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“Oh, shoot.” She snatches her keys and unlocks the door. “I was hoping to have more time before things fully descended into chaos.”

Springing to my feet, I get out of the way so Willow can open the car door and silence her ringtone. The second she sends the call to voicemail, the song starts up again.

Willow presses her eyes shut. “She’s going to keep calling.”

“Answer it.” My words are harsher than I meant them to be.

“Good to know Grumpypus is still alive and well.” Willow playfully sticks out her tongue at me before answering her phone. “Hey there, Delilah.”

“When were you going to tell me that we’re no longer coworkers?!”

I can easily hear the other side of the conversation because Delilah is screaming into the receiver.

“I’ll just give you some privacy,” I murmur.

When I move to step away, Willow fists the fabric of my shirt over my stomach, casually stopping me while leaning against her car. I could easily rip out of her grip, but strangely, I don’t want to. Instead, I stand there, trapped in some weird Willow-induced vortex.

“I’m not done with you,” she whispers to me before speaking into the phone. “I was going to tell you tonight when I brought over Little Caesars since you don’t have a functioning kitchen.”

“Oh…well, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

Willow looks at me, her fingers tightening on the fabric as if it were a lifeline. “It was also meant to soften the blow of the news that I’m moving.”

“You’re what?!” Delilah is back to yelling.

She winces, pulling the phone away from her ear and placing the call on speakerphone. “I want to stay. Trust me, I’d give anything to stay, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You know I’ve worked myself into the ground for months. And with this diagnosis…” She pauses, swallowing hard. “I will miss you like crazy. We’ll FaceTime twice a day, every day. I promise.”

It’s so weird to me that Willow is just casually having this very private conversation in front of me. She has more unbridled openness in her pinky toenail than I have in my whole body.

“The upside of moving back home is I’ll be able to...” Her words trail off as her gaze slides back to me. “Hey, I’m tying up some loose strings right now. Can we finish this later?”

It doesn’t make sense that ‘loose strings’ sounds worse to me than the worst swear word I can think of. A slighted shortstop could string six of them in a row, and I’d barely flinch, yet my abs clench in preparation of whatever Willow is about to say.

Delilah grumbles but hangs up.

“Sorry about that,” Willow says with a tired smile. “I didn’t want you to leave without this.”

She releases my shirt, rotating to pick up the briefcase. The loss of contact feels like tumbling headfirst into an ice bath. Why is everything so intense with Willow? Like I’m under a technicolor spotlight after years of living in a cave.

My hands feel numb as they take the brown faux-leather case. “You really don’t want the money?”

Willow shakes her head, some of the light returning to her eyes. “I’d love to stay friends, though. You probably hate talking on the phone, but we could text. You can tell me about all your sportsball victories.”

“Baseball. I play baseball.” I gesture to the mammoth building beside us. “We’re standing beside Waves Stadium.”

“I know.” Her smile morphs into something sad, and I want to punch myself for correcting her. “I just like to mess with you.” After a beat, she adds, softer, “We don’t have to text.”

“That’s not what I—” I don’t even register that I’ve dropped the case and pulled Willow against me until she exhales against my chest. “I’m not good at this.”

“Being friends?”

“Talking. Saying the right thing. Not hurting your feelings.” I sigh into her hair. “I’m only good at baseball.”

“You’re good at this,” she says, snuggling against me.

I huff, still frustrated with myself.

“It’s okay, Shane.”