But one day she ran into him in the lunch line, and I watched her hand shaking as she held her plate with turkey on rye, a leaf of romaine poking out of the sandwich. “What’s up, Evie?” Will said. He was distracted, rushed, hungry. Evie was mortified to be caught eating. “I know I shouldn’t really have this … It’s too much … I was getting it for someone else,” Evie lied. “Up at the desk.” She looked down, turning red, embarrassed, yada yada yada. Will didn’t even notice her preteen angst. He was too interested in feeding his body. He took a loud bite of carrot as he scanned the table, probably wondering if he could get away with spearing an entire pound of roast beef. That man was a walking calorie furnace. “You need to eat, Evie,” he said, reaching out to fork a rubbery slice of ham. “You need your protein. I don’t want to see you starving yourself.” He looked at her briefly, politely, and some might say cluelessly, then continued making his sandwich.
