Chapter 3

I've built walls

A fortress deep and mighty

That none may penetrate

I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain

It's laughter and it's loving I disdain

I am a rock, I am an island

-I Am a Rock,Simon and Garfunkel

The weather was cooler the next day, with temperatures in the mid-sixties. I spent most of the beautiful afternoon in a hammock on the rooftop deck, lost in a book and trying not to think about my upcoming dinner with Will. I yawned and glanced at my watch as I stretched my arms above my head. It was four o'clock. I grimaced.

I don't usually shy away from social situations; I typically look forward to going out with friends, but I felt inexplicably nervous about the evening ahead. To tell the truth, I was afraid. I was reluctant to admit it to myself, but I had enjoyed talking to Will the afternoon and evening before, and I was looking forward to spending more time with him this evening. That worried me.

Relationships of any kind weren't my forte. My high school boyfriend of three years had eloped with a friend who lived in the dorm room next to me over spring break during my freshman year of college. While he was still supposedly dating me, I might add. There's nothing quite like waking up to a barrage of social media posts depicting the man you love and your friend making out on a beach with the words "#WeEloped," "Just married," and "Here's to our happily ever after," scrawled across the photos in flowery script.

After that debacle, it had been two years before I'd felt up to wading into the dating pool again. Understandably, I had proceeded with caution, little good that it did me. I shuddered and slammed an ironclad mental door shut on that memory. After what had happened then, I hadn't been swimming since.

And then, there was the matter of Jane. My throat tightened, and I felt tears well up in my eyes at the thought of what had happened to my sweet, kind sister. I closed my eyes and willed my mind not to dwell on either memory. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and focused on a bird perched on the roof's edge until my heart rate slowed and my mind cleared.

Like Passenger sang in All the Little Lights, "We're born with millions of little lights, shining in our hearts, and they die along the way." I shook my head and redirected my thoughts to the problem at hand.

Needless to say, I didn't want to get too involved with someone like Will Darcy. He was leaving in a matter of weeks to return to his charmed life, a life someone like me didn't fit into. I'd had enough heartbreak for a lifetime and didn't need more.

For a brief moment, I considered calling to cancel our plans, but I had already agreed to go, and my annoyingly honest conscience wouldn't allow me to go back on my word despite my concerns. I took a deep breath and, in the words of Shakespeare, "screwed my courage to the sticking place." It was just dinner, after all. Studiously ignoring the nervous flutter in my stomach, I grabbed my book and went inside.

After a quick shower, I rifled through my closet in search of something to wear. I wasn't sure where we were going for dinner, so I chose one of my favorite outfits: a long-sleeved, wine-red, peasant-style dress with a mid-thigh-length skirt and lowcut neckline, along with a pair of strappy, dark brown sandals. The combination wasn't too dressy or too casual. I left my hair down, falling in thick, soft waves over my back and shoulders to my waist, and put makeup on before transferring my wallet, keys, and phone to a small leather purse that matched my shoes.

I took a deep breath and paused momentarily in front of the full-length mirror next to my bedroom door. Unlike my fair-skinned, light-haired sisters, who bore a strong resemblance to my mother, I had inherited the Bennet green eyes, dark hair, and olive skin tones from my father. I leaned in to get a better view as I carefully removed a tiny mascara clump from my thick eyelashes before stepping back again for one final mirror check. Not bad, and definitely better than yesterday, I nodded in approval of my reflection. I ran my fingers through my hair, swept the dark brown waves over one shoulder, and smoothed them against my waist. I fished my phone out of my purse to check the time – five-fifty. Will wouldn't arrive for another ten minutes, so I decided to wait for him on the park bench in front of the building.

When I stepped outside, I saw his black Corvette parked a few spots away from the building's entrance, his dark head visible above the convertible's top. Deciding to save him the trouble of calling me, I began to walk toward his car. I approached the back of the vehicle and was about to lean forward to say hello when I heard another man's voice. I quickly stepped back.

Will, phone in hand, was talking to someone over speakerphone. He hadn't seen me yet, so I hung back, not wanting to interrupt his conversation. I tried not to listen, which proved impossible due to my proximity to the car. Not wanting to eavesdrop, I turned to walk back to the bench. Then, I heard Will's voice, and instead of walking away as I should have, I remained rooted to the spot.

"The decision to purchase Netherfield Industries is entirely yours. I'll happily review things with you and read the documents you emailed tomorrow. As I said, I'm taking Elizabeth out to dinner, so I don't have time to look things over and discuss them in detail this evening, but I'll give you a call when I return to my hotel. I'm picking her up in five minutes," Will said.

"So, someone finally caught the eye of the 'Man of Stone,' Will Darcy, eh?" a disembodied voice inquired over the phone speaker in an upbeat, easy-to-understand English accent.

"That is not what I said, Charles," Will replied annoyedly. His deep voice and whiskey-smooth, rolling accent contrasted sharply with other man's. "She's just an acquaintance, and it's just dinner."

"Right," the man, whose name I assumed was Charles, replied, unruffled by Will's words.

"Look, I'm just trying to be polite, alright? I met her yesterday, and she was having a very bad day," Will hesitated for a moment. "Then I ended up making it worse, and I want to make it up to her. It's nothing more."

I bit my lip and nodded absently to myself as I stared at the sidewalk and fidgeted with the strap of my purse. I had figured as much, myself. At least I now had verbal confirmation about Will's feelings – or lack thereof – for me.

"Uh-huh," Charles replied, clearly not believing a word Will said. "So, Elizabeth Bennet, huh? Is she pretty?"

Will sighed heavily. "I told you, it's not like that. For once, can you please just leave well enough alone? Good Lord, I'm sorry I said anything to you at all about the whole mess."

Embarrassed, I rolled my eyes and dug my nails into my palms. So, not only was Will spending time with me out of pity, but his acquaintance with me was a mess, according to him.

Charles' laughter sounded over the speaker. "Well, I'm looking at her Facebook profile right now, and she's pretty cute, Will."

"Look, I'm telling you again – for the last time – she's just an acquaintance," Will emphasized the last three words.

"You can't tell me you're not attracted to her; she's beautiful," Charles prodded, his voice insistent.

I smiled a little despite my depressed spirits. I was beginning to like this Charles fellow.

"She's tolerable, I suppose, but not pretty enough to tempt me," Will replied disinterestedly.

My heart plummeted in my chest. I narrowed my eyes in indignation, feeling stung by the insult. What a schmuck! I hadn't expected him to think anything more of me, but hearing his poor opinion of me casually discussed over a phone call hurt. That's what I got for eavesdropping, I supposed. I decided I didn't feel much like dinner anymore. I was about to turn my "tolerable" self around to walk back to the building when Charles' following words stopped me again.

