Over the next week, I get sporadic texts from Jonah. Sometimes it’ll be in the middle of the night, and say something like: Why a diner? Or while I’m in one of the never-ending meetings at Guard HQ, and I’ll stop paying attention to Zthane so I can read: Who’s Frieda and why is she turning down Paul? (also, who’s Paul?) One came in during a dinner out with Cameron and Will, and Will ripped the phone out of my hand and read aloud: Why blonde? Which made Will tease me mercilessly about how he first thought I was a stereotypical California girl for being all blonde and blue-eyed.
None of the texts are personal—at least, not in concern to Jonah and his feelings—but all are questions about my life in Alaska. Why Cameron? Why Will? What’s up with the pancake thing? Why blue contacts? Where did I live before Cameron’s house? Did I have a car? Friends? Did I really bowl? (I have no idea where he learned that bit). Most the time, he doesn’t reply further after I answer the question. But the hope in me has continued to grow, because if he were well and truly done with me, he wouldn’t be texting. He wouldn’t care about these things.
At least, that’s what I’m choosing to hold onto.
I slam my phone down on the coffee table. “I cannot get ahold of Cora. It’s been weeks and . . . nada.”
Callie looks at me over the rim of her cup of tea. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I dramatically flop onto the couch. “No! I try calling her every day, but—”
She sets her cup down. “Nobody’s talked to you about Cora yet? None of those people you call Cousins?”
I’m alarmed. “No! Is she okay?”
She sighs. “Cora and Raul got married two days before you came back to Annar. They’re on their honeymoon—a month long safari in Africa. One of her stipulations was to go technology free. She didn’t want the Guard calling Raul in for a mission.”
It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. Cora’s married? And nobody thought to tell me?
“It was a nice wedding,” she says calmly, like she hasn’t just dropped a bomb on my existence. “Big, too, in Madrid. Cora wanted it here, but Raul’s mom was pretty insistent he do it at their local cathedral. I was supposed to go as Kellan’s date, but as you well know, he was in Kuergal at the time. So I was Mom’s wingman. Speaking of—where’s Will?”
I blink a few times. “Um . . .”
“I came home last night and found Cameron over. He and Mom were drinking wine and laughing.” A beat passes before she stands up and clenches her fists. Then she shoves both hands into her hair, a strangling groan coming out of her pursed lips, before she drops back down into the chair. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Shit. I can’t believe I’m even going to—” She slides down in the chair, all askew yet dressed impeccably. “Fine. FINE. What’s the deal with Will, Chloe?”
I try not to show my amusement. “You mean between him and me? Because—”
“No. Gods. I already know there’s nothing between the two of you. Kellan would have torn him apart with his bare hands had he sensed anything between you guys; you know this. No, I’m asking what . . .” She sighs through her nose. “I can’t get a good bead on him, Chloe, and it’s driving me insane.”
“Well, if you’re asking if he’s some kind of sketchy guy, then—”
Her glare nearly cuts me in half. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
I cut her some slack. “Kellan already told me how you have the hots for Will.”
Her skin goes from porcelain to cherry red in approximately one second. “That asshole.” She pounds a fist against her palm. I do not envy the phone call Kellan will be getting shortly.
“So if you’re asking me whether or not he’s dating anybody right now,” I say, “then I can answer that one. He’s single.”
Her mouth opens then snaps shut.
“That said,” I say, making sure to tread carefully, “Will’s situation is . . . complicated.”
She covers her eyes with a hand. “Of course it is, because apparently I am only attracted to complicated men. Is he gay?”
I assure her that he’s not, but then I apologize for not being able to go further, since I do not want to break his confidence. She stews moodily about this until the man in question comes through the front door, appearing as if he’s been on a thirty-six hour bender.
I want to ask him if he’s okay, because I know this must stem from a Becca call, but from the look he gives me, I hold the question in. Instead, I say, “I thought you and Kellan were going to go surfing today?”