Charmer (Havenbrook #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

WILLOW

I didn’t have bad days. It wasn’t in my planner, so it just didn’t happen, plain and simple. My life was one of order and routine—I’d already gone off track once, and I didn’t have even the slightest inclination to do it again. Which meant I woke up at the same time each day, whether or not I needed to go into work. I did a yoga sequence, sat down and enjoyed a cup of coffee and Havenbrook’s morning paper, and then got ready for my day.

What I did not do was sleep through my alarm—thanks to a completely inappropriate dream I didn’t want to think about, starring a completely inappropriate man I definitely didn’t want to think about—and wake up too late to be able to take a shower or even put on makeup.

I glanced at the clock on the wall as the second hand ticked past the big twelve at the top. 9:04. Even if I could blink my way to my office and transport instantaneously, I’d still be late for my nine o’clock appointment. Which was absolutely unheard of. I’d never missed an appointment—had never even been later than fifteen minutes early to one, if you wanted to get right down to it.

“ Dammit ,” I hissed as I flew around the house, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach at the prospect of disappointing the people waiting for me. Not to mention, this was going to upend my whole day, send the line of dominoes tumbling over. I could feel it.

I grabbed my favorite black heels, hopping on one foot as I slipped each shoe on, plucked my travel mug full of liquid sanity from under the machine once the stream had cut off, and snatched my messenger bag off the hook by the front door.

Town hall wasn’t far—definitely close enough to walk. But not in Mississippi in late May. Mother Nature held all the beauty in the world, but she didn’t have air conditioning. My Prius did.

Thankfully, the path from my home to town hall was clear, so I made it there in record time without having to go more than five miles over the speed limit. Lord knew if any of my daddy’s cop buddies had seen me speeding, they’d have thought I’d been body snatched.

Grabbing my bag and my coffee, I stepped from my car. It was already busy in the town square, though that was to be expected considering it was?—

I froze with my travel mug halfway to my mouth, my eyes glued to the man across the street as he strolled into the coffee shop, casual as you please, leaving me to gape in his wake. I stared at the space he’d just been. Blinked. Stared some more.

I’d only managed a brief glimpse of his face before he’d disappeared inside. But he’d looked so much like the man from my dream—so much like the man I’d once known better than myself—that a mountain range had formed in my stomach, its jagged edges cutting through my insides.

A truck pulled up to the single stoplight on Main Street, blocking my view of the coffee shop and breaking my trance.

I shook my head and muttered to myself under my breath, “Get your head on straight, girl.”

I had to have seen incorrectly, no doubt a product of my dream playing tricks on my mind and my frazzled morning throwing me off. There was no other explanation. For one thing, Finn Thomas hadn’t set foot in Havenbrook in ten long years, and I didn’t anticipate he’d suddenly gotten a craving for the coffee at Higher Grounds. Second—and this one was harder to admit, even to myself—I hadn’t felt that zing of awareness I’d always had while in Finn’s presence. And despite the fact that he’d broken my heart and then hadn’t even had the courtesy to stick around and watch while I’d attempted to get over him, I sort of hated the idea that maybe that spark was gone.

My phone rang from inside my bag, tearing me from thoughts better left beneath the heaps of baggage I’d stuffed them under years ago. After a quick glance at my screen, I blew out a heavy sigh. My father’s name flashed, and I pushed aside the wave of exhaustion that swept over me just seeing it there.

With my daddy at a conference and his assistant, Gloria, on maternity leave, making sure town hall ran smoothly fell solely on my shoulders. It’d been damn exhausting.

The kicker was it would’ve been a much easier job if only my daddy had faith I could actually do it.

Shuffling the items in my hands, I swiped across the face of my phone to accept the call. I plastered on a bright smile, hoping it would carry through the line. “Mornin’, Daddy.”

“Will,” he snapped. He always snapped. And he always called me Will, never mind the fact that I wasn’t the boy my daddy’d assumed I’d be, or that I didn’t particularly like the nickname. At least, not coming from him. Not when I knew the story behind it.

