Page 51 of In a Word, Yes

His brow pinches together as he studies me. “Well,” he says after a moment, “you’ll always possess the title of seventh-grade spelling champ.”

I laugh. “No one can ever take that away from me.”

“Bragging rights,” he says, offering a large fist. I bump it with my tiny one. His hand is rock-solid. Mine feels warmer now.

“That reminds me,” I say, attempting to sound casual. Except there’s no smooth way to mention that I brought Wyatt up in conversation with my mother. “Turns out our mothers were friends. Bunco and tennis, or something like that.”

He quirks a smile. “Sounds like my mom.”

“I guess they lost touch at some point, though.”

Wyatt’s jaw clenches. He nods thoughtfully. Again, I sense he’s withholding. At this, my pulse skitters. But why? This man doesn’t owe me his life story. We only recently reconnected. It would be weird if he poured it all out here and now.

It seems, however, that it’s now wired into my cells to stay wary of enigmatic men. I’m no longer a welcome mat for tall, dark, and mysterious, and this is a good thing.

Except when Wyatt’s eyes meet mine, they’re open and light rather than hooded or intense, and my gut tells me this man poseszero threat. I draw in a deep batch of air and tell my adrenaline response to chill out.

“Well,” he says, “it’s kind of too bad they lost touch.”

Huh. Wyatt cares about his mother’s social life?

In response to the question in my eyes, he explains. “Or I might have met you sooner.”

Ka-thump.I sway slightly. I’m not sure why my heart reacts like it’s just been zapped by a defibrillator, or how I should respond to this brief but totally unexpected speech, or if maybe I’ve mistaken it. So I don’t. In fact, I sort of freeze up.

“I mean,” he sputters, clapping the back of his neck, “what I meant—”

Chase’s Sunday school teacher chooses this moment to walk by. I’m grateful for the chance to reset my face. “Hey, Kimber!” I say, waving. She returns a bright hello.

Wyatt clears his throat. “What I meant to say, Lucy, is that if things had been different, we might’ve become friends sooner.”

If things had been different, a lot of things would be changed. And yet, I’d walk the same broken road if it led me to Chase. I don’t say this.

Wyatt swipes a lock of hair off his face, then pivots to face the wind. “Thing is, I’m not sure my family was ever meant to leave Salem. We ... went through some struggles.”

I drop my gaze. “Sorry to hear that.”

“And my mom is sort of private. So, yeah, I’m not surprised she lost touch with friends when we left. Anyway, it’s just ... it’s something about the way our paths crossed again. I feel like we’resupposedto know each other. Is that weird to say?”

I give this a perky little nod, working to keep it aloof. Like the kind of nod I might give the gas station attendant who asks “Shall I fill ’er up today?” I mean, as small-world scenarios go, the likelihood of two Oregonian classmates relocating to the same town later in life isn’t all that far-fetched. And yet, I don’t violently disagree with Wyatt or anything. Might there be atouch of, I don’t know,fairy dustassociated with our reunion?Mayyybe?

But since I haven’t a clue what to think about it, it’s probably better not to think about it at all. Here’s what I do know: I’d be insane to risk a budding friendship with this man by giving him the wrong idea.

We’re fist bump friends.

Plus, I don’t date. The meetup I agreed to with Ian this week? Definitely a non-date.

“She’s good now, though,” he rushes to add. “My mom. She’s great. Loves being a grandma. Matter of fact, that’s where I’m headed now. Got a pile of firewood to split and stack for her in exchange for lunch.”

“Aww, that’s kweet.”Kweet? What?I slap my hand over my mouth.

Wyatt’s brow crinkles in confusion.

Yep, this is me, Lucy Montgomery—totally inarticulate at key moments.

Laughter bubbles up and over, quickly escalating to being out of control, because now Wyatt is laughing, too, and I’m forced to abandon every attempt to sputter out an explanation, which is that of course my brain opted out before deciding whether to saycoolorsweet.

“My, my, my,” he says slowly, once our laughter finally dwindles and we’ve caught our breath. “How far the queen of language arts has fallen.”