A yawn wracked Hannah’s body. As much as she enjoyed her nightly dream romps with her husband, the truth was that she’d forgotten what living with Will was like. In her memory, everything about Will was rosy and happy and silly. He had promised her when they wrote their marriage rules that he now picked up his socks. And that much seemed true. His dirty socks were in the hamper every morning since she moved in. She pulled herself to her feet and came back inside. Irritation sparked as she walked through the living room. Will’s suit jacket had been flung across the back of the couch, and a collection of ties covered one of the kitchen-nook chairs. Binx batted at one, his nail catching it before Hannah could shoo him away. Great. A thread had pulled from the silk fabric, and Hannah dreaded showing Will what Binx had done—again. But she’d told him to put them away every day since Binx had wrecked the first one, and he’d left them out anyway.

Hannah collected the ties and placed them on the counter. She took in the pizza box Will had left out the night before, the last slice still inside. She hoped this bachelor lifestyle was a consequence of living in his father’s apartment with a built-in cleaning lady and not his norm. It wasn’t like her apartment had been spotless, but this situation was unsustainable. Between Clara’s weekly cleanings, laundry accumulated in the hamper, dishes festered in the sink, takeout filled the fridge, and empty cartons stuffed the trash bin. Was it that difficult to walk down the hall to the trash shoot?

Two stacks of reports sat on the coffee table. The dining room table was cluttered with leftover takeout plasticware, napkins, and ketchup packets. Her old bedroom still housed all her boxes, and on the kitchen nook was an inordinate amount of mail addressed to Jonathan Thorne, which Will never went through. That was why she had been sitting outside before sunrise in November. The apartment was submerged, and if Hannah spent waking hours inside it, she felt like she was drowning too.

She shook out her shoulders, trying to roll out the frustrations. She would be better about cleaning too. She’d take the pizza boxes to the recycling room on her way out and empty the dishwasher before bed no matter what time she rolled in. She’d unpack. Tidying up could become part of their Saturday-morning ritual.

Another yawn hit her, and Hannah contemplated trying to go back to bed. Riley wasn’t there to see her comings and goings, and the other editors were just as ransacked by November as she was. That was another problem: Hannah wasn’t used to sharing her living space. She wasn’t used to someone’s morning routine disrupting her sleep, and Will—despite having had a live-in girlfriend—was not used to being quiet in the morning. She hadn’t slept in since the honeymoon. Will’s morning routine, weekday or weekend, was far too loud for that. He hummed while he picked out his clothes, he turned on lights, and things—she couldn’t even tell you what—clinked around the bathroom as he got ready. And Hannah was by no means a late sleeper. She loved waking up early, but she also needed to compensate for her late hours a few days a week.

She refilled her mug. Her fatigue was showing in her skin, in the bags under her eyes, and in her mood. Will had noticed that their easy banter was not quite so easy lately, but he hadn’t said anything directly. Were they always so passive with each other? A memory of college-aged Will, backing away from her, his hands held up haltingly, came to her—she’d cleared out space in her closet for his clothes, unable to take the spray of wrinkled boy clothes across her and Kate’s living room for another minute. Two weeks later, his clothes hadn’t moved, and half her closet had remained empty.

“Morning, Mrs. Thorne.” Will leaned against the door jamb. He wore suit pants and an unbuttoned shirt. Her stomach fluttered despite her bad mood, and she shivered as she conjured up the dream version of her husband, who pulled her into the shower and did dirty things to her. Real-life husband still hadn’t brought up Rule 3a and resolutely stopped every kiss just when it was getting good. It was a special kind of torture. Because she knew he felt every kiss, but something held him back. Maybe Kate and Jonathan were wrong. Maybe Will didn’t love her. Or maybe he was considering all the same things she was—mainly, what if something went wrong? How could they stay friends after sharing that intimacy?

Will held up the light-blue tie with small purple flowers that Binx had just clawed. “Another one bites the dust.”

“I told you not to leave them out.” She took a sip of her coffee to try and hide her frustration. Maybe she was immune to him a little.

Will started to button his shirt. “Eh, I never liked this tie anyway.”

“That’s not the point.” She knew what he was going to do before he did it. College Will imposed himself over the adult Will and put his hands up.

“Don’t do that,” she said. “God, Will. I hated it in college, and it’s even less attractive now.”

Will grimaced and dropped his hands. “What is going on with you?”

“The apartment is a mess,” Hannah said in a huff. “I’m not a neat freak by any means, but this isn’t your all-expenses-paid bachelor pad anymore.”

If her words had bothered him, Will didn’t let his reaction show it. Instead, he looked back into the living room, his eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at their home. “I can see if—”

“We are not bringing Clara in for a second day,” Hannah said, making sure her tone left no room for negotiation.

This time, Will did take a step back, though his hands remained at his sides. Hannah watched him consider his answer, his brow furrowing in thought. If she’d been in a better mood, she would’ve found it sexy.

“Is this about the mess or the money?” he asked finally.

Wow. Just wow. Hannah brushed past him without saying a word. She wound her way through the mess and into their bedroom, which was surprisingly tidy. Will had this thing about making the bed every morning, as if he started his day that way, he would do all the other things he was supposed to throughout the day. As if indeed. She pulled the first thing her hands touched out of the closet and then locked herself in the bathroom, which was still steamy from Will’s shower. The sound of the running water blocked out any remaining noises from the apartment, including Will coming into the bedroom. She heard him knock on the bathroom door, but she couldn’t talk to him now.

