bland, uncomplicated updates about getting “pushback” from the building residents.
“Not so much the last few days,” he said, trying not to wince as Sally gently unfurled her T-shirt to let the kittens onto the recently purchased comforter. “I think I got some goodwill, having the kittens around. Lots of the neighbors came by.”
Not Nora, though.
“Humanized you, probably!” said Sally, cheerfully. “Who hates a man who rescues kittens? No one, that’s who.”
“I didn’t rescue them,” he began, but Sally had become distracted, moving toward the picture window with her brow lowered. Will had hung up those room-darkening curtains only the day before. He’d read that those were good, and when they were pushed to the side like they were now they still let a lot of light in, but maybe he’d made the wrong call there. Or maybe she was noticing some of the claw-related damage caused by Quincy (What! Was! He! Saying!) climbing up one this morning, hanging on to it with all his tiny legs spread, a deranged look in his eyes.
“Hmm,” Sally said, so she’d definitely noticed the damage. Well, who cared? Certainly short-term renters wouldn’t. But then he realized Sally wasn’t looking at the curtains.
She was looking right out the window.
“You said goodwill, huh?” she said, the lowered brow now rising with curiosity.
Will had a sudden, not-entirely-sinking feeling about why Nora Clarke hadn’t come around. It was a feeling more like . . . relief?
More like anticipation.
He didn’t take a step toward the window, and deep down he knew it was because he didn’t want to be disappointed if it didn’t turn out to be her after all.
“What’s she done now?” he asked, hoping it didn’t sound hopeful.
“I hate to tell you, Will,” Sally said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I think she’s gone and called the press on you.”
Sally had overstated it.
But not by much.
When Will got outside, a short, dark-haired woman with a handheld voice recorder and small microphone was standing next to a guy with a high-quality camera, and every tenant in this building—with the exception of Nora—was gathered around, seeming like they were waiting their turn to speak.
Damn, Will thought.
“Don’t worry,” said Sally, from behind him. “I brought Quincy and Francis!”
Will had no idea how this would help, but he didn’t have time to ask, because Benny was raising a hand to gesture him over. Honestly it was difficult not to feel a little betrayed; he’d sort of thought he and Benny were becoming friends, what with the beer-drinking and cat-incentivizing.
Could be that he was overreacting, though. Maybe this lady and her companion photographer were doing some kind of story that had nothing to do with—
“Is this him?” the reporter asked, as soon as he approached.
Damn, he thought again, and pasted a smile on his face. “Hey there,” he said easily. “I’m Will. Big news day around here?”
The reporter—Yael, her name was—was a freelancer for a monthly community newspaper, the kind you picked up inside of restaurants or coffee shops if you wanted to know what neighborhood festival or concert series or museum exhibit you might be missing. You also picked them up, he was now finding out, if you wanted to read a heartwarming story about a close-knit group of neighbors who’d lived together for decades, constant over the course of years of change, stalwart even against the most recent tide of rising prices and building-wide renovations all around this block.
“We’ve only just gotten started, but of course we’d love to get the newcomer’s perspective, too!” Yael said. “Now as I understand it, despite inheriting your apartment from a family member—”
“I told her that,” said Jonah. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s the facts,” said Will. “Where’s Nora?” Strangely, nothing about what he’d learned in the last five minutes had dulled his sense of anticipation about seeing her; if anything, it was only heightened. This had to be her doing. This had to be why she’d been avoiding him. A newspaper article.
This woman never ran out of ideas. Why’d he like that so much?
“She’ll be down,” said Marian, but Will thought there was something funny about the way she’d said it.
“We oughta get a picture,” said the photographer. “Light’s good at this hour. Golden.”
Will clenched his teeth.
“Oh, all right. Picture first, and then we can talk more?”
“Is Will going to be in the picture?” said Sally, who Will had forgotten about. “If so, he should have Quincy and Francis with him.”
“Who’re Quincy and Francis?” said Marian. “Who are you?”