When We're Thirty by Casey Dembowski (beautiful books to read .TXT) 📕

“She did, and noted.” Kate crossed her heart. “I promise to not throw a rager in your squatter’s haven.”

Before he could even formulate a response to that comment, Hannah laughed. “Your idea of a rager is two bottles of wine and binging Dawson’s Creek on Netflix.”

“A promise is a promise. I will not destroy your Netflix recommendations with my nostalgia.” She hugged Hannah and patted Will on the shoulder. “Goodbye and good luck, lovebirds.”

The front door had barely closed behind Kate before Hannah fell back onto the couch, limbs akimbo. “Do we have to go? I never—and I mean never—have two weekends off in a row. Let’s go back to Florida, or just stay here. You, me, some beer, and bad TV. I’ll even let you pick the first binge session as long as it has nothing to do with a Kardashian.”

“That’s not bad TV, that’s god-awful.” He slid in next to her, letting her legs drape across his lap. “Long day?”

She ran a hand over her face. “We had to fire one of the interns. She was using our name to procure concert tickets for her friends. She didn’t take it well.”

He squeezed her foot. “That sucks.

“Yeah.” Hannah sat up, tucking her feet under his legs. She glanced back toward the guest room—her room. “Do I have time to throw in a load of clothes before we go? I’m seriously low on everything.”

“I guess you could bring some with us. Clara’s not back until Monday otherwise, and she usually handles my laundry on Wednesdays.” He stumbled through the end of the sentence as he looked up from his traffic app. Having a cleaning lady was another thing he’d taken for granted and not told Hannah about. By her expression, she was not too happy about it.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking my clothes down to the laundry room,” Hannah said, crossing her arms.

He considered his response for a moment, but there was no way around explaining their lack of options. “No laundry room. Each apartment has a dedicated laundry area, but Dad took it out years ago to expand the kitchen.”

“The wine fridge?”

“Yes, partly.” Heat rushed through his cheeks. The luxuries of his life had become too commonplace and the company he kept too equally wealthy to even bat an eye at a maid. “If you bring some for the weekend, Dad’s housekeeper will take care of it for you.”

“I am not bringing laundry when I meet your family for the first time ever.” She rolled her eyes. “But when we get home, we are finding the nearest laundromat and reintroducing you to a washing machine.”

He laughed at her mock outrage, glad that her derision seemed only half-hearted. “As you wish, Mrs. Thorne.”

Chapter 18Hannah

The Hamptons were a hike. Even with all her years as a New Yorker and her current role as the Long Island section editor, she rarely had a reason to travel out here. Jersey had better beaches and also her family. Jersey Shore traffic was a bitch. But this ride? Damn. They might as well have gone to Boston or Binghamton for the amount of time they’d been in the car. And the Thornes didn’t even live that far out according to Will—or William, as he’d told her his family called him. That was going to be an adjustment Hannah wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to make.

The song on the radio changed, the opening chords causing a twitch in Hannah’s fingers. It wasn’t her favorite, and they had to have heard it four times already.

“It’s all right,” Will said, not taking his eyes from the road. “You can change it.”

“Thank God,” she said, hitting a few of the presets but finding nothing worth stopping on. She hit another button, the station name piquing her interest. “You have Z100 as a preset?”

He laughed as the annoying night DJ chatted away. Commercial-free did not mean chatter-free. “I like the morning show.”

“Your driver listens to NPR. I know because it almost put me to sleep when he picked me up the other day.”

Will smiled in the darkness. “Is this how it’s always going to be?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Someone to call me out on my bullshit is actually what I need.”

The DJ finally stopped talking, and the opening lyrics of the latest Ed Sheeran ballad filled the car. Will’s hand covered hers, his fingers sliding between Hannah’s. Goosebumps raced up her arms. “It’s our song, Abbott.”

Too many perfect retorts sprung to her mind, but she found she didn’t want to make them. Having the top wedding song of the year as their song was as cliché as it came, but it was one of the few things that was truly and honestly theirs. She leaned back against the headrest, letting the song wash over her. A smile spread across her face as the chorus peaked—the memory of their “wedding reception” filling her with uncensored joy.

They drove in comfortable silence for several miles. It was enough to be in this moment. It always was with him. So much had changed yet remained exactly the same. But then, that had always been the nature of their friendship.

“WE’RE HERE,” WILL SAID as they turned onto a circle drive.

Hannah’s breath caught as she took in the mansion. She’d heard about the wealth of the Hamptons, had seen it on television shows, but it was all Hollywood magic and hearsay until now. “Holy shit.”

“My dad bought it for my mom for their twentieth wedding anniversary,” he said as they pulled in next to a Mercedes. And she thought his rarely used Lexus was a luxury. “It was her favorite place in the whole world.”

“How old were you then?” She wondered if he noticed how his voice changed whenever he spoke about his mother. It took on a soft and faraway tone, his memories showing through.

“Thirteen or so? We’d always vacationed out here, but this place was obviously something completely special.”

His mother had only had her haven for five years.