3. Willa
3
willa
“I most certainly won’t be coming home with you, ” I all but squeal.
Somehow my brain deciphered his words and sent the message to my mouth.
Because in what world does this man think I’m going home with him?
His eyes go wide at the sound of my voice. Whether it’s the words or the tone, I can’t ascertain. Not that I care which it is. I’m glad he’s affected.
“Oh, shit. I didn’t mean come home with me.”
“Then why did you say ‘you’ll come home with me’?” My voice is tinny and pitched high, and my body shudders, the thought beyond ludicrous.
He holds up his hands, palms facing me. If it’s to get me to calm down or change my tune, I don’t know. “Hear me out.”
The adrenaline from earlier returns, my heart rate accelerating as if I’ve been running or doing a HIIT workout. And since I like neither of those and avoid them at all costs, it’s not a good feeling.
A stare-down ensues, the only sounds the wind gusts outside and our labored breaths. I’m hoping only I can hear the pounding of my heart .
When he doesn’t speak for several minutes, I prod, “Well? I’m listening.”
Beckett shoves his fingers through his brown hair, mussing up the medium-length strands. If I was certain he wasn’t a serial killer, I’d find him attractive.
Hell, no matter his side profession, the man’s an eleven on the attraction scale.
Dark, wavy, thick hair. Not curly, but wavy. Like girls would kill to have those kinds of waves.
Long lashes surrounding the bluest of eyes. Lakes of enchanting cerulean to get lost in if one stared too long.
Under a layer of stubble, one dimple on his left cheek, a divot I’d like to poke the tip of my finger in.
And the quirkiest crooked smile. I’ve only seen it once, but damn did my lady parts sing.
This is exactly why I’d be taken by a kidnapper if approached. If I’ve learned anything from the podcasts and documentaries to protect myself against predators, it’s that I’ve learned nothing.
One look at this stranger and I’m all like “have my babies.”
Wait. That doesn’t make sense.
He can’t have my babies.
It’s more like “let me have your babies.”
My mind diverges down a path it shouldn’t, and when I clue in, his mouth is moving. I force my ears to listen.
“I have a rental property. You could stay there. That’s what I meant by ‘home.’”
“Like an Airbnb?” I state incredulously. He nods, like the information isn’t the best piece of news I’ve heard all day. “Why didn’t you say that like ten minutes ago? Instead of texting people about the inn and the bed-and-breakfasts?” I swat his chest. Even under his sweatshirt, it’s well-defined.
Add that to the list of his incredible qualities.
“It’s a bit of a construction zone with renovations and not quite ready for occupancy, but you can stay at my house and I’ll stay at the rental. It’s one night, two at most. I’ll sacrifice for you, Willa.”
The way he speaks my name has me wanting him to never stop saying it. The last syllable is “la” instead of the “uh” sound most people use.
What the heck is in the air tonight that has me thinking these thoughts?
“That’s . . . generous of you.” Too enthralled with his pronunciation of my name, the rest of his statement penetrates slowly, not fully sticking all at once. “Wait. Did you say I could stay at your house?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I won’t be there. You’ll be safe from the likes of all predators. Me included.” He flashes that damned crooked smile, causing my ovaries to wave the white flag. Traitors.
“Just so I understand correctly. You’ll hole up at some random rental you’ve forgotten about, and I’ll stay at your house?” Between the car predicament and Beckett’s hotness, my mind’s all foggy. Hence why I have to confirm.
He exhales, his breath mixing with the hot air blowing from the vents. “I’d say it’s your best option.”
“It’s kinda my only option,” I blurt.
Not that I’m on board or completely comfortable with it yet, but what choice do I have?
None, that’s what.
He claps his hands together, giddiness wafting off him. “Great. Shall I get your car loaded on my truck so we can be on our way to my house?” I go to speak, but he cuts me off. “Where you will stay by yourself. I will grab some clothes and toiletries and be on my way to the rental. By myself,” he adds for good measure. Probably because he sees I’m still freaking out a tad.
“Guess it’s our only plan, so yes. Let’s do that.”
Hope I know what I’m getting into.
While Beckett collects my suitcase and stows it in his truck, I peek at the damage to my car and cringe. The front side panel smooshes against the tree, and the tire is definitely blown.
He doesn’t seem too fazed by the damage, but towing banged up vehicles is his specialty. No doubt he’s seen worse. Completely totaled cars, if I had to guess.
Beckett’s kind enough to start his truck, blasting the heat so I won’t freeze. The irony isn’t lost on me how he’s battling the elements to secure my car on the flatbed but made sure I’m taken care of. His kindness is genuine, exuding off him in waves. He can’t not help to make sure I’m comfortable.
I shoot my sister a text while I watch him load up my vehicle.
Call me in twenty minutes. If I don’t answer, call the cops. Winterberry Junction, Vermont. Tell them I was last seen with Beckett Nicholas. Hopefully they’ll know where to find my body.
I can’t help the dramatics. My imagination’s always been overactive. Comes in handy for my bestselling children’s books series. My main character, AJ Hart, is a combination of Sammy Keyes, Cam Jansen, and Nancy Drew. Given our technical advances, she’s a lot more tech-savvy than the others, solving crimes in her small town with her kickass sidekicks, Penelope and Ellis Wooten.
