The Secrets We Built Together (Willowbrook #3)

1. Blake

Chapter 1

Blake

T his was the best part of my day, I took my feet off the pedals, stretched my legs out to the side, and tipped my face up to the early spring sun as I freewheeled the bicycle down the last hill into Willowbrook.

Was it safe? No. Was it something a twenty-eight-year-old woman should be doing?

I wasn't answering that one. Was it also some of the most fun I had in my day? Hell yes it was! And hence why I now did it every day.

"Man, this is the life, Toby," I said to the empty basket on the front of the bicycle and the imaginary dog I liked to think I'd actually get one day.

It helped with what was about to come.

What kind of life was I living, not having a tiny dog to sit in the bicycle basket?

It felt like a requirement at this stage.

I was a legitimate small town girl now.

The bicycle might be Delaney’s, and yes, technically, I still lived in her house because I hadn’t worked up the courage to leave despite what I’d said.

But I still lived in Willowbrook now and I had to admit, I loved everything about it.

My mind turned to Titus, the strange-looking flatulent dog that Mrs. Schulster carried everywhere, and I snorted in amusement.

Toby and he could be best friends.

That would get me an invite into their lunch club.

The town came into view, and just like every day before this one, my heart soared at the sight and then immediately sank as I knew I was getting closer to my destination.

This was my daily pilgrimage to the secret studio I hadn't even been able to tell my closest friend about, to torture myself with my own failings. It had finally happened. One of the galleries I'd given my portfolio to had called me, offering to host my very own solo show.

And ever since, every idea I'd ever had felt worthless. Trivial. Not worthy of standing up and proudly declaring it as the best work I'd ever done.

If I was being completely honest with myself, I hadn't done my best work for the past two years. It was a wonder I'd ever been able to sell any of it.

It was also the reason why the most recent piece in my portfolio was four years old.

And now someone had taken a chance on me on the basis of a series of paintings I knew I could never do better than.

Because I'd tried for four whole years and failed every single time.

It never used to feel like this. Art was my escape from reality. It was the lens I looked through to see the beauty in an otherwise cruel and confusing world. But for some reason, the door to that escape had been slammed closed, and no matter how many times I sat in front of my easel, nothing came out of me.

So, today was the usual attempt of trying to force something, anything, out of me.

Basically, a super fun morning of failure for me.

Ugh.

"Here we go again, Toby," I muttered as I coasted the bicycle around the first bend that led to the main street in Willowbrook. "I should probably stop talking to you now before someone thinks I'm even crazier than I am."

I waved at Marie through the window of the bakery as I sailed past and then headed down the street and round the corner. I glided up to the sidewalk and hopped off my bicycle like a pro. All I needed was a baguette and Toby, and I could totally pass for some chic Parisian.

Then I looked down at my clothes.

Maybe chic was a bit of a stretch, but I was living on an artist's budget, which basically meant no budget at all.

I shrugged to myself and then wheeled the bicycle down the side of the place that held my torture palace. I leaned the bike against the wall by the back entrance I wasn't supposed to use, so obviously I did this every day. I didn't even entirely understand why at this point. Part of me was worried that it might be because I was actually a terrible person.

Books and Beans.

My nemesis.

And yet like the best kind of torture, I just couldn't stop myself from coming back every day for more. It had to be that aroma of coffee that floated up the stairs. My caffeine addiction was working against me.

I'd never felt such betrayal.

As I swung open the back door and stepped inside, I was enveloped by that bookshop smell with a hint of coffee wrapped around it. I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe it in deeply.

Maybe this was where I'd been going wrong. Maybe I needed to center myself in the peace of the perfect mecca of bookshop possibilities and then pour it all out onto the canvas.

"Are you completely incapable of following instructions?" Daniel asked from far closer than I would have assumed he'd be.

I cracked open one eye and saw him leaning against the back room doorway as he glared at me. The grumpy barista with the wild blond hair rarely ever cracked a smile and today was no exception.

We'd done this dance for weeks now. I was pretty sure he was only pretending to be annoyed.

Maybe.

Who couldn’t love a quirky, fun, never quite serious, potentially terrible… okay, maybe I got his point.

"Only when those instructions don't make sense," I told him. "Now shush, you're ruining my moment of calm."

He sighed, and then I heard him walk into the room and move around some boxes.

The sound of cardboard dragging across wire shelving grated across my nerves, but I refused to give up on what could be the answer to all my problems.

Desperation was apparently the tone for the day today.

"You're standing in the way of my zen," I told Daniel as he shuffled around the back room.

"And you're standing in the way of my decaf."

"Ugh, then I'm doing the world a favor. I might refuse to move on principle."

"And yet the world keeps throwing its money at me for it," Daniel answered dryly.

"Let's face it, if it was the entire world, you wouldn't have to put up with me."

"I'm not sure the rent is worth it, to be honest."

My eyelids snapped open, and I saw him standing in front of me with his hands on his hips as he stared me down.

"I know you don't mean that. I'm the highlight of your day." I shuffled two steps to the side and then closed my eyes again, but the moment was gone, and I sighed in defeat. "It's not supposed to be this hard."

Daniel grabbed the coffee beans he'd been waiting for, glancing at me out of the side of his eye as he did.

We hadn't really struck up the friendship I'd assumed we would when I'd approached him about the empty office upstairs. Marie had been the one to tell me about it. I had a feeling she suspected what I was going through, even if she was too nice to say anything about it.

Or maybe she was just trying to save me from myself and the six donuts I was eating every day. I might have saved one for Cade, but it was still more sugar than one person should consume.

Who was I kidding? If it wasn't for Delaney, my diet would be eighty percent sugar, and that was only because I consumed an unhealthy amount of coffee as well.

I should probably do something about that.

Ugh adulting, why was it so boringly difficult?

