“It’s what I want,” I say, then pause, reconsidering. “Actually, it’s more than that. It’s what I need.”
Will’s grin straightens out, and he reads it again. There aren’t many words on the page, but he takes his time.
“Is this all?”
“That’s it.”
“Do you want to give me any further context?”
“It’s how you win me back—a five-part plan.”
I lean over his shoulder, and we look at the list together.
Apologize profusely.
Be honest—no more secrets.
Let me help.
Wear an apron. Always. I mean it.
Draw me a picture.
“The first one is pretty obvious,” I say.
Will leans against the headboard, and reaches for my hand, twining our pinkies. He watches me, his expression serious. “I don’t think there’s an apology big enough for how sorry I am, Fern. I’ve spent years regretting leaving you alone on that dock, and I hate how I treated you last week—the things I said on the phone. I’m sorry for rushing away like that and making you worry. I can’t believe you’re here after everything. I am sorry, but I’m also so grateful you showed up at my door yesterday.”
I exhale. “That was a good apology. The next one is even more important.”
“?‘Be honest—no more secrets,’?” Will reads.
I nod. “Such as the fact that you offered to help my mom with the resort.”
Will winces. “Annabel told you?”
“She did. I like her, by the way.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” He takes a second to think. “I could tell you didn’t trust me when I first arrived, and I wanted you to say yes to working together so badly. I was worried if you knew it was my idea, you’d be even more suspicious. I had coffee with your mother, and when she explained how challenging business had been, I found myself volunteering to help. I think she thought I was being polite, but we emailed a couple of times, and I offered again. And no, I wouldn’t have done that if she wasn’t your mom, or if it wasn’t your resort. And yeah, in my dream scenario, you would have shown up while I was there this summer, very eager to have a lot of sex in canoes.”
I laugh. “You can’t have sex in a canoe.” Jamie and I didn’t even attempt that back in the day.
“The imagination of my twentysomething self begs to differ,” Will says with a smirk, and I laugh again.
“Anything else you want to come clean on?”
Will runs his hand through his hair. “I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you that I take medication for anxiety.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “That’s not really what I meant, but I’m glad you told me.”
He swallows. “I think you should know it can be bad. The first time I spiraled was after my mom left. My mind was so frenzied, but I didn’t understand what was going on at the time. And then when Sofia was born . . .” He shakes his head. “It was awful—really dark stuff would go through my head. Terrible thoughts. Images, too. I didn’t know what was happening, and I couldn’t get rid of them—” He cuts himself off. I think of the two words tattooed beneath his collarbone—only thoughts—and squeeze his pinkie.
“You can tell me when you’re ready. I won’t judge, but you don’t have to rush.”
He nods. “I was afraid of being alone with the baby, and Annabel figured out something was off. I got help. Started medication. I even went to group therapy.”
I shift so that I’m sitting cross-legged, facing him. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
“It could happen again, if I have kids,” he says. I can tell it’s a warning. “And I still worry. I’m a worrier.”
“Okay.” I pause. “None of it is anywhere close to a deal breaker for me, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I need you to tell me what’s going on in your life. When something is making you anxious or upsetting you, I want to know. If we do this . . .”
A door closes somewhere in the house, and a girl’s voice drifts up from a lower level. We listen to Annabel and Sofia moving around for a moment.
“When you left like that,” I tell him, “it was like all the fears I had about us had been confirmed.”
“What fears?”
“I thought you had been, I don’t know, playing make-believe with me? I don’t want to be with someone who keeps parts of their life separate from me. I don’t want to be an escape. I want to be the reality.”
Will leans toward me until his nose brushes mine. “Fern,” he says. “You’re not an escape. You’re everything.”
“Really?” I whisper, pulling back slightly. “Because you wouldn’t tell me about the phone calls until I forced it out of you. You wouldn’t let me in.”
He nods. “I know. But as much as someone thinks they’re okay with my sister and my niece, and the fact that I do pickup and drop-off and cook dinner almost every night—it’s become an issue more than once. I just never cared until now. I didn’t want to pull you into all our family drama. I wanted to be selfish. I wanted you to myself.”
“I can understand that,” I tell him. “But you can’t lock me away from the two most important people in your life. No more secret phone calls.” I point to the third item on the list—let me help—as Annabel’s muffled yell floats up to us. “I want to be part of the drama. I want to be part of all of it.”
Will smiles. “There’s a lot of drama.” And then he falls serious. “Annabel has been threatening to move out for a while, but I didn’t think she meant it. She told me after I got to the resort that she was working with a real estate agent, so sometimes that’s what our calls were about. Some of them were her hassling me to tell you how I felt. Some of them were questions about using the stove. But we’ve been arguing.”
“Because you want them to stay?”
“Yeah. I know that in some ways it could be good for me if they rented a place of their own. I know Annabel thinks so. She feels bad that they’ve been here so long, but I’m used to having them around. I like having them around.” He gives me an apologetic look. “I know it’s not what most women want to hear, that I want to live with my sister and my niece.”
“I’m not most women.” I jostle his leg. “And you’re not most men.”
He makes a skeptical little growl. “I come with a lot more mess.”
I hate hearing Will talk about himself this way. I feel protective of the Will I met ten years ago, but I also want to stand up for the man I know now. I crawl onto his lap and take his face in my hands. “Let me tell you something about me: I am extremely picky about people. Most of them, I don’t particularly like. I have very high standards for the ones I let into my life these days. And you, Will Baxter, are my favorite of all of them.”
He looks surprised. “I am?”
“You are. I love you best of all.”
Will’s eyes widen and then his lips are on mine, urgent and hungry, like this is the last time we’ll do this. I put my arms around his neck and slow it down, melting into the kiss. He tastes like coffee and maple syrup and coming home after a long day. I’m not going anywhere, I tell him with my tongue and my mouth.
“You love me,” Will says in a hush, running his thumb over my bottom lip.
“I do,” I tell him. “Especially the messy parts. You’re too perfect otherwise, Will. It’s annoying, really.”
He smiles, then kisses my jaw. “Fern.” He kisses my cheek, and whispers into my ear, “I love you, too.” He presses his lips to my nose. “So much.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Because that will make items four and five easier.”
“You like the apron?”
I put my forehead against his. “I adore the apron.”
He laughs.
“And I want you to keep drawing.”
Will hums.
“Or painting or Mod-Podging teacups with photos of Chihuahuas—don’t give up art again. That list we wrote ten years ago was wrong—it can be a hobby.” I give him a kiss. “Just start with one picture.”
He lets out a long sigh. “Okay,” he says. “Since it’s on the list, I’ll do it for you.”
“And you. You can have something that’s for you.”
Will pulls me against him, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart and feeling the vibration of his voice on my cheek when he says I love you again.