I turn on the water, press the water nozzle’s button to make it a power-washing spray, and start rinsing out the sink basin. “Can you blame me for celebrating my win?”

“A win,” he says, leaning in, “that you clinched because you referenced my fear of pigeons.”

“That was a fair play!”

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

“Sore loser!” Impulsively, I lift the spray nozzle and nail him in the chest.

Will’s mouth drops open. His eyes are wide.

As soon as I realize what I’ve done, my face does the same thing. “Oh, Will. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Will yanks the nozzle from me and nails me in the same spot.

I gasp. “Will Orsino!”

He laughs—laughs!—and it’s glorious, rich and deep, right from his belly. “Take that!” he crows.

I rip the nozzle back out of his hand and spray him in the face.

“Ack!” He wipes his eyes, then lunges for the nozzle.

Knowing I’m done for, I dart away as fast as my body can move, rounding the island. Will’s too fast, though. He leans over the counter and beans me, water spraying into my hair and down my neck.

“You turd!” I holler.

“Says the turd who started it!” he yells back.

I reach for the nozzle, but this time Will holds tight. My grip is weaker than it used to be, but even in my heyday, I would have been no match for him. Grunting with effort, I still try, attempting to pry his fingers from the nozzle. Will doesn’t budge, but he’s grunting, too. At least I’m making him work for it.

“Woman,” he yells, his voice breaking with a laugh. “Stop it! No more!”

The absurdity of the moment hits me, and I double over in laughter.

Will drops the nozzle as another belly laugh leaves him, too. I clasp his arm as I laugh harder, bent over and gasping for breath. “I’m sorry,” I wheeze. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He snorts, wiping more water from his face with his free hand. “Ah, no harm. I got you back.”

I stand, finally able to breathe, my laughter dying. I stare down at myself. “Blech.” I shake my hands, sending water droplets flying. “I’m so wet. I need to change.”

“Funny,” Will says. “I find myself in a similar predicament. Except I have nothing dry to change into.”

“Not true,” I tell him, starting down the hall toward the bedrooms. “Come on. I’ve got you covered.”

Will doesn’t immediately follow me, but a few seconds later, I hear his footfall not too far behind. I open the door to the room that used to be Bea’s, which I’ve now converted to an office. Bea’s old dresser is still here. She didn’t need it when she and Jamie moved into their place together—they bought a new one that fit all of their clothes.

Bending over, I drag open a drawer and riffle around for one of Christopher’s T-shirts. I find a soft white undershirt, then shove the drawer shut. When I stand and try to hand it to Will, he doesn’t take it. He just stands there, his brow furrowed.

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