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My face twists in half pleasure, half embarrassment. “You caught me off guard.”In more ways than one.
“I—Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I figured you wouldn’t want to talk to me, and I brought something for you and—” He sighs and shakes his head. “How’s your wrist, by the way?”
This is awkward.
I look down at my left hand and twist it in the air. “Good. It was just a sprain, so I had it wrapped up for just a couple of weeks. All back to normal.” I give him some spirit fingers, which makes him smile tightly.
So awkward.
He makes a little frustrated groan noise. “We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to. I can leave now. Leave you alone to your dinner. And to this.” He laughs once, sheepish, nervous, as he hands me my takeout and a blue bakery box with the wordsAnnie Rose Cookie Designson top.
I gasp.
“You got me Annie Rose cookies?” I ask, practically tossing my dinner onto the kitchen counter, hunger completely forgotten, so I can properly hold the luxurious box with two hands. I don’t want to risk dropping it and breaking what’s bound to be a set of the most gorgeous cookies inside. I stare at it in awe, admiring the shimmering box and silver foil logo.
“I did, yes.” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “I, uh, actually reached out to her a few months ago, but was only able to get her to make these last week. She has a massive waitlist. Turns out you were right: there is such a thing as a cookie influencer.”
“I told you,” I say with a small smile.
He smiles back. “You did. And it was a little crazy to me to see how in-demand she is for commissions.” He laughs once.
My eyes snap up to him. “Commissions? You had these commissioned? You didn’t buy her regular designs?”
Will looks down at the box, rolling his lips with his brows pulled together. “No, I didn’t buy her regular designs,” he says quietly. “I asked her to do something special. For you. Forus, actually. They were meant to be a gift for when I—” But he cuts himself off. “But it doesn’t matter now.”
“For when you what?”
Will clears his throat once and meets my gaze, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “I signed up months ago before I blew things up between us. I was going to give them to you when… When I said I love you for the first time. It was something I had planned out, but then… Well, you know what happened.”
I look down at the box again, my throat constricting. God, what is it abouthimandusandthisthat makes it impossible for me to breathe?
“Either way, they wouldn’t have been ready on time. I was practically bursting at the seams before our fight, trying not to say it before I could get off the waitlist. There was no way I was going to last another week before I blurted it out, let alone a couple of months.” He huffs. “I’m not ecstatic abouthowit came out—I would’ve rather accidentally told you in the middle of making love to you or a romantic moment instead of while I was begging for forgiveness.” He sighs and shakes his head while I remember how awful hearing him say he loved me back felt. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. It wasn’t supposed to be in a situation where he was trying to apologize for hiding part of who he was.
“Oh.” It’s all I can say.
I want to ask more questions—the kinds that have been burning inside me after weeks of mutual radio silence. Mostly, I want to ask whether he still feels the same way. But what does it mean that I want him to still feel the same way? What does it mean that of everything I need clarification on, this is the one thing that screams above all others?
“These must’ve cost you a fortune,” I say.
“They were more than worth it.”
Right. I forgot he’s probably loaded—CFO and all that.
“I guess you can afford it.” Immediately I grimace because I didn’t mean to bring it up—I really didn’t. But the ease with which he was able to drop what is likely to be a couple thousand dollars on justcookies(because no matter what Will thinks, Annie Rose is a big deal) just serves as a reminder of his lies. Or omissions.
He huffs once, frustrated. “You know I’m not that guy, right? I may have…misledyou about my job, but I’m not the type of guy to give a shit about money. The car and driver, the fancy apartment—yes, there was a fancy apartment, and yes, that’s why we always stayed at yours—those were paid for by the company. And any money I made all went into paying off my mother’s medical debt and growing a savings account in case of emergencies. I’m not—” He stops to run his hands through his hair. “I’m not like that. I’m not that guy. I don’t care about fancy shit.Yes, I spent a lot of money on these cookies. But I’m crazy about you—fucking gone in love with you—and this qualified as an emergency to me.”
I can’t help the small, cautious smile that spreads across my face. “I know you’re not that guy, Will. I know who you are.”
He inhales sharply, because he knows what I said carries more weight than it would’ve just a few months ago.
“You do?”
I sigh, defeated. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“I never used my powers for evil, Bridge. Except— Except maybe once.”
I raise a brow, surprised. “Once?”