"Oh, come off it, man! Live a little! And wow! Her sister – she has her tagged as 'Jane' in this picture – is gorgeous! Maybe I can catch a flight and visit you for a few days. I could use a holiday and wouldn't mind meeting her sister."

"I would rather you didn't, especially now that you have your hands full with the Netherfield deal. Besides, filming wrapped up for me yesterday, and now I need to give my full attention to my business dealings here. I'll be very busy. Please, just leave it alone, Charles, and don't tell anyone. Media attention is the last thing I need right now," Will said, his voice weighted with stress.

"Alright, I won't mention it," Charles replied in what sounded to me like a disappointed voice.

"Not even to Caroline, Charles, please," Will implored.

"I won't. I promise. But Will, don't let someone you really like slip through your fingers, okay? When it's real, you-"

"Yes," Will cut off his friend's words and sighed audibly. "Look, I have to go. I'll talk to you later tonight."

Still miffed about the insult to my vanity and not wanting to be caught eavesdropping on Will's conversation, I turned to walk away, not paying attention – or caring – where I was going. I hadn't taken more than ten steps when I heard someone yell a warning. I stumbled back in alarm as a bicyclist raced past, nearly knocking me over.

"Get off the sidewalk!" I shouted, bouncing on the balls of my feet in anger, fisting my hands at my sides.

The cyclist flipped me off in reply.

How rude.

"Elizabeth?"

I heard the unmistakable sound of Will's smooth voice close behind me. I pretended not to hear him and began walking briskly.

"Elizabeth!" Will called louder this time.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder at him. He looked breathtaking. There was no other word for it. His dark blue jeans and gray Henley shirt molded to every lean, sculpted contour of his tall, powerful body underneath what could only be a tailor-made, perfectly fitted, black cashmere blazer. Irrationally, my anger increased as I realized his outfit had probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. "What?" I bit out sharply, annoyed that I was attracted to him when he apparently didn't think much of me. My anger escalated to fury when I thought of the disparity between his text messages from the night before, when he had been flirting shamelessly, and the phone conversation I'd just overheard. What, exactly, was he playing at?

Will stopped beside me and blinked in confusion at my sharp tone of voice and livid expression. "Are you ready to go?" he asked cautiously.

I didn't meet his eyes; I looked instead at the traffic passing by on the street behind him. I took a deep breath and fought to control my voice. "I don't feel well. I'm canceling tonight." It wasn't a lie – I felt sick with anger and humiliation at the moment. I turned and quickly walked to the front door of my building, a few feet away.

"Elizabeth, wait," Will caught up to me in a few strides and put a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

I shrugged him off and kept walking.

He followed me through the doors and into the lobby. "Please, Elizabeth, stop," he said, louder this time, his voice rough with irritation.

I whirled around to face him, my eyes flashing with anger, and nodded tersely toward an alcove flanked on either side by two potted trees. The space was mostly hidden from view of the dimly lit lobby. I didn't want to draw any attention to our conversation, and I certainly didn't want him to follow me up to my condo. I stalked over to the alcove, where I leaned back against the black-tiled wall. "What?" I snapped as Will ducked into the small, recessed space and stood, towering over me.

"I might ask you the same thing," he retorted, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little civility, you decided to cancel our plans for the evening."

"I told you, I don't feel well." I crossed my arms over my chest and pursed my lips.

Will's eyes dropped to my mouth. "You look well," he said hoarsely. "Very well." He returned his piercing gaze to my eyes.

I tilted my head to one side and narrowed my eyes indignantly. "Oh, I look well and not just tolerable?"

His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes as the color drained from his face. "You heard that?" he muttered.

"I saw your car and walked over to talk to you. I accidentally overheard your conversation."

"Look, you don't understand," Will struggled to keep his voice low and raised his hands in a calming gesture.

"Don't I?" My eyes widened in anger.

"No. You don't." He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and pressed his mouth into a determined line. "Look, Charles Bingley – the man I was talking to – is my best friend, and although I'd trust him with my life, I'm not ready to tell him about this."

I eyed him doubtfully. Will wasn't ready to tell his friend what exactly? There was no 'this.' There was me making an idiot of myself yesterday and him reluctantly taking me out to dinner this evening. None of that amounted to a 'this.' "I don't follow."

Will's face became more animated, along with his voice, which, although still quiet, rose in intensity. "If I were to say, 'Charles, you won't believe it, I've met someone wonderful. She's smart and beautiful, and I'm looking forward to seeing her again'. I would be admitting to feelings I'm still trying to comprehend." Will paused and raised a hand to the back of his neck before continuing. "This is just too new, and I don't want to take chances with anyone finding out because, even though I trust Charles, people unintentionally let things slip. I won't risk your privacy. If the press catches wind of this, photographers from every tabloid will try to catch a shot of the American who finally caught my eye."

The small alcove we stood in wasn't big enough to accommodate his large body and the hand gestures he was using to emphasize his words.

I shifted farther back into the corner in a futile attempt to put more space between us. My mind raced as I processed everything Will had said. According to his explanation, he had been trying to protect my privacy. Well, I certainly hadn't seen that coming. I swallowed hard, and my heart gave a belated and unwelcome leap of joy as his words sank in—foolish organ.

Will's face softened, and he dropped his arms to his sides. "You told me last night that you like your privacy. I value mine as well, and the last thing I want to do is bring unwanted attention your way. I find you…" his voice trailed off as he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Much more…than tolerable." He exhaled heavily and looked back up at me. He tentatively reached out to tuck a wave of hair behind my ear. "I think you're wonderful, in fact," he whispered as he dropped his hand to his side again. "Sarcasm and all," he added with a smirk.

I ignored the electrical tingle that raced down my neck when his fingertips grazed the edge of my jaw. I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern whether or not he spoke the truth. He was, after all, a skilled actor. How could I possibly know if he was lying? I surprised myself when an apology issued from my mouth, instead of one of the myriad questions that were swarming around in my mind. "I'm sorry I eavesdropped on your conversation. I shouldn't have done that." I shook my head to clear my mind and extended both of my index fingers to help carry my next point. "And you don't have to lie to me to make me feel better, either. It's fine if you're not interested in me. I didn't expect you would be anyway." I squared my shoulders and smiled tightly at him.

Will looked down at me with an unreadable expression. "I won't lie to you, Elizabeth. I value honesty above all else."

Still unsure of the truth, I stared into his mesmerizing eyes, unable to reply. After all, hadn't he just admitted to me that he'd lied to his friend over the phone?

As if he could read my thoughts, he whispered, "I am sorry that I told Charles that at all, but you must understand. Although I abhor deceit, I downplayed my interest in you to protect both of us from the storm that would surely follow."

I slowly nodded my head in acknowledgment. Against my better judgment, I grudgingly decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Apology accepted." I was glad that my voice didn't waver.

