Page 3 of The Honeymoon Hack
Someone laughed below, saying something about the London weather.
My heart leaped, and I bounced up from my chair. Darted to the mezzanine’s half-wall.
And there he was.
Will stood in the front lobby, backpack slung over one shoulder as he chatted with my brother, Emmett. His hair was longer than when he’d left, curling slightly at the edges of his collar. He looked tired but solid, real in a way video calls never quite captured.
For a second—okay, maybe a few minutes—I just stared, trying to reconcile the Will on my screen with the physical presence below.
He’d filled out, broader across the chest than when he’d left. Working out helped ease the stress over his mother, he’d said.The stubble along his jaw was new. But even from this distance, I could see his eyes were the same—warm and familiar, crinkling at the corners as he smiled at whatever Emmett was saying.
Unable to contain myself any longer, I called out, “Will!”
He looked around, eyes searching until they found me at the railing. His face broke into a wide smile that made the past year disappear. “Hey, stranger!”
Some part of my body decided to move. One moment I was upstairs, the next I was rushing down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
He met me halfway across the office, catching me in a hug that lifted me off the ground. I breathed in the scent of him—the same clean and fresh cologne he’d worn for years, washing over me. Spicy notes of black pepper and neroli, with a touch of cardamom hiding underneath it all.
I’d missed that smell.
“You’re back,” I mumbled against his neck.
His voice rumbled against my ear, his light British accent more pronounced after a year in England. “Indeed, I am.”
We pulled apart, and I couldn’t stop smiling up at him. A year of video calls and text messages was nothing compared to having my best friend standing in front of me again. Will had been my constant, my rock, since we were kids. The one who didn’t just finish my sentences, but my thoughts. Who built things for me to code. Who never made me feel strange for being exactly who I was.
This was how life was meant to be—Will and I, side by side.
“I missed you.” I’d said it before, but it was different now. He was here. I threw my arms around his neck again and pulled him close. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”
“Missed you too, Bug.” His arms tightened around me, calming every one of the butterflies left in my stomach. “More than you know.”
Chapter 2
Will
I held Brie tight,breathing in the familiar scent of her. Vanilla. She rarely wore perfume, but she always smelled like vanilla. A million different hand creams, every candle she ever bought, right down to her deodorant. If it wasn’t vanilla, it wasn’t my Brie.
Her grip around my neck was fierce, as if making up for twelve months of missed hugs in one go. Over her shoulder, I caught Emmett’s cocked eyebrow—the quintessential Reynolds signal of curiosity, silently asking for the rest of the story.
I ignored him. There wasn’t arest of the storyto tell.
The warmth of her embrace pushed back the exhaustion that had been riding my shoulders since dawn. This morning had been brutal—Mum was fine on the trip to Heathrow, but her confusion started when we boarded the Reynolds private jet. She’d asked three times how we were affording the trip.
There were moments of clarity when we arrived at the care facility, which led to her protests. She didn’t belong there. She didn’t need help. She was only sixty-three, and the place was full ofold people.
Then came the shift—her posture straightening, shoulders squaring, fingers finding her wedding band and twisting it round and round. Calling me by my father’s name. Asking when we were going home to Oxshott.
But Brie was solid and real in my arms, anchoring me to the way things used to be, like a year ago, when my father was still alive and hiding my mother’s illness.
Push it down, man.
“So,” I said, finally releasing her, “any chance I can see what you’ve done to my workspace?”
“Actually, it’s a bit of a mess,” she said, her big brown eyes bright behind her oversized glasses. “But let’s go.”
We headed for the stairs, my body feeling heavier than it should have. Jet lag, probably. Or the weight of leaving Mum behind. I concentrated on climbing the steps.
