Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(2)

His encouragement to speak my mind almost makes this whole thing worse. Taking my hand from his, I press my palms into my thighs and weigh the best way to tackle this. “I’m not. You’re right; I don’t think we’re supposed to be more than friends.”

Will blinks twice, hard. “You agree? You’re not upset?”

I get the overwhelming sense that Will wants me to be upset, and I can’t say I blame him. I’d be happy to be upset because at least if I was, I could believe that I’m capable of falling in love.

Because I really, really wanted to fall in love with him.

I’m not a person who struggles with words, but right now you wouldn’t be able to tell that about me. I have no desire to hurt Will, which is why it’s so hard to find the right thing to say. I’m honestly beginning to regret not faking an emotional outburst.

“It’s not that I’m not upset; I just don’t think we should drag things out if we’re not working. I love you, Will. I don’t want to compromise our friendship trying to have a relationship.” More than we already have, is what I don’t say.

“But you’re not in love with me,” he adds, the bitterness clear in his tone. “Are you?”

If I could kick myself, I would. “Does that even matter when you’re in the middle of breaking up with me?”

It’s like I kicked him. “It matters to me. Saying you love me and being in love with me isn’t the same thing. But you’re not, are you? You never have been, and that’s why you’re happy.”

I can’t believe he thinks that this is me happy. Does he know me at all?

To everyone but the two of us, Will Ellington and I were inevitable.

When my parents split up and my mom married my stepdad, Paul, we relocated from New York to Arizona for Paul’s job. The Ellingtons lived next door and our parents quickly became best friends. I’ve lost track of the number of holidays and vacations we’ve spent together over the past decade, meaning Will and I had little choice when it came to spending time together.

However, there was never tension between us. No will-they-won’t-they rumors, no lingering hands or secret moments. Just Halle and Will, neighbors who were good friends.

We survived high school together, and I watched him date everyone in our class without a “You Belong with Me” moment in sight. Then a year ago, when we were both home from college for the summer, Will invited me to be his date to a wedding. I’m pretty confident he had a first choice, and it wasn’t me, but my invitation came in the form of pressure from his parents.

Ever the traditionalists, they didn’t think it was healthy for a woman to spend her summer reading and writing, because I’d “never find a boyfriend hunched over a book.” Even when my teenage sister, Gigi, told them the 1800s called and wanted their mindset back, they still insisted I accept the invitation.

It was at the wedding, after too many gulps from a wine bottle we’d stolen from one of the tables, that we had the kiss that sparked this whole mess.

It was exciting at first, and those two weeks before we went back to school, I saw our relationship in a whole new way. Will had always been popular, and as much as I despise admitting it now, I felt special that he wanted to date me.

He was the captain of our high school hockey team, a future NHL star according to those in the know. He’d always been handsome and charismatic; he could get himself out of any situation with that charming smile of his. College had only increased his confidence, and during my visits throughout our freshman year, it was clear he was as well liked there as he had been back home.

So, all things considered, why wouldn’t I want to date him when everyone else did? He was my only friend. It made sense, right?

I was captain of nothing, with no need to get myself out of any situation because I wasn’t doing anything of interest. There isn’t a long list of complimentary adjectives that follow when people talk about me. So yeah, I was a little flattered.

Our parents were elated, naturally. Their dreams of wedding planning and shared grandchildren felt that much closer, and it didn’t matter that I was going to be in Maple Hills and he was going to be in San Diego. It’s only two hours away, and they were certain we’d be totally fine because I could arrange my schedule around Will’s hockey commitments.

No. Big. Deal.

Their confidence gave me confidence, which was something I desperately craved after that initial buzz wore off the first time Will asked me to have sex with him. I told him I wasn’t ready, and he said I was intimidated by all of the girls he’d slept with, but that I didn’t need to worry. I, through a horrified grimace and the strongest urge to vacate the building, told him I didn’t care about who he’d been with before and his sex life had no bearing on us taking that step or not.

I wanted butterflies and the unexplainable need to pop my foot up delicately when we kissed, but I got wasps. Nasty, uncomfortable things that stung me every time Will would slip his hand beneath my T-shirt. My gut told me something was wrong, but my heart told me I just needed to give it time. My head told me I already had all the answers, but I was just too much of a chicken to listen to them.

“Halle? Will you get out of your head for long enough to have a fucking conversation with me? Jesus,” Will says harshly, raising his voice enough to wake Joy. She saunters across the table, brushing her tail along my chin before lying back down in front of me. The oven timer beeps, and Will mutters expletives under his breath while I turn it off and take out the croissants I now have no desire to eat.