Having four girls after a decades-long line of only boys had done nothing but piss off the old man. The Havens were known for producing virulent males, but it’d only taken one to break the streak. A false reading on an ultrasound meant my older sister had come home in a blue outfit, to a blue nursery, and had worn only blue the first month of her life. And Rory James had morphed into Aurora Jane on her birth certificate.

When I had come along three years later, Momma and Daddy had decided not to find out the gender at all, considering the last time had been a complete shitshow—my words, not my momma’s. Momma had carried me low, had craved nothing but salty foods, and my heart rate had been slow. So, based solely on a bunch of old wives’ tales, my father had been certain I’d be a boy.

When I’d come out lacking one very important appendage, foresight on my momma’s part meant she’d had a gender neutral outfit in which to bring me home. My nursery had still been painted blue, but this time, there’d been bits of pink everywhere. And Will Grant—my father’s choice of name—had been changed to Willow Grace. But Daddy had always insisted on calling me Will. To remind me I’d failed him even while taking my first breath? Maybe. Probably.

And thus began what I liked to think of as the biggest practical joke my father had ever been on the receiving end of, all courtesy of the big man upstairs. My daddy was a good old boy and completely old-fashioned from his bull-head all the way down to his stubborn feet. He was a man’s man —whatever the hell that meant. Thought a woman’s place was barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Didn’t think a woman could do a “man’s job”—and certainly couldn’t do it as well.

Which put him in quite a pickle, seeing as our town was our namesake, and at least one person from each generation of Havens had served as the mayor of Havenbrook. Being plagued with four daughters—each one more headstrong than the previous—for a man who was perpetually stuck in 1950, thinking women belonged only to the men in their lives, was laughable.

Karma, if you asked me.

All I knew was it was exhausting having that man for a father. Having him for a boss? It was a wonder I’d managed to keep my sanity intact.

I blew away the stray hairs hanging in my eyes, working hard to keep the smile in place. “Yes, sir?”

“Why aren’t you in the office yet? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe the work day starts at nine o’clock, not whenever you get around to it.”

Of course, he’d called on the solitary day out of the hundreds I’d worked for him when I hadn’t been in the office early. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense to my failures. And he took the opportunity to call me out on every single one of them any chance he got.

But because I knew he was anxious being away from the town and his job, stuck at a conference he didn’t want to go to, I bit my lip and forced myself to swallow any back talk. Buying myself some time so I didn’t bite his head off, I glanced down and kicked a stray rock away, hating how the weight of his disapproval made me feel all of seven years old.

The sun shone bright in the sky, illuminating my favorite shoes far better than the lighting in my house did. Which was how I realized I wasn’t wearing my pair of black heels, as I’d intended, but rather one black and one navy. That’d teach me for buying multiples of the same style of shoes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled.

“’Scuse me, young lady? You might be a grown woman, but you know I don’t tolerate no back-sassin’.”

I dropped my head back on my shoulders, exhaling a long breath, and closed my eyes. Later tonight, after I’d downed an entire bottle of wine, I was going to laugh about this day. I hoped.

“Sorry, Daddy, that wasn’t meant for you.” I shut my car door and hustled toward the front steps of town hall, trying to make up for the time my father had cost me. “Now, what can I do for you? You should be enjoyin’ that conference instead of worrying yourself with calling here.”

“I wish I wouldn’t have to call you, but you haven’t given me much reason to trust you can take care of Havenbrook on your own, now have you?”

No, not much. Only five years of my life, not to mention restoring a failing downtown while I was at it. But none of that mattered in my daddy’s eyes. Mostly because—as far as I could tell—I simply wasn’t my older sister. Or born with a penis. And, unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about either one of those.

“No need to fuss,” I said. “We’re doing all right here, even without the mayor.”

He snorted in that arrogant way that set my teeth on edge. “Avery said it’s a mess there, just a mess.”

