Wrapped Up in You - Talia Hibbert Page 0,11
am. You can join me, if you want.”
“You must’ve hit your head.”
“You can watch me, if you want.”
“You’ve spent too long in Hollywood. I have better things to do with my holiday than watch your muscles move, Mr. Reid.”
“You’ve noticed my muscles, though.”
She looked up again, her eyes narrowed this time. “Why, yes, Will. I’ve noticed you have the necessary anatomy to move, breathe, digest food, et cetera.”
He laughed. “Really? You digest food with your muscles?”
“Mm-hm. Your digestive tract has a layer of muscle that helps food on its journey.”
“You’re so smart, Abbie.”
“I’m so addicted to random YouTube videos, Will. Is that hot chocolate?”
He looked at the mug as if only then noticing it. “Oh, yeah. It is.”
“Is it for me?”
He grinned. “Now, why would you think that?”
And then she surprised him, which Abigail often did. Instead of pointing out the triangle of marshmallows or asking which milk he’d used, she said, “Because you don’t like hot drinks before breakfast.”
Will stared.
She waited, probably for him to say something in response.
He just stared some more.
She started to fidget, her gaze fluttering away from his, which was a sure sign she was blushing. “I mean,” she said, “I mean I’ve never seen you—”
She was about to take it back, and he couldn’t let her do that, because then he wouldn’t be able to ask any of the questions spinning round in his head. Questions like, “How do you know that?”
She rolled her eyes, but she was still uncomfortable. He could tell. “I’ve known you forever, Will. I notice things.”
Once upon a time, that might’ve made sense—but there was distance between them, these days, despite the friendship that remained. Years and miles and ex-husbands could do that to a friendship, even one as vital as a heartbeat, Will had learned. “For the last ten years,” he said, “we’ve seen each other only at Christmas and on birthdays. That’s not a lot of time, Abs. That’s barely any time.” Or at least, it didn’t feel like much to him. It certainly didn’t feel like enough.
But apparently it had been enough for her to notice that hot drinks on an empty stomach made him nauseous. Apparently, she’d noticed to such a degree that she felt confident in saying it out loud, like a fact, rather than a suspicion.
That meant something, right? That had to mean something.
Or maybe not. Because she shrugged and said, “I’m observant.”
And … well… she was.
“Right.” He put the hot chocolate down on the coffee table in front of them and ran a hand through his hair. Get it together, Reid. This wasn’t going to work if he pissed himself with excitement every five seconds. “Well, yeah, the hot chocolate’s for you.”
She looked at him, and it was warmer than the mug had felt in his hand. He had no fucking idea how she did that: how her face barely moved, how she kept her feelings wrapped up so tightly inside, yet showed them to you through her eyes. It had taken him years to realise that some people missed it completely. That they waited for her mouth to smile or her words to compliment when they should’ve been looking elsewhere.
Will always knew where to look.
“Thank you,” she murmured, dry and restrained as ever, but her eyes said, “You’re a sweetheart.”
And then she said it. She actually said, with actual words from her actual mouth, “You’re a sweetheart.”
He blinked, frowned, wondered if he’d just had some sort of stroke. “Er … did you say something?”
“Yes.” She sipped the chocolate. The mug was still in front of her face when she mumbled, “I said you’re a sweetheart.”
Will slowly, slowly realised that he hadn’t imagined a thing. She’d said it. She’d said something nice, out loud, to another human being, and that human being wasn’t an infant or a close friend in floods of tears or a corpse on the day of its funeral. “Holy shit, Abigail.”
She glared. “What?”
“Nothing.” Will knew what was good for him.
Her glare turned into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”
They were quiet for a moment.
Then his big mouth said, “Post-divorce therapy?”
She scowled, which was one expression she’d never hidden. “I am going to murder my own twin with my bare hands.”
“Actually, Harlan told me.”
“I am going to murder all my brothers with my bare hands. How unfortunate.”
“All of them? What’d Noah do?” Will found himself smiling, which was unusual for a conversation about fratri-whatnot, but Abbie had always had that effect on him.
“Nothing yet,” she said, “but I’d like