Good for You: A Novel (23)

“Nothing. Weird, right?”

“Not really. They’re probably on edge. Give it a few days. Once the dust settles, and everyone’s back in the office, I bet you’ll start hearing from people.”

“I hope so.” She’d just reached the downtown area. “Ack, I’m already here. I’ve got to find a place to park, and you know I need full concentration to pull that off.” Aly could never understand New Yorkers who complained about taking the subway. You couldn’t read in a car, nor could you blatantly people-watch. Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, full focus on surviving—driving was pretty much the worst.

“Oh, do I ever.” He laughed. “I still remember the time you took out my parents’ mailbox when you came to visit.”

“Let’s never speak of that again,” she said, grinning at the memory. But then her face fell. If only time rendered all accidents funny. “Wish me luck, okay?”

“Not that you need it, but good luck. Hey, Aly?”

“Yeah?” she said, watching a middle-aged couple walk down the street holding hands. Had her parents ever been affectionate with each other? She truly couldn’t recall. Just as well, she decided. Aside from her adventures with Luke, who’d sometimes teased her but never tortured her the way some kids’ older siblings did, most of her early years weren’t worth remembering.

“Just let things unfold the way they’re going to, okay?”

“You make it sound like I’m a control freak,” she remarked, but as she heard herself say this, she realized that Harry, in his gentle way, was making that exact point. “Noted. I’ll report back.”

“Please do. Love you!”

“Love you, too,” she told him.

Luke’s house was a mile from central Saugatuck as the crow flew, but the city was divided in half by the Kalamazoo River, which fed into Lake Michigan, and crossing the bridge more than doubled the drive time. As it was a tourist town, summers were incredibly busy, and Aly had to park in a cozy residential neighborhood referred to as “up the hill.” She picked up her pace as she made her way toward the stretch of waterfront that composed the downtown area. It was only a few minutes after six, but she had a feeling Wyatt wouldn’t have a table yet—not on a night like tonight, when the air was warm without being oppressive, and nearly every restaurant had a line down the sidewalk. He didn’t strike her as the punctual type; he probably hadn’t even arrived yet. She wanted to put her name on the list right away so they wouldn’t have to wait together any longer than necessary.

Because what were they even going to talk about? No matter how it went, the conversation about the house couldn’t possibly take longer than a few minutes. Then what? Would they discuss the weather until one of them feigned an emergency and fled the premises? After arriving at college and discovering that everyone except her seemed adept at navigating social situations, Aly had read a slew of books on small talk and likeability. But now her mind refused to recall how to make friends and influence vagabonds. Crap, she thought as she approached the restaurant. What now?

She didn’t see Wyatt in the line of patrons waiting to speak to the hostess, so she stepped behind the last person waiting. She’d barely been there a minute when she felt a hand on her upper back.

“Hi,” said Wyatt.

“Um, hi,” she said. He wore a pair of aviators, but she still found herself glancing anywhere but at his face. This was so awkward! It was such a bad idea! He was going to tell her she was stuck with the house—and by default, him—forever. In fact, he probably brought her here because he assumed she wouldn’t make a scene in public.

If only he knew, she thought, suppressing a smile. It was the first time she’d made light of the Incident, if only momentarily, and it was a welcome improvement.

“I have a table,” he said, nodding toward the outdoor seating.

“Really?” she said, following him toward the far end of the patio.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m not. I just didn’t think you’d be . . .”

“On time?” he questioned, pulling out a chair. She’d just started for the other side of the umbrellaed four-top when she realized he’d pulled it out for her. “Old habits die hard.”

She mumbled her thanks and sat down across from him. The patio looked out at the gray, placid river, and her eyes trailed a small speedboat for a moment before she looked at him. “By ‘old habits,’ you mean banking?” she asked. Luke had told her that in finance, punctuality was nonnegotiable.

“Yes and no,” he said vaguely.

So he was back to incomplete sentences. We’re just going to have the most riveting conversation.

“You look nice,” he said.

Aly glanced behind her.

“I meant you.”

She tried to disguise her surprise as she turned back to him. She’d opted for a T-shirt and shorts, and although she had brushed her hair—which she’d not done regularly since arriving at Luke’s—she was hardly in her best state. This was more of his trickery. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Wyatt turned and motioned for a waiter while Aly sat in silence. Say something, she thought, though even in her own mind, she wasn’t sure whether she was imploring herself or him. Anything. Now he was looking at her again. Was he waiting for her to speak? “What’s with the beard?” she blurted, then cringed. What was wrong with her?