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“I’m good.”

And then she’s on the move again. I drop my gaze to my laptop, where a spreadsheet swims in front of me. I’ve had it open for at least an hour, but it’s just lines and numbers at this point. Don’t know, don’t care.

The past few days since Bellamy returned, my interest in business has waned, eclipsed by my newly found interest in train sets. Actually, it would be more precise to say that my interest in my business has evaporated, burned up under the heat of a brighter sun.

Look at me—emulating a bad poet instead of a good businessman.

But Willa has become like my sun. Lighting up corners in my life I didn’t know were shadowed. Reviving things I thought were long dead or didn’t know existed. Like: a true desire for a family of my own.

It only took standing next to Willa holding a baby who was gnawing on my hand to stir up paternal instincts I never knew I had. Having an upbringing like mine soured me on the idea of being a parent. I barely dated anyone long enough for the subject of kids to come up, and if it ever did, I shut the conversation down.

I’ve known Willa for very little time and hadn’t even kissed her when she was holding the baby. Yet … now I’m thinking about fatherhood. Considering it. Discovering there’s a part of me thatlongsto build a family. Not that I’d know the first thing about how to do so. Seeing Willa with her parents only cemented it, giving me hope that there are decent, healthy families out there. Maybe I could have one.

Of course, I’m not saying this out loud to Willa. I suspect she feels the same way, mostly because Willa’s face broadcasts the things she feels no matter how she tries to hide them.

Which is another reason I know she’s biding her time about something she’s nervous to say. I briefly consider putting her out of her misery and bringing it up but watching her work up the nerve to tell me is far too much fun.

Willa crosses the room, now singing softly. It’s a vaguely familiar tune, sweet and soft. A Christmas carol, I realize—the one with all thefa la las. I find myself grinning.

Today Willa’s wearing a pink dress I’ve seen her in before—actually, it was on the day of the birthday party almost two weeks ago. The day we first kissed. I remember trying admirably not to stare at her legs. I don’t bother trying now.

I like that Willa wears things more than once. This is a great dress on her—it would be a shame if she didn’t wear it often. And it may seem simple, but to me, it’s refreshing. One of the women I dated casually bragged once about donating her outfits after wearing them once. “A tax write-off,” she’d said with a laugh.

It made me uncomfortable then but not nearly as uncomfortable as it makes menow. Getting out of New York has certainly given me perspective. On myself, on my life and its direction, on what anormallife looks like. Normal, as in not existing inside the elite bubble of extreme wealth and privilege.

Leaving has been the best decision I’ve ever made. Formanyreasons. And I’m not eager to return.

Also for many reasons, but mostly because of the one circling my apartment.

With my head still angled toward my laptop, I surreptitiously watch as Willa pauses in front of a floor lamp. It’s new—did Bellamy bring this in? Or was it Willa? There’s also now a little side table next to the lamp I don’t recognize, holding an artfully arranged stack of books and a gold picture frame.

With a photo of …

I squint, then snort. It’s a photograph of Archibald the dog.

“Seems like you’ve done a little shopping this week,” I say.

Willa clicks the lamp off and on a few times, finally leaving it on and straightening the books, which are already straight. “Bellamy and I agreed your apartment needed a little more … life.”

“And you thought you’d bring in more life with a framed picture of a dog who attempted to maul me?”

“He was trying to maul thepossum. Not you. Archibald likesyou.” She turns, hands folded behind her back like she’s holding a secret there, mouth upturned in a smirk. “Reallylikes you.”

Growling, I snap my laptop closed so quickly that it makes Willa jump a little. But she knows me well enough now to see through my facade of anger. Though I wouldn’t say I’mthrilledabout the declaration of doggy love Archibald gave my thigh a few days ago in the lobby.

“Too soon to tease you about it?” she asks.

“It’llalwaysbe too soon.”

“Sara promised to get him fixed this month. Or next.”

“We can only hope. What else did you add to my apartment?” I ask.

Willa laughs. “You really didn’t notice? Bellamy said you wouldn’t, but I didn’t believe him. I think I’ll let you discover things on your own. Like a little treasure hunt.”

“I’m not sure if I like you and Bellamy in collusion.”

“Better get used to it,” Willa says, wandering over to the windows. “He also gave me your credit card. He said that would be okay too.”