Will lifted a corner of his mouth. "Same. Now, shall we go to dinner?"

I took a deep breath before answering. "Fine."

We stepped out of the alcove and exited the building. When we reached his car, he opened the passenger door for me and gently closed it after I was seated.

I watched him walk around the front of the car; his stride was smooth and purposeful. I hadn't noticed that before. As he ducked down to fold his large frame into the driver's seat of the small car, I couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

He shut the door and turned in his seat to face me. "What do you find so amusing?"

"I think you need a bigger car. Watching you get in was like watching a Shriner get into one of those tiny circus cars they drive in parades."

He threw me a puzzled look. "And what, exactly, is a Shriner?"

"The Shriners are a charitable organization," I explained. "They fund hospitals and other charities. The members – Shriners – drive tiny cars around in parades."

Will raised an eyebrow.

"Hold on a second. It'll be easier to show you rather than try to explain it." I quickly pulled my phone out of my purse and found a picture on the Internet of a Shriner driving one of the tiny cars. I turned the screen toward him so that he could see the image.

"Aha," he grimaced. "Charles often says much the same thing. Although, his words usually are, 'If you weren't such a great, tall fellow, you'd be much less limited in your choice of vehicles, horses, and women.'"

"He might be on to something, you know. I don't think you'd fit inside the Porsche 911 that you claimed to be so fond of last night," I grinned, thinking of the car he had compared me to.

Will coughed before his shoulders began to shake with silent laughter.

"What?" I stared at him blankly.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, shaking his head. He raised a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, composing himself. "It's nothing, really."

Still puzzled by the source of his amusement, I pressed the issue. "Then why do I feel like I'm missing something? All I said was that you wouldn't fit inside the car that you compared me to-" And then it hit me. I hadn't realized how terribly suggestive my words sounded. I felt my face flame and clapped a hand over my mouth. Utterly humiliated and feeling extremely awkward, I bent forward to rest my elbows on my knees and covered my eyes with my hands. "Just kill me, please," I begged in a small voice.

Will patted me on the back patronizingly, his large hand practically spanning the space between my shoulders. "Come now, 'we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.'"

I turned my head to the side and lowered my left hand just enough to stare at him. "Really? You're going to quote Oscar Wilde at a time like this?"

He laughed. "Smart and beautiful."

I removed my hands from my eyes and hugged my purse to my stomach as I straightened and sat back in my seat. "You're impossible." I shook my head in annoyance. "Okay," I said with forced composure, hoping to steer the subject away from my unfortunate comment. "Moving on."

A mischievous light entered Will's eyes. "Yes, well, I'm sure there are just as many disadvantages to being short. After all, as often as I've seen you stumble or fall, it appears gravity has a particularly strong pull upon someone of your height."

I couldn't think of a comeback for that. I nudged his arm with my elbow. "I'm not short; I'm five-three. That's considered average height for a woman."

Will arched a doubtful eyebrow.

"Anyway, what's the plan for dinner?" I asked.

He started the car. "How does Italian sound?"

I gave him a dual thumbs-up. "Favoloso."

"Any suggestions?" he asked. "I'm not familiar with the area's culinary offerings."

"How about Spaghetti Works?" I offered. "It's pseudo-Italian, but it's decent, close, and we won't have to wait in line for an hour before we're seated."

"I'll take your word for it," Will smiled. He punched the restaurant name into the vehicle's GPS and turned the car away from the curb into the heavy Saturday night traffic.

oooOOOooo

The restaurant was packed. Luckily, only one other couple stood in line in front of the hostess' booth. I glanced at Will while we waited. He stood patiently, with his right hand in his pocket, while he alternately clenched and unclenched his left fist at his side. "Are you alright? Your hand, you look nervous," I whispered. We stepped forward in line as the hostess escorted the couple ahead of us to a nearby table.

Will looked down at me and blinked. "You're very observant, aren't you?"

I winked. "I'm a teacher, remember? I can tell if a student is using their phone for research or gaming by the look in their eyes."

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to reply, but the hostess returned to the booth just then.

"Two this evening?" the pretty young woman asked without looking up from her seating chart.

Will stepped closer to the booth. "Yes. Do you have any booths? Preferably close to a wall, on the room's outer edge, if possible."

The hostess looked up from the seating chart at Will and then did a double-take. She stared dazedly at him for a few moments.

"Do you have any booths available?" Will politely repeated when the hostess didn't answer.

"Um, yeah," she shook her head. "Right this way, please," she gestured for us to follow her, occasionally throwing looks over her shoulder at Will as she led us to one of the cozy, private, partially enclosed booths that held a table and chairs near an outer wall as he had requested. "Your server will be with you in a few minutes," she said after we were seated. She placed the menus on the table, took one last, long look at Will, and turned to leave.

I looked at him and shook my head.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing." I pressed my lips together to conceal a smile and opened my menu.

Will looked down to study his own menu. "Then why are you smiling like that?"

"Smiling like what?" I looked up, puzzled.

"Like you're having a private laugh at my expense," he clarified, not taking his eyes off the menu in front of him.

"You rendered the hostess starstruck. It was humorous." I noticed the tension in his rigid shoulders and felt a stab of sympathy. I set my menu aside, folded my arms on the table, and leaned toward him. "So, what is it? The people, the public setting, or me?"

"What are you talking about?" He shook his head and looked up to meet my eyes.

"The reason you're so nervous," I pressed. Will's behavior continued to confuse me. Last night and in the car on the way to the restaurant, all the walls had been down. In the span of two days, we'd laughed, joked, and fought, and since we'd arrived at the restaurant, he'd been nervous and reserved – a stark difference from any behavior I had seen from him so far.

Will lifted a corner of his mouth in a reluctant smile and set his menu down on the table. "All of it, honestly. I'm not used to this." He waved his hand in a gesture encompassing me and the rest of the restaurant.

I cocked an eyebrow in response. "Restaurants?"

He swallowed visibly. "Dates."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Will Darcy, not used to dates? Oh, this begs an explanation."

Will cleared his throat. "It's not only that. Crowded places make me nervous. I usually stay close to the walls and an exit if I can help it."

I considered his answer for a few moments. I understood his nervousness. Even if Will hadn't been so recognizable as a celebrity, his height, athletic build, and extraordinarily handsome face would draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity to him wherever he went.

Our waitress showed up at that moment, saving him from further answering my question. "Hi, I'm Ashley, and I'll be your server this evening. Can I get you anything to…drink?" Her voice trailed off when her eyes landed on Will, and her jaw actually dropped.

I glanced across the table at Will and noticed the additional tension in the set of his shoulders and jaw. "I'll have water, please," I said politely, attempting to draw the waitress's attention away from him.

She reluctantly turned to me and gave me an appraising once-over before turning back to Will. "And for you, sir?" she smiled brightly.

