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“Hey,” said Will from behind me.

I jumped, startled, whacking my head hard against the shelf above.

“Ow!” I exclaimed, as jars rattled and food packets rained down around me. Pain radiated through my skull.

“Jesus, Michelle!” Will said, rushing over as I slumped down onto my knees.

He knelt beside me. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes squeezed shut as I gripped the back of my head in my hands. “This is all your fault, Will.” I tried a smile to show him I was kidding, but it hurt too much.

“It is, actually,” he said, his voice serious. “Let me see.”

“No,” I said, fast. I couldn’t have him touch me. It would be too hard. Too confusing.

Will went stiff for a moment, then stood up.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I moved to get up but pain shot through my head again making me suck in air.

“I should take you to the clinic. The one in Barkley Falls should still be open—”

“It’s fine. Just a goose egg.”

Will inspected me for a moment but seemed to accept that I wasn’t going to bleed out on the kitchen floor.

“What were you looking for in there anyway?”

“Wine.”

“In the broom closet?”

“It’s not a broom closet!”

“Looks like a broom closet.”

I glared.

Will went over to the table. Did I see him smile before he turned? Why did I hope he did?

I gave up on getting up, instead leaning my head back against the wall, resting my arms on my raised knees.

I could do this. Just how to start?Will, even though we’re friends, kind of, and you think I hate my blog—no, he thought my blog was hurting me. He’d said as much in the past. Was he right? Was it therapeutic sharing everything on my blog or was it a crutch, keeping me from doing what I really wanted? He’d kept sending me updates on that storefront down on Main Street in Barkley Falls, the one that had been vacant for a month. I’d thought he was joking–and he had been, sometimes.You can call itMichelle’s Meatballs. OrCanoodling At the Table. I’d snort-laughed at that one.

I opened my eyes to find Will looking at me.

“You okay?” he asked.

He was a good man. He’d been a good friend, and I’d cut him off. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I’d seen what had happened with Reese and Eli and conflated it somehow to what we had.

But Will wasn’t stringing me along the way Eli had been. We’d just been friends.

Right?

I could almost hear Joe laughing at me.

I nodded, unable to find the words, or worried if I did, everything would spill out. I stared at Will’s face, at the line of his jaw with its silver stubble. At the way he was looking at me now, unraveling something inside of me. I didn’t just want to be friends with Will. And that scared the shit out of me.

He studied me a moment longer, then began moving about the room, pulling plates down for us. Will looked good in a kitchen. At ease. Joe had been hopeless with everything except the barbecue. I let myself watch the play of Will’s muscles under his shirt as he reached up into a cupboard, pulling down wine glasses. Had Joe looked like that? I couldn’t remember now.