What started as a short story for a senior seminar quickly morphed into kids everywhere clamoring for my autograph. My agent’s hounding me to get back out on tour next year, but I’ve had the worst writer’s block the past two years. Part of the reason I booked the week at the cabin.
Well, and to avoid Christmas. Last year was . . . too much. The thought makes me twitch. Thankfully, Beckett’s loaded my SUV onto his flatbed.
The driver’s side door creaks open, and Beckett climbs up into the seat. He removes his cap and gloves, holding his bare hands to the vents .
“How far away is your house from here?”
“About five miles north.” Once his hands are warmer, he clicks his seat belt. “Might take a little while with the snow. It’s coming down harder. It’s too bad we aren’t closer to Christmas with the snow they’re predicting overnight. Perfect conditions for a Christmas whiteout.”
“Nothing perfect about a whiteout,” I mumble. “Especially on Christmas.”
I shift my body to face the windshield, away from Beckett’s curious eyes. I suppose he’ll have to focus on the road once we’re on the way, but I like to be the first one to look away. Gives me some semblance of control over an out-of-control situation.
His deep chuckle rumbles through the cab. “The folks of Winterberry Junction would politely disagree with you. Any snow the week leading up to Christmas is a cause for celebration.”
“Is that so?”
“You’ll see.”
I chance a gander his way, the crooked smile splayed on his lips. If possible, it’s even bigger than before.
My phone vibrates in my hand, eliciting a rise in me. I’d all but forgotten I texted my sister.
For once in our life, I can’t tell if you’re joking. Guess I’ll find out when I call you.
In case I don’t answer, I love you. You’re the best sister I could ever ask for.
Tell the boys I love them.
and Mom and Dad too. Hope this won’t ruin anyone’s Christmas
I really hope you’re kidding.
. . .
“Everything okay over there?” Beckett’s rasp hits me like an arrow, square in the chest. This strange yet kind man who’s letting me stay at his place.
Who does that? Is this typical of all Winterberry Junction residents? Or did I come across a nice one?
“Uh, ye-yeah. Yep. All good. Ready for your house.” I’m lying through my teeth. I’m in no way ready for his house.
“Prepare yourself. It’s less of a house and more like a cabin.”
“No problem. A cabin, condo, apartment. If it has four walls, a roof, a bed, heat, and some running water, I’m good. Better than sleeping in my car.”
He grunts. “That was never happening.”
“Well, I appreciate it. Thank you for coming to my rescue. With the car and the place to stay.”
I should say more, but if I continue, I’ll probably ramble, giving up my secrets he’s not privy to. Some secrets are best kept hidden.
The rest of the drive to the auto body shop is quiet, save for the wind outside. The snow continues to fall, harder now, like streaks of white dropping from the sky. I’m relieved I don’t have to drive in it. I wouldn’t have minded if it had stormed after I got to the cabin because I wasn’t planning on leaving there for a week. But this hiccup isn’t pleasant.
As we creep closer to what I assume is the center of Winterberry, white streetlamps illuminate the snow. Upon closer inspection, the poles are adorned with green garland. And not just a few of them.
All of them.
Up ahead a little way appear more lights. Even with the snow, it’s like it’s lit up with the power of a million watts. I wish I were exaggerating.
“What the heck . . .” I trail off, bewitched as Beckett makes the turn onto a street I can only describe as Christmas vomit.
Colored lights galore.
Every building covered in strings of different colors .
Both sides of the street distastefully decorated with bright lights.
My stomach lurches, and I close my eyes, squeezing them shut to prevent being blinded by the lights.
And not like in the song.
Oh, no. This is so much worse.
Despite my closed lids, light beams into my eyes. Like it has nowhere to go, nothing to do but shine, and my eyelids can’t keep it out.
“Make it stop,” I groan. “Why so fucking bright?”
From my left, Beckett chuckles. “Is this not what your town does for the holiday?”
“No. Not like this. And I thought Havenwood was over the top. There’s a Main Street display, which I avoid at all costs.” I shove my palms into my eyes, blocking the audacious beaming attempting to render me sightless. “Why? Why? Why ?” I stress the last repeated word. I can’t understand why any of this is necessary.
“Gotta keep up our reputation.”
“The reputation as Whoville’s competition?” I snark, feeling much like a grinch. Unlike him, my heart wasn’t always this small and frigid.
“The reputation of the most decorated small town in the US. We lost three years ago, and no one in town wants to lose again.”
“That’s a real thing?” I blink one eye open, looking for clues he’s serious.
“Oh, yeah. There’s a plaque and all. Housed in our town hall.”
“You’re lying.”
For a few beats, his expression remains stoic, and I think maybe he’s serious. But then his armor cracks.
“No, I’m kidding. Some travel guru created a website listing the top ten most decorated towns, and when Winterberry wasn’t the first on the list three years ago, there was a riot.”