With every word out of his mouth, it was getting harder and harder to bite my tongue. Especially when we both knew what he said was a pile of horseshit. There was no way my assistant and best friend would throw me under the bus. Even if it was the truth.

Town hall had been a mess since Richard Haven had gone out of town. A mess he’d left me with, but one for which he’d criticize me endlessly, constantly comparing the somehow lacking job I did to my older sister. Never mind the fact that Perfect Rory had never held a job in public service—or at all, for that matter. That didn’t matter to Daddy. Rory did no wrong, and I did nothing but wrong.

I was twenty-seven years old, had been doing this job for five years, and I was fed up with my daddy’s constant nit-picking. I’d done the job better than anyone in the past decade, and yet I was critiqued on my performance on a daily basis.

After a lifetime of it, I should be used to it, but the truth was it still stung.

“Town hall is running fine, Daddy. Nothing to worry about. I’ve got it all under control.”

“Funny you say that, seein’ as how you’re on the phone with me instead of tending to your first appointment.”

The urge to look over my shoulder was strong just to check and make sure he didn’t actually have cameras on me. How else could he be thousands of miles away and still know the ins and outs of my day like some kind of bloodhound?

I pulled open the front doors and stepped inside, sighing into the cool relief of the air conditioning as I hurried toward my office. “I’m headed in there now. I had to run out to my car and grab some paperwork for it.”

He grunted, and I could just see him smoothing his tie over his slightly rounded belly, his lips pulled down in the corners. “I need some information on the little party you’ve got comin’ up.”

The little party to which he was referring was the annual Fourth of July parade—something that took a full year of planning and preparation to pull off. In fact, for the past five years, I’d allowed myself a couple hours of celebration on July fourth, and then on the fifth, I dove straight back into planning the following year’s parade—or little party , according to the town’s mayor.

“All right,” I said, working hard to keep the frustration from seeping into my tone. “What sort of information?”

“Well, I don’t know, now do I? I’m not the one who plans all these frivolous gatherings. I need somethin’ to show at this meeting, is all. Just send me whatever you’ve got, and do it quick. It’s startin’.”

Without waiting for a response from me, my father hung up, giving me absolutely no details on what he needed, how much of it he needed, or where to send it. But then again, that was my daddy. Expected other people to do the work for him without giving them heads or tails of what he needed, then berated them for doing a subpar job.

Yeah, I was definitely drinking an entire bottle of wine tonight. Maybe two.

I shuffled my way to my office in my too-high heels I could only hope no one would notice didn’t match. My messenger bag thumped against my hip as I hurried down the hall, careful not to spill the coffee gripped in one hand.

Sliding into my office sixteen minutes late, I darted my eyes around, breathing a sigh of relief when no one waited inside. Finally, the dominoes had stopped crashing into each other.

Avery looked up at me and smiled. “Nola’s already in your office.”

“Dammit.” My shoulders sagged. Of course she was. I wouldn’t have been lucky enough to have my appointment be late too. I blew a wayward strand of hair out of my face. “How long’s she been here?”

“About ten minutes.”

“ Dammit .”

She waved a dismissive hand and shot me a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I brought in a couple glazed croissants from The Sweet Spot and got her all set up with some fresh coffee. Then we discussed the glorious specimens of men on display over at the firehouse, weighing the pros and cons of a runner’s body versus a linebacker’s. She’s fine.”

“You’re a godsend,” I said. “An inappropriate godsend, but a godsend nonetheless.”

She grinned. “Indeed, I am.”

I huffed out a laugh and rolled my eyes as I juggled the items in my hands so I could turn the knob to my office. “Hey, Nola. I’m so, so sorry?—”

“No big deal,” Nola cut me off, offering a smile. With the pink ends on her long, platinum blond hair, a nose ring, and more tattoos than I could count, she would have fit better in a big city like Nashville than she did in the tiny town of Havenbrook. She no doubt got looks anytime she went out, but it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Though, as far as I could tell, nothing much did. “Avery hooked me up with some croissants and a coffee.”