"I'll have the same," he answered, barely looking up from his menu.

"Okay, I'll be right back with your drinks." The waitress pocketed her notepad and headed for the kitchen.

"So, do you know what you want?" I asked.

"I believe so." He closed his menu and set it down. "And you?"

"Yep. I always order the same thing."

"Always?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded.

He shook his head. "Doesn't that get boring?"

"No. When I find something that works, I tend to stick with it. Why take a risk on something I might not like?" I shrugged.

"But you could be missing out on something even better." He rested his arms on the tabletop and leaned forward.

"Or, the opposite could happen," I pointed out.

Will leaned back in his seat. "Is that your approach to everything in life, or just dinner?"

"No, of course not." I shook my head. "I just have a few things that work for me. If it's not broken, don't fix it."

The waitress returned with our drinks in record time. "Do you know what you'd like to order?" she asked Will.

"Elizabeth?" He nodded in my direction, indicating that she should take my order first.

I smiled politely at the waitress, who, once again, reluctantly looked my way. "I'll have the spaghetti and meatballs."

"And you, sir?" She flashed Will a coy smile.

I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth to keep from grinning.

"The spaghetti and meatballs as well, please," he answered.

"I'll have that right out for you." The waitress smiled at Will one more time before leaving the table.

I'd have bet the ranch that she would deliver our food in record time, too. I shook my head at the young woman's rude behavior as I watched her walk away, then turned back to Will. "So, spaghetti, huh?"

Will smirked. "What? I like spaghetti," he defended.

I raised an eyebrow. "Pot, kettle, black," I deadpanned.

"Alright then, Miss If It Isn't Broken, I have a question for you," he replied in a challenging tone.

"Okay, shoot," I shrugged.

He carefully removed his straw wrapper and began to meticulously fold it into a tiny accordion. "You said that you like to stick with what works. So, if you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

I pursed my lips and studied the tabletop in contemplation before answering. "Soup."

Will tapped the pads of his fingertips on the table. "Why soup?"

"Because if I ever tired of one kind, there are countless others," I reasoned.

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Wise choice."

"How about you?" I picked up my water glass and took a drink.

"Cereal," he replied. "Basically, for the same reason. But it's easier because you don't have to cook it. It's also one of my favorite foods."

I laughed in surprise. "Cereal!" I exclaimed. "Cereal. What's your favorite food? I would have figured you for a beef Wellington and caviar kind of guy."

"Ah, see, Miss Bennet? You misjudge me again."

An odd thought struck me. "Is cereal soup? Cold soup? I mean, what constitutes soup, anyway?" I embarrassedly pressed my hand to my forehead, realizing how ridiculous the question sounded.

Will pretended to give the matter serious thought for a moment. "I've never thought about it, I suppose. Let's consult the experts, shall we?" he smirked as he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and typed on the tiny keyboard. "The definition of soup, according to Google, is a liquid dish, typically made by boiling meat, fish, or vegetables, etc., in stock or water."

I sighed, resting an elbow on the table and cradling my chin in my hand. "So, no."

"Ah, well, it was an interesting question, right?" Will pocketed his phone again.

I gave him a pointed look. "I still think your definition of 'interesting' needs some work. The answer was a little disappointing, though," I shrugged.

Will eyed me uncertainly. "Disappointing? How?"

"When I was little, my sisters and I would play house outside and make 'soup' with rocks, mud, grass, and worms," I explained. "Another childhood dream, shattered," I shook my head sadly.

Will's nose wrinkled slightly. "Please tell me you didn't eat it."

"Oh, yeah, all the time. Worms taste like a cross between calamari and egg noodles – a little chewy and slimy, but satisfying," I replied seriously. I picked up my water glass and took a casual sip, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my smile. "I'm joking."

A look of relief passed over his face. "You…you have sisters, then."

I folded my hands in my lap under the table. "Four of them.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Four? That must have been a very busy household."

"It still is," I shrugged. "Lydia and Kate are still in high school, and Mary is living at home while attending college. My sister, Jane, lives in Lincoln, but we both go home for Sunday dinner every other weekend."

"Tell me about them – your sisters and parents," Will urged.

I rested an elbow on the table again and propped my chin on my fisted hand. "Jane is the oldest. She lives in Lincoln and teaches kindergarten. She's the sweetest and kindest person I know," I smiled. "Mary, my middle sister, is brilliant. She's attending the University of Nebraska here in Omaha and studying music. Kate is a junior in high school, and Lydia is a sophomore. Kate and Lydia are exceedingly naïve and materialistic, and I worry about them. My parents are a bit more difficult. I love my dad dearly. I'm a lot like him in many ways. However, after Mary graduated, he finally caved into my mom's constant nagging and gave up on authoritative parenting, allowing her to spoil Kate and Lydia rotten." I stopped talking, surprised that I'd just confessed my family drama to the man seated across from me. "I'm sorry."

Will shook his head. "Don't be."

"I'm rambling. Families…" I trailed off.

Will moved his hand across the table, covering my own hand, which rested on the tabletop. "I'm genuinely interested, Elizabeth." He squeezed my hand but let go when I carefully withdrew it from beneath his. And your mother?"

I hesitated a moment. "My mom is…very concerned about making a good impression on the right people." I shook my head. "She likes to put on a show, you know? She adores us all, well, except me. In her opinion, I'm too stubborn, and I don't really give a rat's hindquarters about what people think of me. I'm too blunt and honest." I smiled brightly. "Anyway, what about you? Any siblings?"

Will leaned back in his seat. "Yes, one sister, Georgiana. She's sixteen, and she's wonderful. She's the light of my life, and I would do anything for her. Anything to make sure she's happy and safe. I don't have any brothers, but I have a cousin, Richard, who is as close as one. We grew up together and remain great friends to this day."

Just then, the waitress appeared with our food. She wordlessly set my plate in front of me.

"Thank you," I said automatically.

She didn't seem to hear me – she had eyes only for Will. She set his plate down in front of him with a flourish and smiled. "And here you are, sir. Can I get you anything else?"

Will looked up at me in question, but I shook my head. "We're fine, thank you," he said.

Both hungry, we began to eat as soon as the waitress left. I felt self-conscious as I tried to eat my spaghetti politely by twirling it around my fork without dangling any noodles. Spaghetti is one of the few foods that is impossible to eat politely. I looked up and laughed to see Will prodding his noodles in a similar fashion.

He set his fork down. "It's impossible to eat spaghetti politely. I always feel a bit self-conscious when I do so in public," he said, echoing my thoughts.

I laughed. "I was just thinking the same thing. Spaghetti truce?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

"I propose we cast manners aside. No judging one another on how we eat our noodles," I winked. With that, I returned my attention to my plate, twirled up a messy forkful, and took a bite.

"I like it," Will grinned, doing the same.

