My whole body is tensed, ready for flight. Or to hide in the bathroom again. But it’s too late for that. And now I’m standing here stupidly staring at Will.

“The door was open,” he repeats in this oh-so-reasonable tone.

There’s something about the way he states this obvious fact—for the second time—not like he thinks I’m hard of hearing, but more as if he wants to make sure I get it.

It’s been years, but suddenly it’s like no time has passed.

Nice to see Will hasn’t lost his talent for making me feel small and lesser than.

Another thing that hasn’t changed: I’d rather gnaw off my own knuckles than let him see how much I care.

“Oh, wow, that’s right. Thanks so much for pointing that out,” I gush in my best faux-chipper voice. “I’ve always had trouble distinguishing the difference between a closed door and an open one. But I think I got it now, so if you wouldn’t mind taking a few steps out into the hallway, I’ll go ahead and close it.”

Will sighs. No, he doesn’t. Sighing is for weaker, less rational people. Will looks like he wants to sigh, but instead he just slowly breathes out through his nose instead.

“Can we both be adults here?”

He puts a slight emphasis on both. As if to insinuate that he, of course, is already comfortably ensconced on adult island. It’s been his preferred residence since the age of five or so.

So now I smile. It’s my stage smile, which ensures people in the back row can see all my teeth. “You know, Will, the door was open just now, but you might recall how yesterday—” As I say it, my brain catches up with my mouth, and I realize, yes, it was Will at the door last night! And it must have been him in the theater too. “Yesterday,” I repeat triumphantly, “I closed that same door in your face. It’s what I do to all my stalkers.”

“Sensible strategy. Just to be clear though, you slammed it,” Will corrects, which is another awful thing about him. He’s one of those people who has to be perfectly precise about everything. “The whole building shuddered.”

“Fine,” I concede. “I slammed it. And did you take that to mean, please come again?”

Will breathes another non-sigh. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” He’s going back to that whole reasonable thing, like he’s hoping it’s contagious.

“Doesn’t it?”

He holds both cups of coffee out to me. “This one has cream and sugar. The other is black. Which would you prefer?”

I stare at the caffeine, knowing it’s not a peace offering. It’s a chunk of cheese on a mousetrap. And yet I can’t help myself. I grab the black coffee. “I’m taking this because I really need coffee, but I still want you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Jenna, but I’m not leaving.” Will takes a deliberate step forward so that he’s no longer in the doorway but standing on the carpet—officially inside my apartment.

“Hey!” I squawk as he takes another step and then another until he is standing directly in front of me. “I did not invite you in. Get back!” I wave my hands in a shooing motion, which doesn’t budge Will an inch but does set the dogs barking again.

“My brother woke up three days ago after being in a coma for twelve years.” He raises his voice to be heard over the dogs, and even though he’s still trying to sound oh so reasonable, there’s an undeniable edge to it now. “Twelve years since I’ve been able to talk with him and hear him answer back. Twelve years since he’s eaten or laughed or pretended snoring because I was boring him.”

“Pretend snore. Classic comedy bit,” I interject in an attempt to derail this speech because raw emotion makes me super uncomfortable.

A muscle twitches along the side of Will’s jaw, but otherwise he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “I want nothing more than to catch up on lost time with my brother. Instead, I’m here in some dusty corner of California, and I am not to return home until I can do so with you by my side.”

“Wow,” I say, because wow. “Look, just because some crazy person—your mom, I’m guessing—tells you to break into my apartment and abduct me, doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

I can’t resist reaching out to give his arm a patronizing little pat. A way to show him that if he’s gonna invade my space, I’ll go ahead and do the same. It’s on the third pat that I realize my fingertips have connected with what seems to be sculpted marble beneath his shirtsleeve. Suddenly, I can’t help noticing Will is tall, but not in the spindly way he used to be.

I’m still patting his arm. I can’t seem to stop, as I take in its ropey musculature and how it leads up to a set of incredibly broad shoulders.

And we are close. Too close.

I drop my hand and back away.