“I heard y’all also debated the merits of tall and lean or big and beefy.” I tsked in mock disappointment. “Our first responders are more than pieces of meat, you know.”

Nola grinned, her eyes sparkling. “If they don’t want us talkin’ about them, why are they always out washin’ the fire trucks without any shirts on?”

“Excellent point.” I set down my messenger bag, dropped my purse in my bottom drawer, and settled behind my desk. So damn thankful Avery had more forethought than I did. All the paperwork Nola and I needed to go over at the meeting sat paper-clipped together on top of my desk. “Congratulations, by the way. I don’t think I’ve had a chance to tell you that since you bought Pete’s old place. I had no idea you were interested in business ownership.”

She shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. “Thanks. An opportunity presented itself, so I snatched it up.”

“You mentioned wanting to start construction over there this week. We’ve got a bit of paperwork to fill out before y’all get going on that, but I don’t think anything’ll hold y’all up.” I pulled the paper clip off the stack and sorted through the papers to find the ones I needed.

“Actually, my business partners should be here any minute. We’ll probably need to wait for them to go over everything.”

I cocked my head as I stilled my hands. “Business partners?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t afford it by myself, so I wrangled some old friends into buyin’ it with me.”

I tried to remember if that information had been on any of the paperwork that’d crossed my desk. It might’ve been, but the truth was, I hadn’t had a chance to even glance at it, let alone familiarize myself with the ins and outs of Nola’s venture. My daddy had me running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to take care of Gloria’s unattended work on top of my already precariously balanced workload.

“Oh, I apologize. I must’ve assumed it was just you.”

Nola shrugged. “Most people do.” She glanced at her phone, typing out a quick text. “That’s them now. They grabbed a coffee at Higher Grounds and are on their way over.”

I took a healthy swallow of my coffee, nearly sighing as the good-as-gold elixir worked its way through my system, thankful for the wake-up. “So, what made y’all want to start up a boutique?”

Nola’s brows shot up on her forehead. “A boutique? We’re not startin’ a boutique.” She tossed her head back and laughed, slapping her hand on her thigh. “Lord, the thought of the Thomas boys running a boutique is funny as hell. Can you imagine?”

My lips curved at the corners, her laughter contagious. “Oh, I just thought—” I froze as her words finally caught up with me.

It’d been a long time since I’d heard those two words together— those Thomas boys are nothin’ but trouble. Why you runnin’ around with one of ’em, Will? —and I had to remind myself to breathe.

Just breathe.

Maybe Nola didn’t mean who my memory automatically called up. And of course that’d been where my mind had gone—after the dream and then the false sighting, it was no wonder I had Finn Thomas on the brain.

It’d been so long since he’d left, it was easy to forget Nola and the Thomases had run around together in high school. But that didn’t mean anything. Surely, they weren’t still in contact. Finn hadn’t been back in ten long years, and he sure as hell hadn’t called or sent so much as a letter, despite claiming he’d been desperately in love with me. Certainly it’d been the same for everyone else in town, hadn’t it?

“Who—” I cleared my throat, smoothing a hand over the papers on my desk. Bracing myself for the answer I feared. “Who exactly are you partnering up with?”

“Oh, you remember?—”

A knock cut off Nola as Avery pushed the door open and poked her head through the crack. “Willow? Miss Nola’s partners are here.” She widened her eyes and mouthed Holy shit, there’s two of them while fanning her face. Then she pushed the door open the rest of the way, allowing the two men to walk into my office.

And my whole world stopped spinning. Just froze entirely.

History in the form of heartbreak strolled right through my door. I couldn’t talk—could barely breathe. My eyes landed first on the man closest to me—the one, I realized, I’d seen walk into Higher Grounds only fifteen minutes earlier. He was tall, dark, and handsome, just as he’d been years ago. Nothing short of drool-worthy, as my assistant and best friend had pointed out.

