Page 74

I follow Willa along a sidewalk to the covered patio behind the house. A long table covered in a sparkly silver tablecloth holds an assortment of food and buckets of ice where cans of beer and colorful children’s drinks coexist.

I lean close to Willa and nod toward the closest ice bucket. And if I place my lips a little closer to her ear than I have anybusiness doing, so be it. Sue me. I’ve got good lawyers and know how to plead the fifth. “Juice boxes?”

She laughs and, if I’m not mistaken, leans into me a little bit. “Juice boxes. Though I might prefer a beer.”

“Do you want one?”

“Not right now. Maybe …” Willa bites her lip, then glances up at me shyly. “Maybe after? Somewhere not here?”

“With me?” I think I know this is what she means, but I need to be sure.

“With you.”

“Sounds perfect.”

She grins at this. “Okay. Now I really want to drop these off and get out of here.”

Me too.

But this is easier said than done. So far, none of the adults have acknowledged our presence. And the long table, decorated to match the mermaid cookies Willa made, is completely full.

I’m about to ask what to do with the boxes when a woman with dark hair and a very bald baby shrieks at the sight of Willa. Somewhere inside the house, I’m sure all the glassware just shattered.

The still-shrieking woman hands off the baby to a man next to her, which forces him to juggle a baby and a beer. He does so expertly, as though this is a skill he’s been preparing his whole life for. Maybe it is, because as the baby’s pudgy fists grab for the beer, he manages to keep it out of reach and take a long swig without missing whatever his buddy is saying.

The woman proceeds to smother Willa in a hug. “You’re here!”

“Watch the cookies!” Willa says with a laugh I can tell is slightly forced. “Good to see you, Angie.”

“Wow,” Angie says, stepping back, and at first I think she means the cookies, but quickly realize she’s looking at Willa. “Don’t you look great!”

It should be a compliment, but the way it comes out is pure, undiluted jealousy.

Willa is wearing a pink dress, and her loose waves are down, barely brushing her shoulders. Shedoeslook great. But I also liked her last night in the kitchen, sleepy and casually dressed, with powdered sugar on her cheeks. And I don’t like how uncomfortable she seems now.

I notice a few other people on the patio looking at us and whispering. The familiar prickle of discomfort climbs up my spine until I realize they’re not looking at me but Willa. Then I get angry because it’s clear they’re talking about her. She can’t have missed it either, but she pretends she’s just fine.

“Thanks.” She gives a nervous laugh and holds out the box as she glances around. “I thought we were early.”

Angie waves a hand, and several rings flash on her fingers. “Oh, this is just the pregame.” She laughs. “Most people will be coming in an hour.”

The backyard is already teeming with people, and we had a hard time finding parking within a block of the house. Maybe children’s birthday parties aren’t so different from the kind my father threw “for” me after all. I’m surprised at how unaffected I feel. Usually, the sight of this many people would have me searching for an exit.

I don’t know if it’s Willa’s presence, which turns out to have a surprisingly calming effect on me not unlike Bellamy’s, or if it’s because this isherthing. Next to Willa in her pink dress, I’m practically invisible.

Of course, the moment I think this, Angie’s gaze snaps to me. Her blatant perusal makes me want to take Willa by the handand bolt for the nearest exit. But we’re still holding the boxes of cookies.

“Oh, hello,” she says. “I’m Angie Solomon. Have we met?”

“No.”

“Angie, this is Archer. He’s here with me.”

A succinct but vague answer. I like it.

“People are really excited to see you,” Angie says, clapping her hands. I noticed her fingernails are painted to match the decor. “You have no idea.”

Willa shifts, suddenly looking unsure. “People? People like who?”