“Corrine!” Mr. Salas called, from over by the grill, and Mrs. Salas rolled her eyes. “He never knows how to put things on a plate, I swear. Anyway, I’ll see you soon, Dr. Sterling!”

She swanned off, and Will reached up to straighten his laurel wreath.

“I don’t look like an Olympian,” he muttered.

Nora snorted. “You look like you won the gold medal in being uncomfortable.”

“I don’t really have the time for this.”

“Suit yourself, though good luck getting past Marian.” She directed her gaze over to where Marian stood near the microphone, then tapped a finger on her chin, trying to look thoughtful. “I guess maybe you could open your back door, listen from your balcony. That’s what Donny always did.”

Will turned his head toward her, his crown going crooked, his jaw setting firmly.

Got him, she thought.

“I can stay out here for a while,” he ground out.

“Oh, great! Now, since you’ve got your crown and everything, you’ll need one of these.” She picked up one of the rolled pieces of paper from the table and held it out to him, and for a too-long second, he stared down at it. Nora felt it—a little pulse of energy in her hand, like it was anticipating getting close to his.

This is the most you story, she heard Deepa saying.

But when he finally reached out, he did so carefully. He made sure he didn’t touch her at all.

“What’s this?” he asked, and she tried to ignore the pang of disappointment she felt.

“That’s your poem. I’ll try to get Marian to call you up early, so you can get back to—”

“My poem?”

“Yeah. Everyone reads a poem, unless they’ve written their own. I’m guessing you didn’t write your own! Though a few people here will improvise, probably.”

“Everyone. Reads. A Poem.”

She beamed out at the crowd. This was going to take forever.

“Yep.”

“Is this . . . always how many people come?”

She didn’t look over at him to answer. She kept her eyes focused on her neighbors, on the five to ten extra guests each she’d asked them to call.

“In the spring and summer months, yeah. Now in the colder months, it’s in Marian and Emily’s apartment, so it’s smaller, but not that much smaller.” She looked back toward him. “Sometimes it kind of—you know. Spills out into the hallway. I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you.” She paused meaningfully, adding a smile. “Or your tenants.”