"So, question time," he announced a few minutes later, setting his fork down on his plate.

I glanced at him in surprise, with my fork still in my mouth. "Okay," I replied cautiously.

"What are three things you absolutely must do every day?" he asked.

I set my fork down and took a drink of water while I worked through his words, which, thanks to his accent, were still difficult to understand, and thought about my answer. I set my glass down and met Will's eyes. "I really wish you came with a subtitle option."

He scoffed. "We're both speaking the same language, Elizabeth."

"Ha!" I exclaimed. "That's debatable. And just for the record, I need subtitles when I watch Doctor Who, never mind being able to understand everything you say."

Will smirked. "You're avoiding the question."

"It was worth a try, wasn't it?" I sighed. "Okay, number one on the list is reading. Even if it's just over my lunch break during the school day. Reading allows me to recharge and escape mentally. I also make my bed every day. Perfectly. Because then I know that I've accomplished at least one thing during the day, and when it's all said and done, even if the day has been a complete wreck, I'll be able to sleep in a comfortable, nicely made bed at the end of it. The third thing…" I looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I run. I love to run, which is good because I also love to eat," I admitted with a grin.

Will nodded, taking a bite of a meatball as he did so. "I agree with you about exercising and eating. I like a woman who's a hearty eater," he winked at me. "So am I. Eating at banquets makes me positively ill. Women talk about how much weight they've lost or want to lose, which diet they follow, and how many calories and carbohydrates are in what dish. No. Major turn-off there." He shook his head in disgust.

"Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" I smiled wryly.

Will pushed his empty plate back on the table. "You said you like to 'escape' with books. Tell me about that."

I stacked my empty plate on top of his and set them both at the end of the table for the waitress to remove before I answered his question. "Well, when I read, I'm not mentally in my library or living room or wherever I happen to be at the time. It's like I'm transported to another place and time – to the middle of a battlefield, a jungle, or the streets of Victorian London," I explained.

Will narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and tilted his head to one side. "You have a library? Most people don't have libraries."

I froze. I hadn't meant to let that slip. I picked up my glass and took a long drink of water before nodding slowly. "I do."

Will's eyes flared with interest and something else I couldn't identify before dropping to my mouth momentarily. "I'd like to hear about it. I'm curious. I love to read as well, and I'm always interested to hear about the collections of others. I've found that it tells a great deal about an individual's personality."

"Well, when you put it that way," I winked. "By the way, I think you missed your calling. You could always get a job as an investigative journalist should your acting career go south."

Evidently, not one to be deterred from a topic of interest, Will raised an eyebrow and nodded for me to continue.

"Alright, alright," I rolled my eyes at him but smiled. "I've collected books since I was a kid, and some are from my grandfather and great-grandfather. Half-Price Books is my favorite store. I can spend hours in there," I confessed.

"What's your favorite genre?" Will's eyes were bright with interest.

I momentarily lost myself in those eyes. My heart beat a little faster.

"Elizabeth?" he asked, his forehead creasing in concern.

I blushed when I realized I'd been staring. "I'm sorry, I was lost in thought." I cleared my throat. "I enjoy adventure and mysteries, a few classics, and the occasional horror novel. You?"

Will considered my question for a moment. "It depends. I like a little bit of everything, I suppose."

"Oh, really? Even romances?" I teased.

"Yes, if you must know." He smiled playfully.

We were so absorbed in our conversation that we didn't notice that the waitress had returned to the table until she cleared her throat. "Sorry to interrupt," she apologized. "Can I get you anything for dessert?"

"Yes, please," Will turned to address the waitress.

She beamed in response. "What would you like?"

"Surprise us," he answered.

"That was brave of you," I mused aloud when the waitress had gone.

Will threw me a guilty look. "I apologize. I should have asked your opinion. Please forgive my oversite. I was distracted."

I tilted my head to one side. "By the waitress, I assume?"

"No," Will lifted a corner of his mouth, "by you. You've been distracting me from the moment you fell into my life – quite literally - yesterday afternoon."

I raised a dubious eyebrow. "Right."

"Yes, Elizabeth. When I'm around you, everything else – crowds, even my own discomfort – seems to fade into the background."

"Ha!" I scoffed. "Give it a few days."

Will simply smiled charmingly in reply. Too charmingly.

Luckily, the waitress returned at that moment, providing me with a much-needed distraction. She set two large pieces of chocolate cake down on the table and turned to leave again.

Will picked up his fork and took a bite of the decadent dessert.

I picked up my fork as well and carefully scraped off the mound of whipped topping, moving it to the farthest edge of my plate.

"Is something wrong with your food?" Will asked. "Again, I apologize for ordering without asking for your preference."

I looked up from scraping the topping off my cake. "Oh, no. It's fine. I love chocolate. I just don't like whipped cream."

Will gave me a bewildered look. "What's not to like?"

I wrinkled my nose. "It reminds me of sheep spit."

Will, having just taken a drink of water, nearly gagged. "Excuse me?" he sputtered.

I felt my nose wrinkle involuntarily, and I grimaced. "When sheep get overheated, especially after being led around on a halter, they foam at the mouth. It's gross, smelly, and has the consistency of foamy whipped cream."

Will's facial expression was a mixture of disgust and amusement. "How do you know that? And why on earth would you lead a sheep around on a halter?"

"I worked on my grandparents' ranch growing up. I used to show sheep in 4-H, and trust me, after leading a sheep around on a halter in hundred-degree heat, there were days when I was wrist-deep in sheep spit."

Will looked a little green.

I noticed and quickly apologized. "Sorry. I can be overly descriptive at times."

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. It's just…sheep?"

"Yep," I replied, popping the "p" at the end of the word.

"You don't strike me as a farm girl," Will admitted, taking another bite of cake.

"Oh, really? Well then, what kind of girl do I strike you as?"

Will seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He returned his attention to his cake and took another bite. He cleared his throat and steered the conversation away from the train wreck I had made of it. "What is one thing that you cannot abide that most people like?"

I laughed. "Whipped cream, apparently. And you?"

He was quiet for a moment before he answered. "Compliments."

I looked at him in surprise. "Even when they're sincerely given?"

"They make me uncomfortable, and I never know how to respond," he almost grumbled.

"I see," I replied, not really understanding the enigma that was Will Darcy at all. Sensing his discomfort, I changed the subject. "So, other than Lauritzen Gardens, have you done any sightseeing here in Omaha?"

Will shook his head. "No. I haven't really had a chance with my schedule."

"Do you have plans tomorrow?" I asked.

"As it happens, I don't," he smiled, visibly relaxing as he leaned back in his seat. "What do you have in mind?"

"Do you want to go to the Henry Doorly Zoo? It's the best in the world," I added.

