Page 35 of Mom Com

“You know what,” I say, as our shoes click on the quiet empty street.

Wilder stops at the passenger side to open the car door for me, which only deepens my frown. “I really don’t,” he says with a hint of a smile. “But I’d like to.”

I slide into the seat with a perfunctory thanks. Am I imagining things, or does he think this situation is funny? It’s not funny.

I plow forward with the conversation the moment he gets in, too loose to edit it the way I normally would. “You didn’t have to be rude,” I say. “To Jake, I mean.”

He turns on the engine and pushes a couple of buttons on his dashboard, one of which controls the heat to our seats. “Believe me, that wasn’t me being rude.”

“That wasn’t you being nice, either.”

“True,” he concedes as he pulls out onto the road.

“What’s the thing with you two anyway?” I ask, my brain clearly not possessing an off switch.

Wilder shrugs. “I don’t like him.”

“But why?”

“I have my reasons.”

I stare at his profile, feeling like I need to make a point. “Please tell me we’re not reliving some teenage rivalry thing.” And then my last brain cell withers and dies as I repeat my thoughts from earlier. “Because I’m pretty sure you have zero interest in me.”

Oh, fuck me.

The corners of his mouth pull up at that, and my embarrassment rages bright and hot.

He steals a look in my direction, his smile fully present. “I’m simply ensuring that my baking partner doesn’t confuse the sugar with the salt tomorrow morning.”

“I know what you’re thinking right now... about what I just said, and you’re wrong. If I was implying anything, it’s that I’m considering murdering you, like in ugly ways,” I say, not doing anything to help my case.

“Really?” he continues with a light laugh. “I didn’t know that my being interested in you was this important.”

“Oh. My. God. Stop this car; I’m walking.”

“And miss this fascinating conversation? Not a chance.”

I turn to face him. “Actually, you know what, Wilder? I do have a question.” (Not that he asked me if I did.) “What’s this thing you’re supposed to be doing in Haverberry instead of my dad’s bakery?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Technically, I made an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?”

“It’s...” He hesitates, shaking his head in a way that makes me think he was almost going to tell me, and decided against it. “It’s just the kind that’s going to be difficult to get out of.”

“Then why bother?” I ask.

“Because it’s worth it,” he says, making eye contact with me.

For a split second, my emotional safety system fails, and I find myself hoping Liv’s right that Wilder is somehow choosing to be near me, the thought pooling in my chest like warm liquid.

Drunk Maddi is definitely a hazard.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I reply.

“If you say so.”

“I do,” I say emphatically, trying to reacclimate myself with logic.