Will

He was back. Thank God.

His memory. His snarky weird-ass attitude and love for all things sugary and sticky.

At least that problem had solved itself.

I twirled the stick between my hands over the fire. I was exhausted.

I love my job.

I love my job.

I love my job.

I freaking hated my job.

I was thirty, and I wanted to retire.

I was an agent, partially because I was good at it, partially because when my boy band ...