“I have done things about it. I got a good job, and I saw that therapist about my low self-esteem and childhood trauma or whatever, and I tried to see Abs every Christmas and I never missed her birthday—”
“I should bloody hope not,” Jase muttered, “since it’s my birthday.”
Will decided to ignore that. “I’ve done plenty about it, considering she was married for five years. Not to mention, there was that time when we—” His brain caught up with his mouth there, and he shut himself up.
“When you what?”
“Nothing.” That information was private, and while Will didn’t bother to keep private things from Jason, Abbie certainly did.
“When you what?” Jase repeated. “Please tell me you haven’t called out of the blue to confess that you’re in love with my sister and also that you’re having—ugh, you know what? Nope. Can’t even say it.”
Will frowned as he opened his suitcase and rifled through the clothes he hadn’t unpacked. “You can’t say what?”
“Will.”
He found his workout clothes and thought for a moment. “Oh, sex? You think we’re having sex? We’ve never had sex. Although I should be clear, I am hoping we will eventually have sex.” He paused. “If she’s into that.” He paused again. “But that’s, like, stage six of the plan. We’re still pre-season, Jase. Stay with me.” Honestly, the man was usually much smarter than this. Abbie had met her ex-husband at university, they’d been together forever, and after the divorce she’d been … withdrawn. It was only in the last year or so that she’d fully regained her smart-arse confidence. She’d been hurt. She was different now. He couldn’t throw his whole entire heart at her like they were still young.
Sometimes Will thought about how things might’ve been if he’d thrown his heart at her when they were young.
Then he stopped because it made him sad, and anyway, it was pointless.
“Right now,” he explained, “I’m trying to change the way she thinks of me. She can’t see me as just one of the guys. She has to think I’m, you know, attractive.”
“Will. Abigail’s glasses give her twenty-twenty vision. She knows you’re attractive.”
“Shut up, that’s not what I meant. It’s a mindset thing. I don’t even know if she’s ready to date, which is why I’m taking this slow. So, stage two: in the New Year, I move back home—”
“You what?”
“—and start to see her more often. Not in a weird way. Just like, I’m here, she’s here, why don’t we hang out? She sees how super mature I am, and maybe she comes to my house sometimes and is in awe of my organised spice rack. I show her my Deap Vally records, and she starts ovulating. I might paint my living room black. She’d be way into that, right? Anyway, after that—”
“Stop,” Jase yelped. “Seriously, stop. I can’t breathe.”
“Oh, were you laughing just now? I thought someone had brought their tiny dog to work again.”
“Jesus, Will, you’re going to kill me. You’re actually going to kill me.”
Will bit his lip. “Shit. Is it bad? Is it a bad plan?” Because sometime in the last twelve hours, he’d started to worry it might be. Specifically, when he’d tried flirting with Abbie, which he’d never done, and she’d looked at him like he’d grown an extra head and she was tempted to smack it.
“You know what?” Jase said. “It’s not a bad plan, actually.”
Oh, thank God.
“But there is a better one.”
“What?” Will demanded. “Tell me.” After all, he needed all possible options if he was going to choose the best one. Needed to see every angle if he wanted to stand a chance at doing this without destroying their friendship.
Jase laughed, as if this whole situation was funny instead of Extremely Fucking Serious, Thank You, Jason. “How about you … tell her how you feel?”
Will blinked. Several times. That actually hadn’t occurred to him, probably because he got dramatic when it came to things that mattered.
And Abigail Farrell mattered. Maybe a little too much for him to think clearly.
“You know how impatient Abbie is,” Jase was saying. “If things start to change between you and she doesn’t know why, she’ll get annoyed. So just tell her, upfront, and ask her if there’s any chance she could feel the same.”
Fuck. Jase was right. Obviously, he was right. And this was kind of a dreamy concept, because she might say yes, and Will might be deliriously happy, and everything might be perfect by the end of the fucking day—
But.
The complete opposite could happen too. The complete opposite being that Abbie didn’t feel the same, leading their friendship to collapse under the strain of his weird unrequited love. And if there was one thing Will couldn’t lose, it was their friendship.
His pulse suddenly became audible. “I … don’t think I can do that,” he said, his voice cracking in the middle.
Jase sighed. “Yes, you can. I realise no one wants to be rejected, but—”
“I don’t mind being rejected.” He was an actor. He’d been rejected in every possible situation for almost every conceivable reason, several thousand times over the years. So that wasn’t the problem. That couldn’t be the problem. He wiped his free palm against his thigh and swallowed. “I just—I don’t think this is a good time to be so upfront. Wouldn’t want to scare her.”
“Sure,” Jase said dryly. “Her.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, safely dosed up with his allergy meds and firmly ignoring his looming self-doubts, Will headed downstairs. There was another tabby cat sprawled on the last step, and he jumped neatly over it with a quick “Morning, Bacon.”
Abbie wasn’t in the kitchen, but he could tell by the gleaming cereal bowl on the draining board that she’d been around. She was kind of a neat freak. He made himself a protein shake with the powder he’d brought from Mum’s, then set about the delicate process of making Abigail Farrell the perfect hot chocolate, which was an art in and of itself.
Unlike most people, she only liked it unsweetened. Eighty-five percent dark. With oat milk, because she was lactose intolerant. Not too hot to drink straight away, or she’d wait too long for it to cool and it would end up cold. And there had to be three marshmallows on top, in a perfect triangle—she’d never actually told him, but when he did it, she always looked pleased and saved the marshmallows for last, and that was evidence enough.