"The best in the world, eh?" his voice was laced with skepticism

"Mm-hm. I'll show you." I pulled my phone out of my purse and quickly searched the Internet for the CNN article that named the local zoological gem the best zoo in the world. Finding the link, I handed the phone to Will.

He quickly scanned the article and nodded. "Brilliant. I'd love to go."

I reached for my phone. His fingers brushed mine as he handed it back, sending a tingle up my arm.

Will rested his elbows on the table. "What time does the zoo open?

"Nine."

"Alright, then. I'll pick you up at eight-thirty if that's alright."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I smiled.

The waitress appeared with the bill. "I'll be your cashier whenever you're ready," she said.

Will held up a finger. "Just a moment, I'll pay now. He pulled a bill out of his wallet, placed it in the folder, and handed it back to the waitress.

"I'll be right back with your change."

Will nodded, returning his attention to me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the waitress pause and hesitate before turning back to the table to approach Will.

"Sir, I'm so sorry," the waitress began, "but you look like someone I know."

Will looked at her. "I don't think that's possible. We've never met, and I'm visiting the area for the first time."

I quickly turned my head under the pretense of picking up my purse to hide a grin.

"I mean, you look kind of like," the waitress stammered and tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. "Never mind," she laughed nervously. "I'll be right back with your change." She smiled at Will again before turning to walk away from the table.

Unable to hide my amusement, I glanced at Will. "Well, you sidestepped that one very neatly. You denied who you were without lying. Well done."

Will's mouth settled into a grim line. "Hm. Well, are you ready to go, then?"

"What about your change?"

"I'd really rather just leave. Allons-y!" He rose from his seat.

"Alright then," I conceded, grabbing my purse and rising from my seat.

Will paused to wait for me at the edge of the table, surprise registering on his face. "You know French?"

"I know Doctor Who," I winked, standing up.

"Fantastic!" he grinned.

I laughed in response to his reference to the Ninth Doctor's catchword and followed him out of the restaurant. "You, too, eh?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted as we stepped outside. "Now, that would be the role of a lifetime."

"Instant legend," I agreed.

Will's shoulders visibly relaxed when we reached the car. He opened the door for me and walked around the vehicle to the driver's side. After he had folded himself into his seat – there really was no other description for it – he turned to me. "Where to now? Would you like to go for a walk?"

"I thought this was just dinner." I bit my lip.

"Teasing girl." He shook his head and nudged my shoulder with his arm. "I find myself reluctant to leave your company. I'm greatly enjoying the evening. But if you'd rather not, I understand."

I settled comfortably back in my seat, surprised to find that I, too, was reluctant to part company. "In that case, I would love to."

"Where to, then?" he asked.

"How about Heartland of America Park?" I suggested.

Will started the car. "Sounds whimsical enough for someone like you."

"Excuse me?" I laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He ignored my question. "Point the way."

"You're impossible," I teased.

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "You've no idea."

I shook my head and pointed to the left. "We've got to get out of this mess of traffic first, so just go that way."

Once we escaped the Old Market traffic, it took less than five minutes to drive to the park. Will found a parking space, raised the convertible's top, and locked the doors before we set off, with no particular destination in mind.

"It's nice here this time of year," he observed.

I shrugged. "It's alright today. I don't much care for summer as a season, though."

"What's your favorite season, then?" he asked.

"Winter."

He looked at me with a question in his eyes.

I nodded. "I know most people don't like winter. They say it's cold, ugly, and brown. But they're wrong. If you look closely, there are hundreds of shades of brown and gold, all blended together to create a muted tapestry of color. Everything is at rest, from the animals and plants to the farmers. It's peaceful. When it snows, it looks like a blanket's been tossed across the landscape, covering up all the scars and making everything beautiful and pure white again. For as long as I can remember, my dad and I would take a walk together during the first snow of the year. Just the two of us. Since I moved away from home, I go by myself. It's like you're wrapped up in your own world of white, even in the middle of the city. And the next morning, when the sun shines on the newly fallen snow, the whole world glitters. I just love it."

"I guess I've never looked at it that way," he remarked.

We arrived at the pergola by the lakefront. Colorful fountains illuminated the dark water, and the lights of the skyscrapers downtown lit the horizon beyond the lake, creating a stunning backdrop.

Will walked down the steps and stood at the water's edge, his hands in his pockets. "Nice view," he murmured.

I bounced on my toes, trying to expend some of the pent-up energy I suddenly felt, thanks to the carbohydrates I'd consumed at dinner. "You should see it at Christmas. The Old Market, Leahy Mall, and the trees all along the riverfront are lit up with millions of Christmas lights. There are sleigh rides, too."

"And I suppose you enjoy the Christmas holiday from teaching, as well," he grinned, looking down at me.

"Dang skippy." I made my way down the wide, deep steps that disappeared into the lake and stopped on the second step from the bottom, in front of Will, who, despite the additional foot of height that the two stairs gave me, still towered over me. "How tall are you?" I asked, looking up at him.

"6'7," he answered.

I raised my eyebrows and blinked. "Huh," I mumbled speculatively. I shook my head, sat down on the last step above the water, and patted the space beside me, motioning for Will to join me. "How about you?"

How about me what?" he asked.

"What's your favorite season?" I clarified.

"Summer."

"Ew, really?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "Summer is nice. It's green and warm. Besides, the summers where I'm from aren't as harsh as yours are here. What does it heat up to here? Thirty-five, forty degrees Celsius, plus humidity?"

"Impressive, Mr. Darcy."

"Well then, no wonder you hate summer. It'd be like living in a sauna, that."

"Yep. That about sums up June through September." I made a gagging noise in the back of my throat.

"And what do you get up to during your summer holiday?"

I took my sandals off and scooted to the edge of the step to dip my toes in the water. Will surprised me by removing his own shoes and socks and doing the same. I turned my attention from my wriggling toes in the dark water to him. "Oh, you know. I read and lay around all day."

He tilted his head to one side. "Why do I have a feeling you're not being entirely truthful?"

"Because I'm not," I sighed. "Well then, to be honest, I volunteer, tutor, travel, and spend time with my family."

"Where did you last travel?"

"Glacier National Park. I went by myself and did some hiking. It was wonderful, really. I took the train there. It was a two-day trip, but it was beautiful. Besides, I like trains," I answered.

"You hike alone?" he asked.

"Mhm," I nodded.

Will shook his head, his expression disapproving. "Elizabeth, that's dangerous. For a woman as b-" He stopped and swallowed his words. "For a woman to travel alone, it's not safe. As for hiking alone in the wilderness – that's just suicidal."

I instantly shifted into defensive mode. "I take precautions, and besides, I'm an experienced hiker."

He continued to stare hard at me.

"Really," I nodded. "I've been traveling alone since I was a teenager. I prefer it."

"Why?" he pressed.

