Will hadn't been back to the parsonage since he'd exploded at Tuck on Friday night. They'd talked since, and Tuck had said they were good, but given what an almighty cock he'd been, it only seemed right to let Tuck have his space. Give the man a few days of peace without feeling he had to tiptoe around Will. (Should he be tiptoeing around? What had Tuck meant when he'd said he was worried? About the usual stuff, Marian, the Sheriff, the dungeon? Or about the other night, and the horrible bullshit Will had spewed out? Shame curdled in his gut at the thought.)
He reached the door, and for a split second he hesitated, suddenly unsure whether he ought to let himself in like he always did or whether he should knock. Then, with a self-conscious wince, he slid the key into the lock, calling out as he stepped inside.
The smell of fresh baking led Will to the kitchen, and he lingered in the entrance, apprehension prickling at him. He felt oddly like an intruder, despite having been invited. Despite the fact that he technically lived here. Tentatively, he said, "Alright, mate?"