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I kiss her wrist now, hovering there as I try to feel her pulse against my lips. “The last thing I feel for you is sorry, Willa.”

She draws in a deep breath. “But Iamstruggling. Financially.”

“I picked up on that.”

“But you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t want to overstep or assume you’d want my help, though I would freely offer anything you need. Actually”—I release Willa’s wrist and lean forward to grab my laptop—“I did do something for you. Look.”

Once I’ve navigated to the window I want, I balance the laptop on her knees, watching her expression as she frowns at the screen. When she realizes what it is, her jaw goes slack.

“A business plan for Serendipitous Sweets? When did you have time to do this?” she asks.

I don’t tell her that I was doing this instead of the things I should have been doing. My work week mostly consisted of telling Bellamy to handle decisions while I spent time creating a business plan—when I wasn’t scouring Subreddits about model trains.

“It was nothing,” I say simply. “You don’t have to use it, of course. But I think it will help. It’s clear that you love all the baking and hate all the business stuff. I’m also happy to help you with anything you need in that regard.”

“But you’re busy,” she says. “Running your billion-dollar company that does—what does it do again?”

“Mostly real estate. It’s boring. This was a lot more fun.”

“Archer, this isamazing,” Willa says. “Thank you!”

I’m unprepared for her to throw her arms around my neck, practically knocking me sideways on the sofa. I chuckle, securing her against me with one hand while moving my laptop out of the way with the other. She kisses her way up my neck, punctuating each kiss with a thank you.

“Watch out,” I say, hearing the gravel in my voice as her lips graze my earlobe. “This kind of thanks is going to inspire a lot more pampering. Now, do you feel better after talking to me?”

Willa groans and drops her head to my shoulder. “Well—that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, so no. How did you know I had something to say? Am I that easy to read?”

“You’ve been pacing around the apartmentnottalking for twenty minutes. Kind of a dead giveaway.” I reposition her next to me on the couch and place my fingertips underneath her chin, gently lifting until her gaze meets mine. “You can tell me anything. It’s not going to scare me off.”

“Are you sure?” Her smile wobbles.

It only ramps up my urge to protect her. To assure her that nothing she could say would change how I feel. But that might mean admitting exactly howIfeel—and I’m a little worried my big feelings might scareheroff.

“Yes,” I say, infusing my voice with as much deep command as I can. “And then I have something to ask you.”

“You go first,” she says.

“Nope. You start.”

She sighs, glancing down and picking at the seam of her yoga pants. “It’s just … I told someone before, and it didn’t go well.”

Trey. She doesn’t say his name, and I’m not sure how I know, but I do.

“I’m not him,” I tell her. “You can trust me. Whatever it is, Willa, I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s a long pause in which she stares so hard at the rug, I half expect it to go up in flames. “That’s the thing,” she says finally. Miserably. “Neither am I.”

I’m so caught up in my thoughts, I miss Bellamy’s question the first time he asks. And also the second.

I’ve been distracted all morning, the back of my mind replaying my conversation with Willa last night.

The front of my mind, meanwhile, is focused on a message I’m waiting on in regard to a rare train I tracked down for her father. It’s a vintage Lionel steam locomotive; one George had a poster of on the basement wall. He called it his White Whale. Apparently, his grandfather owned one, and when he died, his wife didn’t realize how much it was worth and donated it to Goodwill.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and when I found a collector selling one in the Boston area, I reached out.

Bellamy clears his throat so loudly, a few birds startle out of the hedges surrounding the pool area.