I shrugged. "When I travel alone, nobody whines about the three-mile hike through the woods to get to a beautiful stretch of coastline or the two hours that I spend staring out to sea, just listening to the sound of the tide rolling in."

Will lowered his gaze to the dark water. "I understand," he whispered.

I took a deep breath and reclined back on the cement, propping myself up on my elbows. "Where's the most beautiful, relaxing place you've ever been?"

"Home," he replied, his gaze lingering on my outstretched legs for a moment before leisurely traveling up over my thighs and hips to my chest. My breath caught right at the spot where his eyes were resting. He seemed to catch himself staring, and he immediately shook his head and redirected his eyes to mine. "I love being at home. You?" he asked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Will Darcy had just checked me out —very obviously and very thoroughly. I felt my face burn and self-consciously cleared my throat. "The ocean. It feels like the tide's pull drags my worries and all my stress along with it out to sea. When I'm anxious about something, I close my eyes, and I'm on that driftwood tree on the beach." I closed my eyes and envisioned the lovely scenery of the coastal northwest.

"And where is this beach?" Will asked.

I opened my eyes. "Washington. I try to go once a year. Flights are cheap, three hundred dollars, round trip. I usually camp or rent a cabin."

"Are you planning to go this summer?"

I looked over at him. "For a week in July. I plan on going to Seattle for a while and then driving out to the Olympic Peninsula for a few days. How about you? What do you do when you're not making movies?"

Will shrugged. "I work, spend time with my sister, and just enjoy being at home."

"Hmm, a family man, then," I observed.

"Yes, I suppose so," he said thoughtfully. "I couldn't ask for anything else."

"So, I'm curious. How did you get into acting?"

Will laughed. "On a dare, actually."

I turned to look at him in surprise. "A dare? You don't seem like the type of guy to give in to a dare."

He shook his head and absently ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, a dare. Charles dared me to audition for a part in a television show with him," he shrugged. "It was something that he really wanted to do, and I think he just needed the support, so I went along with it."

I nodded.

"Well, I ended up getting the part. It just sort of took off from there."

"Do you like it, Will? Acting?"

He nodded. "I really do. I mean, I love to read, right? Well, acting is like breathing three-dimensional life into a story. It's stressful sometimes, especially the publicity part. The schedules can be demanding, too, and you often have to work with some less-than-desirable people. The workdays can be long, and sometimes, you do the same take dozens of times before it's deemed acceptable. But it's an escape from reality, too. It's amazing how the production team can take a mashup of scenes and bursts of action sequences and combine them with special effects to make it into something fantastic, you know?"

"Huh. I guess I never thought of it that way." I stared thoughtfully at the colorful fountain in the middle of the lake. "What type of movie are you working on now?" I asked, turning to look at him.

"A spy thriller," he replied with nonchalance.

I raised an eyebrow. "A spy thriller. In Omaha, Nebraska."

Will shrugged. "Why not? After all, STRATCOM is located here. Don't you think it's the perfect place for a couple of Russian spies to settle in and rent a home in the neighborhood right on the other side of the Air Force base fence?"

"And you play the Russian spy?" I guessed.

Will surprised me then by speaking in a perfect imitation of an American accent, without even a trace of the smooth, rolling syllables that usually defined his speech. "No. I play a Navy commander who works with STRATCOM."

I laughed in surprise and shook my head. "That was amazing."

"Thank you," he gave a formal nod of his dark head.

We were silent for a moment, and my mind wandered back to the phone call I had overheard that evening and how stressed Will seemed to have been during it. "Can I ask you something personal and unrelated?"

"Anything."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to." I hesitated a moment. I didn't want him to think I was sticking my nose where it didn't belong, but I felt compelled to help him if I could. "Why did you sound so stressed on the phone in your car tonight?"

Will sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I'm worried about my sister – I always am when I'm away from her - and I'm worried about you, too, for that matter."

"What?" I asked. "I don't follow."

He turned to look at me. "My friend Charles? He has a younger sister, Caroline. Caroline wishes we were together, and she'd do almost anything to make it happen. I suspect she'd even go so far as to try to sabotage any relationship of mine with media attention directed toward me and anyone I care about. I can't say for certain, but there have been some incidents in the past with other women, and circumstantial evidence points to Caroline being the leak." Will sighed heavily.

"That said, she's on the Community Outreach Board for Darcy Enterprises, and we've had a working relationship only for the past few years, although she wants it to be more than a working relationship. Although I trust Charles to be discreet, Caroline always seems to find out information about my personal life."

"Wow. Sounds like she has some major control issues," I replied uneasily. "Why don't you just fire her?"

Will laughed humorlessly. "Well, aside from being my best friend's sister, she is wonderful at her job, and we're lucky to have someone of her caliber working for us. She managed to meet our ten-year goals in a four-year time frame." He shook his head. "That aside, the safety of my family and those I care about mean everything to me. My parents are both gone. My mother died when I was fifteen, during Georgiana's birth, and my father died eight years ago. I'm my sister's guardian…" his voice trailed off. "I'm trying my best to be both father and brother to a sixteen-year-old girl. All that, on top of straightening out my father's business affairs.

"It took a while, but I learned all the ropes, so to speak, of each business he owned and streamlined operations so that things now run smoothly. My father was a good businessman, but he didn't care much about how things were being run as long as they brought in the money he wanted. I want to do more than that, though. I want to make things easier and less stressful for employees. It has paid off financially and for my peace of mind, as well as those who work for me.

"I take all of my responsibilities very seriously. I try to spend as much time as I can with Georgiana. When I'm home, I try to be at home as much as possible to support her and spend time with her. I take her with me to filming locations when I can. She was unable to go this time, however, due to other circumstances." Will shook his head. "Listen to me, rambling on. I don't even know why I'm telling you all this."

My heart went out to the man seated beside me. It sounded like he had an overwhelming amount of responsibility resting on his shoulders, and no matter how broad they appeared, it was more than most people would be able to bear. I was beginning to get the feeling that Will Darcy wasn't like most people, though. "You're welcome to do so. Any time you need to talk. I'm trustworthy."

Will's eyes searched my own. "I know." His forehead furrowed. "I don't know how, but I know."

I smiled. I thought of an earlier line of conversation, a question I had asked when we first arrived at the restaurant. "So, getting back to my earlier question – the one you still haven't answered – what did you mean exactly when you said that you weren't used to going on dates?" I affected a haughty voice and continued, "Will Darcy, actor and heir, always out on the town – isn't that you?"

He looked at me doubtfully. "Do you really believe everything you read?"

I scoffed. "No."

He shrugged. "Well, then, there you have it."

"Clear as mud," I replied.

Will laughed. "Alright then. I've been out on approximately a dozen real dates since college."

I looked at him in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Well, between my parents dying, raising my younger sister, straightening out and operating my family's corporation, and maintaining an estate and an acting career, forgive me if I've been a bit remiss in my social life." He sounded agitated.