But he wasn’t the one who drew my eyes. He wasn’t the one whose very presence was a magnetic pull I couldn’t ignore no matter how hard I tried. No, that belonged entirely to the man who stepped in behind his twin.

While only minutes before I’d been almost saddened at the thought the spark between us could somehow be gone, I now yearned for that separation. Because it was damn embarrassing sitting in front of the man who’d stomped all over my heart with my nipples noticeable from a fifty-foot distance.

I tried to appraise him with cool, detached professionalism, but that was a joke. There was no denying the zing of awareness that always flared in my body at his nearness. And damn it all to hell if it hadn’t lessened any with time.

Looking like a near mirror image to the man I’d seen across the street, Griffin “Finn” Thomas stood in front of me for the first time in a decade, the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the harsh sun from the window at his back. His dark hair was shorter than it’d been when we were younger, cropped close but still carelessly messy. At least a day’s worth of stubble covered his jaw, probably more like two or three. The cotton of his T-shirt stretched over muscles that’d popped up since I’d known him, worn jeans encasing strong legs. Strong, long legs—he’d somehow gotten even taller since I’d last seen him when he’d been just nineteen, and Lord have mercy, had he filled out. Where once he’d been tall, almost rangy, now he was fine-tuned with solid, carved muscles, the kind men worked hard for—either at the gym or at life. And if I knew anything at all about Finn, I’d place money on the latter.

A memory of work-roughened hands sliding up the insides of my thighs, fingers brushing over the brand on my hip, breath hot in my ear, and lips soft against my neck flashed in my mind before I blinked it away. Memories didn’t have any place here—certainly not those kinds of memories.

“Hey, Willowtree,” Finn said, his voice just as rich and smooth as I remembered.

His old nickname for me set me on edge, tightening my nipples and my jaw all at once, snapping my composure like a twig. He’d given it to me all those years ago, before we’d become a couple, saying I’d always looked sad like a weeping willow. And then he’d pulled me into his orbit, and my sadness had lifted because for the first time in my entire life, someone had seen me for exactly who I was. Seen me, and apparently concluded the real me wasn’t worth sticking around for.

Oh, he had some nerve coming back here, strolling into my office like he hadn’t made me fall in love with him only to take my heart, chain it to the hitch of his car, and drag it behind him as he’d peeled out of town, never to be seen or heard from again. Like he hadn’t upended my plans, hadn’t changed the course of my life when he’d so callously bailed on our future. Like he hadn’t disappeared like a ghost without so much as a backward glance.

In the past ten years, I’d had a lot of time to fantasize about what I’d do if I ever saw Finn Thomas again. What I’d say, how I’d look. What I’d be wearing and how I’d act. In my daydreams, I’d always had on my best outfit—something that minimized my ample booty and maximized my barely there breasts. My hair was always salon-day perfect, my makeup flawless. Sometimes, I’d give him a piece of my mind, tear him up one side and down the other. Sometimes, I’d be with another man—someone infinitely good-looking who’d dote on me. We’d laugh and joke, lean in for a kiss as we passed Finn. Sometimes, I’d walk by as if I didn’t recognize him.

But never, not once in all the scenarios I’d dreamed up over the years, did I sit there looking like hell warmed over, wearing two different colored shoes, no makeup, and dirty hair pulled back into a ponytail, just…staring.

Silence reigned for far too long, blanketing the room until it nearly smothered me. Only when Avery cleared her throat did I manage to pull my head from my ass.

I clenched my teeth, fisted my hands… Tried to bite back the words that were on the tip of my tongue, because they certainly weren’t professional. And Lord knew I’d already been unprofessional enough for one morning, strolling into an appointment fifteen minutes late, without a clue as to the details of said appointment. Besides that, the words certainly weren’t me. I didn’t lose my temper. I didn’t snap. Those qualities belonged solely to my daddy.

But, truthfully, after the spectacular start to my day, there was really no holding back anything. Not when my worst memory greeted me as if nothing had happened to cause that painful ache in my chest.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up in my office after all this time, asshole.”