Was it the money or the mess? One of Will’s ties cost more than most of Hannah’s outfits, his bathroom was nearly as big as her bedroom in Queens, and yes, having a cleaning lady chafed at Hannah’s sense of adulthood, but it wasn’t the money. It was the lack of respect for the money.

Fifteen minutes later—five of which she had spent sitting on the vanity, scrolling through overpriced secondhand Wilderness tickets—Hannah emerged from the bedroom feeling steadier. Will had heard her, and maybe calmer heads could prevail. She expected him to be gone. He’d been leaving earlier and earlier for work all week. But when she stepped into the messy living room, the stacks of paper had been organized into two piles that only took up a corner of the table. The sound of water running pulled her toward the kitchen. Will stood at the sink, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked.

Will glanced over at her. “I told Jim I’d be later than usual.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I think maybe I did.” His tone had an edge to it, but it wasn’t exactly anger or contrition. Either way, it wasn’t particularly on the nice side. She’d annoyed him.

“Can I help?” she asked instead of pressing the issue.

He held out a towel. “Dry?”

She accepted it and picked up a frying pan from the rack. They worked side by side in silence for a few minutes, Will handwashing dishes that could’ve gone in the dishwasher and Hannah drying them and putting them away.

He handed her the final coffee mug, her own from this morning. “I did ask Clara to stop back in today, if she could, to finish cleaning up. I figured that would give us a fresh starting point.”

Hannah nodded. They were both busy. It made sense to only have to keep the apartment clean, not clean it from scratch. And they had at least tackled the dishes together. They could get into habits. They could make this apartment their own with baby steps. It had only been three weeks, and the first few days, they hadn’t even been in the state.

She dropped the towel over the empty dish rack. “I’d like to unpack this weekend.”

“That sounds like a great idea.” Will shucked off his shirt, which was practically see-through with dishwater. She averted her gaze. “Why not start tonight?”

Before Hannah could answer that she’d have to trek out to the Stone Pony and back tonight, Will shook his head. “Right, you have to go out to Jersey tonight. Anything I can unpack for you?”

“It can wait another day.”

He kissed her softly on the lips. The gesture shocked and thrilled her with its simplicity and care. “Then it’s a date.”

Chapter 25Will

“No, Frank. I’m a lawyer, not an environmental specialist. Send me the report, and I’ll let you know if I think there are any legal tie-ups.” Will doodled a spiral in his notebook, his tenth in this dragging conversation. He listened to the man’s continued request. “I’m not a project manager. I don’t need to visit the site. Just send me the report.”

He hung up, writing a note next to the newest spiral to follow up in two days. Frank was notorious for requesting unnecessary site visits, and when the higher-ups declined, he always tried to get Will to visit. It was a flaw that kept him from getting promoted, but no amount of encouragement from Will, who had come up through the ranks with him, increased his confidence. Will turned back to his computer, where a list of overpriced tickets to the Wilderness Weekend show waited. He would buy them for that cost just to see the look on Hannah’s face when the first notes of “Away From You” filled the venue, but she’d been strict about the budget, and triple the ticket price was definitely not within her perimeters.

A knock on his door brought Will back to himself. It was nearly lunch, so it had to be Jon. He had taken that one unplanned lunch with Grayson to be a standing invitation.

“You don’t look happy to see me.”

Will’s head shot up at the sound of Hannah’s voice. “You.”

“Me.” She leaned against the doorjamb, looking entirely out of place at the Wellington Thorne offices in her skinny jeans, Chuck Taylors, and a vintage Dashboard Confessional tee. It was awesome. He could already imagine the whispers. Everyone knew he’d gotten married. No one had met Hannah, but the picture on his desk was from the wedding.

Under the smile, her appearance showed the frenzy and stress of the last thirteen days. Thirty concerts in thirty days didn’t seem like that much to Will when there were five editors covering shows, but between Hannah’s boss going out on maternity leave and one of the other editors getting mono, the month had quickly gone from manageable to messy. Hannah practically lived at concert venues, and he was almost surprised she didn’t sleep at the office. He wondered if any of it had to do with the growing pains their marriage was currently experiencing.

There’d been the argument about the apartment being a mess, where Hannah had made her feelings on Will’s lifestyle abundantly clear. And then Hannah had delayed their plans on Saturday to unpack her things and canceled tonight’s dinner with Madison and Jon, almost requiring him to have dinner with them on his own. Will was less than gracious at that news, and she was quick to point out that she didn’t need Will’s permission to adjust her schedule. Workaholic meet workaholic. Things between them were by no means bad, but they also weren’t easy. It didn’t help that every time she scrunched her nose at him in frustration, he wanted to pull her down onto their bed and spend the next several hours getting to know every inch of her body. Except there would be no going back for him the moment he had sex with her.

“Welcome to Wellington Thorne, Mrs. Thorne,” he said, coming around his desk to greet her.

“I brought lunch,” she said, holding up a paper bag.

It had no obvious markings, but the smell of grease hit the moment he got closer. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” They sat as she started unpacking the containers, laying out the spread on the small table in the corner of his office. “Burgers and fries from your favorite Village hole-in-the-wall.”  

If this was a peace offering, it might be the best there had ever been. It even came with fountain drinks.