“I was,” he replied, “but I had some things to take care of.” He returned the conversation to its original topic. “How’d it go?”
“This day has been surreal,” she said and sighed. “Like, Salvador Dalí surreal.”
He pursed his lips, unsure how to respond. “Jerry told me you called him to pick you up.”
She grunted. “I had to speak with my aunt, so I went home with the girls and missed the express.” She closed her eyes, then opened one to peer up at him. “I didn’t have it in me to take the long train, and I needed to talk to you. Plus,” she tapped one of the bottles, “I can drink here without anyone commenting.”
Will sat across from her. “Want to talk about it?”
Elizabeth shook her head from side to side. “Not particularly, but I think it’s important that we do.”
“That’s a dramatic announcement,” he said cautiously. “Was it your speech? I thought it was pretty good, myself.”
“Didn’t give it.”
He waited but she didn’t say anything else.
“I could just call Kit and ask, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully, peering down at her.
Fine. “She’s just as confused about it as I am. Lydia, on the other hand, may very well be planning a hit on you . . .”
Will stopped teasing. “What are you talking about?”
Elizabeth stood and turned to the refrigerator. She reached in for another beer, which she set on the counter and Will immediately grabbed.
“Hey,” she protested as the bottle flew out of her reach.
“No ‘hey,’ Elizabeth Bennet,” he said seriously. “You never get beyond a half a bottle of beer and you’ve already finished two. Explain.”
She resumed her original position and grunted. “I’ve been waiting for almost three hours, Will—a few beers isn’t a big deal.” She sighed. “I know we need to talk, but I don’t want to have another huge argument where I get mad and I don’t want to go run tonight.”
Will’s eyebrows pinched together suspiciously. “You have to be careful with your alcohol intake because of the concussion.”
She frowned. “Who told you that?”
“I looked it up,” he said flatly.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s been months, Will.”
“The alcohol limits never go away,” he insisted. “Once you’ve had a TBI, you really shouldn’t drink at all.”
“Will,” she huffed. “I’m allowed to drink a beer or two if I spread it out and drink water. Which I have.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t like the sound of that. Have you had more than those two?”
“Mmmph,” was all she said. Elizabeth heard him step on the lever for the recycling bin. She’d put the first bottle in there hours ago.
“Okay, that’s it,” Will said sternly. He took two bottles of water out of the refrigerator, hooked one hand under Elizabeth’s arm and hauled her up despite her protests, half supporting her down the stairs to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and handed her the first water. “Drink it,” he commanded. “And then start talking.” She frowned but lifted the bottle to her lips. He changed while she drank. He watched until she finished it, then came back to the bed in his t-shirt and some sweatpants, opened the second bottle, and handed it to her. “Sip this,” he directed.
“Bossy,” she complained.
“Apparently, I have to be the grown-up,” he shot back unapologetically.
“Really?” she asked. “You’re the one acting like an adult?”
“Elizabeth,” he said sharply, arms crossed over his chest, “what is going on?”
Elizabeth pulled out her phone, touched the screen, and handed it over.
He stood there, staring at it. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything.
“Who is Caroline Bingley, Will? Is she related to Batboy?” Elizabeth asked insistently. “And why were you leaving a bar with her the same night we had our fight?”
Acknowledgments
Many people were instrumental in the writing of this novel, which began as a story on A Happy Assembly in 2016. I thank all my reviewers, readers, and supporters, those who pointed out errors or inconsistencies, and the experts in many areas who contributed their knowledge. A special thanks goes out to the women veterans and those in active service who commented on Elizabeth’s experiences. Thanks to you, the story is better and stronger than it would have been without your assistance.
As always, a heartfelt thanks to my intrepid beta Sarah Maksim, whose incredible brainstorming skills, keen eye for humor, and quick turn-around had a great influence on the development of this story. Thanks to my editor, Sarah Pesce, at Lopt&Cropt for keeping the writing lean and clean.
Finally, I must thank my family, who put up with my many hours spent typing away on my computer when I might have been cooking, cleaning, or doing the million other things it takes to run a house. Thank you for your love, support, and the invaluable gift of time.
About the Author
MELANIE RACHEL is a university professor who first read Jane Austen at summer camp as a girl. She was born and raised in Southern California, but has lived in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Washington, and Arizona, where she now resides with her family and their freakishly athletic Jack Russell terrier.
Facebook: facebook.com/melanie.rachel.583
Website: melanierachel.weebly.com
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