"Ah, touché," I conceded.

Will chuckled softly. "Touché? Do you fence then, Elizabeth?"

I tilted my head to one side and returned his attempt to lighten the conversation. "Only verbally with you, it seems." I nudged his arm with my shoulder.

He shook his head and turned his gaze toward the sky. A comfortable silence descended on us. A few stars twinkled through the washed-out purple of the night sky.

"Your text surprised me last night," I whispered after a few minutes.

Will turned to look at me. "Sorry about that. I originally wanted your number so I could ring you this evening when I arrived, but the truth of the matter is that I was eager to talk with you again." He paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. "The fact that you didn't seem to know or care who I was, well, it made me feel like I could avoid putting on the mask of expectation that everyone has of me and just be myself. Your reactions and answers to my questions were unexpected, and you kept surprising me… you were so honest. Brutally so at times," he laughed.

I blushed, remembering when I had thrown my napkin at him the afternoon before.

Will continued, "I felt energized after spending time with you instead of drained like I usually do after socializing. It's almost as though your mind operates on the same bizarre wavelength as mine. Most people don't understand my humor or half the references I use, and they just end up looking at me like I'm mental. But you do, and you throw them right back at me," he grinned. "It would seem I've met my intellectual match."

I listened in surprise. His words struck a chord because they aligned so closely with my own feelings.

"And then, there's the Darcy family motto," Will added with a shrug.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and what's that?"

"Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat," Will smiled.

"Fortune favors the bold." I automatically translated his words from Latin to English. "Of course, it is. You know, you might want to reconsider that; after all, the employment of that phrase didn't end well for Pliny, the Elder," I pointed out, referring to the Roman naval and army commander who had coined the phrase just before he met his death in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

Will slowly shook his head. "No. No, it did not. What with his 'weak throat' and all."

"And the havoc the vapors from Mount Vesuvius wreaked on it," I added.

Will looked down at me. "Do you think it would have ended better for him if he'd just ripped the pillow open and tied the fabric from it over his mouth instead of tying the pillow itself to his head to protect himself from debris?"

I tilted my head to the side while I considered his question. "That's a tough call to make. I don't know what would have taken him sooner; the sulfuric gasses or rocks falling on his head, pillow, or case, notwithstanding."

He tilted his head to one side. "Well, technically, it wouldn't have been a pillowcase. They weren't widely used until they were patented in-"

"1921, in Kansas City, Kansas," we both finished in unison before laughing in surprise.

Will studied my face for a moment and smirked. "Are we really having this conversation?"

I nodded solemnly. "We are, indeed."

Will gave a short laugh. "God, you're wonderful."

I waved a hand in dismissal. "Pshh. Not necessarily. After all, I am a history teacher, so it's not exactly surprising that I would know about the history of Pompeii. In fact, one might say it's 'elementary, my dear Watson.'"

Will's eyes narrowed. "Elementary it may be, but - since we've now apparently moved on to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – 'to a great mind, nothing is insignificant.'"

The smile fell from my lips as I wondered at the man seated next to me. "Where in the hell have you been all my life?" I clapped a hand over my mouth when I realized I'd said that aloud.

"What?" Will asked.

"I didn't mean to voice that thought. Sorry." Awkward…I was sure I'd relive that embarrassing moment a time or ninety in the years to come.

Will looked at me expectantly.

"What I mean is," I paused and exhaled sharply, "exactly what you said a little while ago…about people not picking up on your references or understanding the way your mind works most of the time. It's nice to be able to say what I want and not receive weird looks."

"I feel the same way," Will replied, his eyes searching mine.

The air blowing off the water had turned cool, and I shivered. I quickly pulled my feet out of the lake. "Brrr."

"Do you want to go?" he asked.

"No," I replied honestly.

"But you're cold."

"I suppose," I sighed.

Will stood and reached his hand down to help me up. After we put our shoes back on, he removed his blazer and draped it around my shoulders like a cloak. The jacket was so large that I could have wrapped it around myself twice. The bottom of it fell below my knees, and the sleeves reached nearly as far. I grasped the soft cashmere lapels and drew it more securely around myself, enjoying the warmth from Will's body that still clung to the fabric and his scent of sandalwood and spice that seemed to envelop me.

I raised my eyes to his. "Thanks," I whispered.

"No problem," he replied. His eyes quickly moved up and down my blazer-wrapped body in an assessing glance, as if making sure I was comfortable before we turned to climb the steps. We walked side by side toward the car in comfortable silence.

When we reached the car, Will opened the passenger door for me before he strode around to the driver's side. I was surprised he could fit inside the vehicle with the top up, but he did so with a few adjustments to his seat, his head barely clearing the underside of the roof. He started the engine, turning the heat all the way up. When he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, I asked, "So, why black?"

He shook his head. "I don't follow."

"The Corvette, I mean. Why black?" I clarified.

He patted the steering wheel. "Why don't you like it?"

"Oh, no, it's great. I'm just disappointed that I can't make any jokes about it."

Will gave me a puzzled look.

"You know, 'little red Corvette,'" I sang.

He stared at me, nonplussed.

"What?" I asked.

"I keep attempting to detect a pattern to your thought processes so that I can develop a mental algorithm to determine which direction they'll turn next," he explained, sounding slightly unnerved despite the evident humor behind his words. "Most people instinctively stick to topic patterns, you know."

I shrugged. "Yeah…it's the mental illness. Give it five, maybe ten years, and you'll catch on to my brand of crazy. Then I'll be boring and predictable."

Will scoffed and then quietly said, "Ten years…I like the sound of that."

Realizing how my comment must have sounded, I quickly amended my words. "Will, I didn't mean I expect you to put up with me for the next ten years. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking."

"Well, maybe I did mean," he replied, using my wording.

"Forget me being crazy; you're crazy."

Will smirked. "I am. Certifiable, really."

"Well, takes one to know one, I suppose, right?" I nudged his arm with my shoulder.

"In your words, touché." Will parked the car in front of my apartment building. "Well, Miss Bennet, I'll see you at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. Now, may I have your flat number so I can pick you up properly for our day out?"

I smiled sheepishly at him. "I'm still saying 'no' to that. I'll meet you in front of the building at eight-thirty, then. Goodnight, Will."

"Goodnight, Elizabeth," he replied.

When I moved to shrug out of his blazer, he placed his hands on my shoulders, sending a shiver through me despite the layers of cashmere and cotton between us. "Keep it," he whispered, his sweet breath fanning against my ear and neck. "You still need to walk into your building, and it's chilly outside. You didn't have much time to warm up in the car."

I gave him a tight smile. "Thanks," I murmured before I stepped out of the car and walked to my building, trying to remember the last time someone had made an effort to care for my well-being, as Will had done this evening.

Nothing came to mind.