As I paused in thought, I unconsciously reached up and began twirling a specific strand of hair between my fingers—the same lock that always became my nervous fidget when art anxiety struck.

"You're doing it again," Daniel told me as he went to walk past me and back out into the shop.

Obviously, I followed him. I wasn't done trying to make him my friend yet. But it didn’t escape me that he knew me well enough to spot my nervous tick, so that had to mean I was making progress. Hopefully it was the type of progress I wanted.

As he carried the bag of beans on one shoulder and a box under the other arm, my gaze roamed across the way his shirt pulled tight over the muscles in his shoulders and then dropped down to his tight ass.

"Stop staring at my ass," he growled.

My head snapped up as I looked around to make sure that no one else had heard.

Thankfully, the only person in the shop was Carol, and she was looking just as guilty as I was, so I'd probably got away with it. She might be retired, but she apparently appreciated a good view still.

Carol winked at me before turning back to her book, and I grinned in response.

The older ladies of Willowbrook were a riot, and if things moved in my favor, I'd get an invitation to their Wednesday lunch club. I'd won most of them over. Mrs. Schulster was the only hold out, but I had a surefire way of getting on her good side. It came in the form of the ham I now constantly had in my jacket pocket and a fiendish plan to make Titus fall in puppy love with me.

I passed by two local farmers who were huddled over coffee cups, their conversation drifting my way.

"Can you believe those Farrington brothers are doing all that ranch renovation without their daddy's money?" one said, shaking his head.

"That rehabilitation center is gonna put Willowbrook on the map."

"Jasper must be fit to be tied," the other chuckled.

"Those boys finally showing they don't need his wallet."

News moved fast in this town and I needed the lunch club to be at the head of it. Gossiping might be a bad habit but it was endlessly entertaining when there wasn’t much else to do. Plus I had a twenty riding on there being some form of vegetable based scandal by the end of spring. Only Delaney had taken the bet. Sucker. Even I could see the potential of allotment hijinx around here and I was a newby.

Daniel dropped the box on the counter, and when he turned back around to face me, I swear to God there was a smile on his face.

I knew he liked me.

Maybe today was going to be my lucky day.

Not that kind of lucky. I didn't have the necessary boy parts for Daniel to find me attractive. Anyway, I'd sworn off sex until I put paint to canvas.

Which could also be my problem, now I was thinking about it.

"It's no wonder you can't get any work done," Daniel said, grabbing some scissors and opening the box. "I swear I can see the moment your mind drifts off, and it happens on average two seconds after something loses your attention. Do you have a problem with shiny objects and squirrels?"

"Awww."

I practically swooned as I thought about their cute bushy tails, and Daniel barked out a laugh as I proved his point.

My hands flew up in the air in outrage, and I turned to storm out of the shop.

"No, please don't go. I'll miss you too much," Daniel said sarcastically, and I glared at him over my shoulder.

The stairs to the office above Books and Beans was behind a door next to the back room, and I quickly checked the store before I slipped through and headed up. I had no idea why I was being so secretive about this place. It wasn't like Delaney and the others wouldn't be completely supportive.

Although, maybe that was exactly why.

Delaney had been by my side through all the ups and downs of my life. She'd been the one at my side when my parents had cut me off, and she'd held my hand while I cried all my tears.

It wasn't a hard decision to make. I'd never been the person they wanted me to be, and art was such a massive part of me that walking away from it was the only decision I couldn't bear to make.

As soon as I'd realized that, I knew what I needed to do, and Delaney and her Aunt had taken me in and become my new family. The family I always wished I had. In some ways it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. You know if you didn’t count leaving everything and everyone I knew behind and the crushing abandonment and self confidence issue I’d developed since.

Right now, the last thing I needed were words of encouragement. I didn't need someone to tell me that I could push through this, or try to give me helpful advice. I needed to feel . To sit with my thoughts and emotions and try to figure out the person I was right now before I could pour another part of myself onto the canvas.

I reached out for the door handle and froze with the cool metal clasped against my palm. Closing my eyes, I counted to ten and then swung open the door and stepped inside. The smell of dusty paper hit me, and I sighed. It should have had the lingering smell of oil paint. The slight caustic edge of solvent that would make me immediately open the window, no matter what the weather was like outside.

But it didn't.

Because even though I'd had this secret studio space for nearly two months now, I hadn't opened a single tube of paint.

I quietly closed the door and looked around at the space I'd made for myself. It was cozy enough. I had my easel set up where the light was just perfect. My favorite stool sat in front of it next to a taboret that was filled with all the art supplies I loved so much. It hadn't been easy sneaking this out of the barn that Delaney had let me store my things in. But I needed this place. It was the quiet in the storm. The solitude I needed to be able to hear that whisper that filled my mind when I started to paint. Or at least it was supposed to be.

The rest of the studio was pretty bare. Some empty canvases leaned against the wall, waiting to become what they were always supposed to be. I just didn't know if I was the person who could do that anymore.

And that was when the same thought I had everyday came to me.

What if I didn't have it in me anymore?

What if the moment I finally got a gallery to take me seriously enough to host me a show, the spark of creativity that I'd nurtured since I was a child was finally snuffed out?

I hadn't even had the time to reach my peak. I sold some paintings. I'd finally started to make enough money to support myself, and my savings account had enough to sustain me while I chased my dream. And now it was over. Or at least it felt like it was.

I sat down on my stool, my shoulders sagging in defeat as I stared at the blank canvas. My hand automatically reached for a brush, and then, just like always, I froze. That one strand of hair found its way between my fingertips again, twirling in an anxious rhythm that matched my racing thoughts.

There was nothing else bubbling inside me.

And just like always, I let the tears flow and mourned the end of the only thing I'd ever wanted to do with my life.