Page 62 of All Your Fault

Will slid a glass over to me on the floor between two fingers. Somehow that was sexy too. I looked away. Focus.

“Would I like Graydon better than your friend Eli?”

I felt him pause beside me. I felt like a jerk for throwing that out there, but if I didn’t, this night would turn into something else entirely.

“Eli’s going through a rough patch.”

“So is Reese, thanks to him.”

“So are you.”

Heat rose in my cheeks.

“To good wine,” Will said, “or something else?”

I thought about it for a moment. To lost dreams? To burnt pizza?

To asking Will for more help.

Finally, I said, “To turning things around.”

Will gave me this strange little nod. He lifted his glass and we clinked, the sound loud in the silence. From beyond the kitchen walls, I could hear the movie in the other room. I met Will’s eye, and for a moment, we held each other’s gaze. Then I got self-conscious. I hadn’t even thought to take a look in the mirror. My hair was probably a nightmare. I knew I had flour and burnt pizza bits all over me.

I took a sip of wine.

“Oh god,” I said, leaning back and closing my eyes. I took another, this one long and luxurious.

“That good?” he asked. His voice had shifted to something like gruffness.

“Sensational. Deep and rich and oaky. It’s melting on my tongue.”

I opened my eyes. Will was looking right at me. A flame licked across my skin.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper.

But I felt like everything was getting away from me. My eyes were locked on his.

Tell him.

“Michelle—”

“Will—”

We’d spoken at the same time. “You first,” he said.

I swallowed. I needed to say it now. Before I chickened out again. “I don’t know if you saw my recent post—the one with you in it?”

“I saw it,” he said, surprising me.

“Right.” I tore my eyes away. I couldn’t look at him while I said this. “Well. You might have noticed that my readers got a little… excited to see a strange man in the photos.”

“Yeah… it made me think you’ve got a food blog with readers who might not care all that much about food.”

I stiffened at that. “They do. I’m going to help them see that they do.”

“How?” He took a sip of wine. He was upset, I realized.

Too late to do anything about that now. “Well… I was hoping you’d go on another date with me,” I said. “I meanadate.”

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