Page 61

Blond hair falling down around her shoulders in messy waves. Words falling freely from her mouth, seemingly without care. Sometimes, Willa herself is falling down, as she did during the opossum incident and again yesterday when she brought up my groceries and went sprawling on the way in.

This morning, she asked to go out on the balcony before getting to work, and I swear, if I hadn’t stepped outside and cleared my throat, she looked ready to hop up and climb along the railing like it was her own personal tightrope.

Almost half the time I’ve seen her, she’s been wearing pajamas. Often, there is some evidence of baking on her person, whether food coloring staining her fingertips or powdered sugar on her jaw. And she always smells of sweet almond and vanilla.

To which I’m quickly becoming addicted. Willa consistently disarms me, seemingly without intent.

I’m not sure what my face is communicating right now, but it must besomethingbecause Willa’s blue eyes go wide and she practically shouts, “I’ll keep my hands to myself!”

Then she lifts the silly pink clipboard so it’s blocking her face. And I’m glad because it hides my smile. It’s gone when she peeks at me again.

“Am I fired?” she whispers.

“Why would I fire you?” She opens her mouth but before she can speak, I add, “I mean, there are several options. For trespassing in my apartment that one time or for allowing an opossum into the building?”

Willa narrows her eyes, their focus falling to my mouth, where I am again smiling. This time, I don’t tuck it away. Her mouth quirks too, though she’s still glaring as her eyes meet mine.

“The possum incident was not my fault, and I got it back out of the building, thank you very much. And I wasn’t trespassing. Intentionally,” she adds quickly. “For what I hope will be the last time, I did not break into your apartment.”

I’ve thought about my first meeting with Willa more times than I’d care to admit, mostly because it still doesn’t add up. She isn’t a liar. Almost everything she’s feeling shows clearly on her face.

But if she wasn’t lying, what’s the explanation for how she came to be in my closet? The thought is a splinter, lodged and irksome. For now, I ignore it.

“The possum getting into the building was as much your fault as mine.” Willa removes her feet from the desk, planting them on the floor like she’s preparing for a fight.

“You knocked the bag out of my hands, which propped open the door when you tackled me.”

“But you incited the possum to choose violence.”

“Opossum. And I did nothing of the sort. Regardless of aforementioned circumstances, no. You’re not fired.”

Because, despite being a complete distraction in ways I didn’t expect, Willa has accomplished in an hour the things that I couldnot do in a few days. Honestly, it’s frustrating. How can she be so effective where I failed?

I have an MBA from Northwestern. And for as many terrible things as he’s done over the years, personally and professionally, my dad gave me a working education in what it takes to run powerful, multinational enterprises.

But I couldn’t get an exterminator to return a phone call.

I pull out my mints and pop one into my mouth. I have to ration them now, as I’ve run through so many this week. I’m waiting for a new shipment to arrive. Hopefully tomorrow.

“What flavor are those?” Willa asks. “I didn’t recognize the brand.”

“Barkley’s Ginger Mints.” I hesitate, then step closer and hold out the tin. “Would you like to try one?”

“Absolutely.” Willa drops her clipboard and snatches the mints from my hand, popping one in her mouth before handing the tin back.

Her eyes are wide and curious, but almost immediately, her expression turns sour, and she spits the mint into her hand. “Ew! Archer, these taste like spicy dirt! How can you eat these?”

While I do like the taste, she isn’t wrong in her description. “I suppose I happen to like spicy dirt.”

Leaning around the side of the desk, Willa drops her mint in the trash and shudders. “Oh, before I forget, can we talk about groceries? I’d like to help set up delivery for you. Can I see your phone?” She holds out her hand.

“I—yes.”

Why does it feel like such a big ask? Why does putting my unlocked phone into Willa’s hand feel like such a vulnerable act?

Maybe because the second I step back, her grin turns wicked. She immediately takes a selfie. “Adding this to my contact info. Now … which store would you like to use? There’s Spring Foods, which is where we were yesterday, Whole Foods, andHannafords. I’m going to assume Walmart is out. What’s that face? Do youloveWalmart? This will disrupt everything I know about the world if you’re a Walmart shopper.”

“Spring Foods is fine.” I pause. “Who was that man there … Trey?”