that we will forget all about it and never ever bring it up.
“Er…” He shrugged, then offered a hopeful smile. “You don’t seem horrified.”
“No,” she lied.
“Or deeply offended.”
Debatable. “No,” she said, but it was kind of another lie. Some part of her wanted to be upset by the trouble he’d caused over a little liking, though she knew it was irrational. This wasn’t his fault. Will didn’t realise that he wasn’t serious, and he didn’t understand that Abbie couldn’t be anything but serious—intimidatingly so, unnervingly so, ruinously so.
She’d have to teach him as much, however. Because there were rules to living safely. And the last time Abbie had broken those rules, the last time she’d let her reckless emotions make decisions for her, she’d landed herself years of toxicity, one hell of a divorce, and a huge therapy bill in return. Her romantic feelings were much safer in lockdown, where she preferred to keep them.
“Okay.” Will was nodding. “Okay. Well. I said you didn’t have to answer right away, and I meant it, so, er, I should probably stop fishing for answers now and we will … keep on being silent.”
Abbie knew for a fact that Will hated being silent, which was probably why his statement doused her in a sudden and unexpected flood of guilt. Really, there was no need to drag things out. He had the sort of easy, loving character that made him susceptible to meaningless crushes, and the sooner she explained that to him and encouraged him to shake it off, the sooner things could go back to normal. So she might as well get it over with, even if, for some reason, her lungs sort of twisted and wheezed at the thought.
Asda’s lime-green-and-white facade loomed in the near distance as she said, “I’ve decided you’re having a midlife crisis.”
Will stared at her for a beat too long and failed to see when the traffic lights changed.
“William,” she said sharply.
“Shit.” He hit the accelerator. Then he said, his voice laced with incredulity, “I’m having a what?”
“A midlife crisis,” she repeated, because it was the only sensible explanation. Hopefully, now she’d pointed it out, he would see that she was right, and she’d be spared the indignity of having to explain it. “I know you’re not middle-aged, but you’re an actor so you’re having it early to be dramatic.”
“I’m not an actor.”
She frowned. “Don’t put yourself down. I know you’re not producing the pinnacle of cinematic art, but your films make people happy, and you’re a very believable superhero.”
He grinned at that and flicked her a look as they turned into the supermarket carpark. Those dark eyes sliced neatly past her every defence and hooked into all her secret soft parts, as per fucking usual. “Am I?” he asked. “Why’s that? Because I’m so naturally heroic?”
“Will.”
“Because I’m superhumanly handsome?”
“Will. Could you focus, please?”
“Oh yeah, on my midlife crisis. Would you mind explaining it to me?”
Yes, she thought, glaring daggers at the side of his head. “Certainly not,” she said, trying to sound unperturbed. “You and I have known each other for decades. If we were remotely compatible, we would’ve noticed by now. Your newfound feelings of affection, therefore, are the result of general attraction—which, in my opinion, means nothing—familiarity, proximity, and the aforementioned crisis.”
Will brought the Corsa to a sudden, abrupt standstill. The car behind them beeped, loud and long. Will ignored the racket as he turned to face Abbie, his expression a picture of astonishment. “Wait. So. What’s happening right now is you’re really, actually saying my feelings for you are … a crisis?”
Feelings for you. She really wished he’d stuck with the toothlessness of like. “Will,” she said flatly, “drive.”
He stared at her for another moment before shaking his head with a despairing air and driving again. “Incredible. Fucking incredible.”
His apparent surprise and mysterious mumblings were throwing off the nice, sensible conclusions Abbie had drawn for herself, so she decided to ignore them. “The trouble is,” she ploughed on, “you and I have different approaches to romance. You like your relationships simple and light and temporary—”
“Do I?” he murmured, apparently to himself, as he chose a space at the edge of the car park.
“—while I … am different,” she said, ignoring the catch in her own voice. “You are the sort of man who can, er, like someone and have a good time with them, then stop liking them and be done. But I don’t think that sort of arrangement would suit our familial circumstances,