CH. 37

When Nate left Willa's house the next afternoon, after a sleepy cuddle and a hasty breakfast of strong coffee and golden-browned toast, she wasn't expecting him to come back so soon.

"Coming!" she called out, padding to the door in her unflattering moose-printed robe, a re-gifted Christmas present from a cousin.

The door bell rang again. "I'm on my way, sheesh," she grumbled, wrenching the door open.

Willa blinked.

Then she blinked some more.

Definitely not Nate, after all.

Aghast, she stared at the person on her doorstep. "Luke?"

In the flesh stood Luke Derwent, all six-feet-two-inches of him. He looked the same, except maybe his hair had grown out a couple of inches longer than it used to be, and instead of his usual gelled James Dean hairstyle, his hair was a mop of flyaways that curled against his ears and forehead.

"Erm," he said, clearing his throat, "Hi, Willa."

She continued to stare at him in horrified fascination before pulling her robe tighter around her and folding her arms across her chest. "What are you doing here?" she asked, incredulity lining the five words.

"You didn't call me." Luke Derwent didn't even have the decency to look shame-faced.

She gaped at him. "You're kidding."

He didn't say anything, just shoved his hands in his pockets and looked surly.

"You cheated on me," she said, hating how shrill and shrewish her voice came out. "In front of me."

"Not my finest hour," he admitted.

Willa bit back the words she itched to say, the words that were pushing against the back of her teeth like a battering ram.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

She gave him an angry look, her lips pinched together into a thin line, but pushed the door open. Letting him in didn't rank high on her to-do list but she kind of wanted to see why he was there, after so much time had gone by without a word.

"I kept waiting for you to call me. Or text me," she said. "I expected"—she shut the door behind him—"you to be at least a little bit ashamed of yourself."

"I was." He stood in her living room, glancing at her stuff with interest, even though he'd seen it all before. He moved to her bookshelf, ran his finger along the shelf like a mother-in-law checking for dust, and then finally settled on the battered copy of the first Simeon Lee novel.

"Is this any good?" Luke asked, sliding it off the shelf. He flipped through it, past Nate's bookmark, and then shut it again.

"You didn't come here for book recommendations," Willa said in a withering tone. She snatched her book back, feeling oddly protective of it. It was the book Nate read yesterday. That was Nate's bookmark.

"No." He gave her a chagrined smile. "I guess I didn't."

He didn't seem any more forthcoming. Willa tapped her foot impatiently against the carpet. "Well?"

"Cyn told me you were writing a book."

Willa resisted the urge to scoff. Of course. He and Cyn were probably partners in crime now. Her mind flashed back to the Facebook post Maryam had shown her. For a moment, it crossed her mind to ask Luke whether he'd had to be cajoled by Cyn into liking the status or whether he had decided to do it on his own. As she stared at him, clutching her book against her chest, she decided it didn't matter.

Under the scrutiny of her sharp gaze, Luke shifted uncomfortably, edging away from the bookshelf. Even though she hadn't asked him to take a seat, he relaxed into the soft cushion of her sofa. "You mind sitting?" he asked, voice tentative. "You're kinda making me uncomfortable."

The gall of him, Willa thought. She took the armchair opposite him, scowling.

"Thanks." He gave her a grateful smile. "The thing is, I just want to make sure that I'm being portrayed accurately."

Willa's face must have reflected her confusion, because the next thing out of his mouth was "Well, Cyn told you were basing characters off of real people, and if there was a character based on me, I didn't want him to be painted in a"—he coughed—"bad light."

Her pale skin burned an angry red, making her fingers look extra white. "You mean," she said in a slow, deliberate voice, "like a cheating light? A didn't call to apologize light? A browbeat me on our first date about being a writer light?"

"Uh." Luke looked like he was grasping for the right words to say. Unfortunately, those words didn't exist, and even if they did, they wouldn't have worked on Willa.

"Get out." She stood up, feeling hot and cranky. Her right arm was trembling with anger, sending spikes of adrenaline shooting through her veins. "Right now."

"But what abou—"

"Now!" She pointed towards the door and her arm managed to stay still long enough for her to hold the pose for a few seconds.

"Willa, you're being unreas—"

"Me?" she shrieked. "Me be unreasonable?"

"It wasn't that serious between us, anyway!"

She wasn't even close to his height, but Willa grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and hauled him to the door. She ignored his yelps and pulled the door open. She kind of wanted to give him a kick through the doorway, but thought it would be a little over the top.

"Willa," Luke tried to plead, but she was having none of it.

She jutted her chin towards the door, an obstinate frown twisting her lips downward. "You're shameless. You're not that great a kisser. And you know what else? You're shallow. You're not in my book. Cyn's not in my book, either. And you can tell her that, from me."

He gaped at her, dumbfounded. "Willa," he tried again, trying to inflect a note of pleading misery, but even his puppy-dog eyes and little-boy whine wouldn't dissuade her.

"Get out," she repeated. She had said all she needed to say. Anything more would be melodramatic, and Luke honestly wasn't even worth the breath of air.

He didn't move. For the span of ten seconds, they just stared at each other. Luke, at the girl he never respected; Willa, at the boy on whom she'd wasted months of her life. Willa could almost taste the tension in the air. It felt like regret. Like frustration. Like an ending.

She'd known for months that things with Luke were ashes and dust. She'd known that whatever had broken between herself, Maryam, and Cyn could never be pieced back together. They were girls, not a broken vase.

But this was the first time that she actually felt it. The last chapter of her life was ending, and it wasn't because her story was over or because she wasn't cool enough to get a sequel. It was just one chapter and there would be so many more.

There would be other friends. There would be boyfriends, too. Maybe there wouldn't. Maybe it would be Nate and her, versus the world, even if it was too soon to start thinking of him in terms of forever.

Whatever Luke read in her face convinced him to go. With dragging footsteps, Luke Derwent walked out of the door and he didn't look back. Willa wanted the satisfaction of slamming the door on him and saying something like they would on television, like "And stay out!" but she just stood in the threshold, watched him get into his car, and only when he switched on the ignition did she close the door.

She released the breath she was holding and braced her back against the door. Her arm had stopped trembling, although her skin still felt flushed. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. With the adrenaline still questing through her system, itching for an outlet, she went to her cell phone. It lay demurely on the table next to the breakfast plates. Willa snatched it up and went to her recent calls, found the number she wanted, and pressed send.

"Hello?"

With a grim smile and without preamble, Willa said, "I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I need to talk to you."

Author's Note: Who do you guys think she called? And how happy were you that she showed Luke the door AND gave him a piece of her mind while she was at it? :)

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