I’m so invested in the story—how serious he is—I forget about the obscuring lights and open both eyes. A playful smirk dances on Beckett’s lips, but I’m not well enough acquainted with him to decipher it.
A shrilling noise rings out around us, and I take way too long to realize it’s my phone blaring with an incoming call. Clem’s name and face light up the screen, and I swipe to answer before recognition dawns on where I am and who I’m with.
“‘Lo?”
“Are you alive?”
I roll my eyes at the dramatic question. “I’m answering. And not from the dead.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Just my eyes at the moment. So many freaking bright lights.”
“Bright lights like at the hospital?” Before I can get my answer in, she gasps. “Or bright lights like it’s calling you home? Do not go toward it, Willafred. Do not go near the light!” Her panic shrills in my ear, and I have to move the phone away unless I want to go deaf. She’s still screaming nonsense, but I can only make out every third word.
“I’m fine, Clementine. Calm down.” Even though she can’t see, I pinch my nose in annoyance. Though, her point is valid.
“Calm down? You told me to call you and hope you weren’t dead. How am I supposed to not react?”
“Relax. I’m fine. Beckett’s driving me to his house because all the rental options are occupied.” I voice the words, hearing how they sound. If roles were reversed, I’d have a lot of questions. More than she probably will. It’s my nature.
“Who the hell is Beckett?” Another screech, a little louder this time.
“The tow truck driver.”
“Oh, the serial killer?” Damn, she’s been paying close attention to everything I’ve said today. That’s not usually her MO.
“I confirmed he’s not one. ”
“Oh, you confirmed it, did you? How’d you do that, Willafred?”
I hate when our personalities do a switcheroo. Right now, I need her to be the calm one, not the hysterical one.
“Hold on.” I tap the speakerphone button, her winded breath coming over the line. “Beckett, can you kindly tell my sister you’re not a serial killer?”
“As if a serial killer would say such a thing,” comes Clem’s exasperated tone.
“Clementine, is it?” Beckett inquires, his tone light and jovial. Clearly at our expense.
“Clem,” she corrects.
He glances my way. “My mistake, sorry. Can I ask you a question?”
“Soon as I determine you don’t have nefarious plans to take my sister out or force her to be your sex slave.”
Beckett guffaws as I shriek, “Clementine!”
“I assure you, she’s safe.”
In a different situation, I could get lost in his voice. The clarity. The robustness. The confidence.
“Oh, well if you assure me she’s safe, I’m totes reassured. How do I know she’s even where she says she is?”
“Check my location,” I mutter.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” There’s rustling over the line. “Hmm. Winterberry Junction, south of Lake Champlain. At least he wasn’t lying about that.”
“Can I ask my question yet?”
“I suppose,” comes Clem’s snarky response.
My eyes roll again. At least this conversation has distracted me from the eyesore that is Main Street. How long is this damn street? Exactly how many lights do they use to illuminate it so brightly?
I shake my head to ward off any more wayward thoughts.
“What’s your sister got against Christmas lights?”
I choke on my saliva. How dare he ?
“Um, that answer would require a full dissertation. Is she freaked about them?”
“Totes. Like they’re the ones trying to bring death upon her.”
I swat his arm, my hand hitting a solid mass. Damn.
“Ha. That’s a good one. You’re kinda funny, Beckett. Can I call you Beckett?”
“Sure, seeing as it’s my name.”
After what seems like forever, he directs the car left, and the luminescence fades from view. Thank goodness. Thought I might start seizing with all the flashing.
“So what’s the plan with Willa? ‘Cause I got some kids here that I can’t leave until their father gets home, and I’m not sure how long that will be. And then it’s a solid twelve hours or more to get to this Winterberry Junction from North Carolina. Even if I could get a flight, not sure it would be much faster.”
“And definitely longer with the storm,” he butts in. It’s yet to be determined whether it’s helpful.
“Right. Good point. Forgot about the snow.”
“I’m going to get her set up in my cabin?—”
Clem cuts him off. “Tell me you’re not taking her to a cabin in the woods. Because I might have to find a way to get up there sooner.”
“It’s on the edge of the woods, does that make it better?” It’s not really a question, but for Clem’s sake, he makes it one.
“Where’s the nearest house?”
“There are two cabins on the road, so directly across the street.”
“And who lives in the other one?”
“My neighbor.”
I crack a laugh. “Good one.” Though it’s probably not funny or wise to encourage this behavior. But I’ve relaxed more since he’s been driving. Call me naive, but I think I’m safe.
Which is probably what all the abductees say right before they’re kidnapped or murdered.
“Willa, much as I can’t make heads or tails of what’s going on, you got yourself into this mess, and it’s on you to get yourself out. Be as safe as you can. I love you. Keep me updated.” Clem’s voice cuts off, the call ending.
“Rude.”
“Guess she figures there’s no real threat here.”
“Is there an actual threat here, Beckett Nicholas?” I narrow my eyes his way, but his composure doesn’t break. Neither does his sight on the road. Which I appreciate considering the weather.
“None that I can see, Willafred.”
“Ugh. You heard that, did ya?”
“Kinda hard to miss.” His lips form a smile, and my lady parts take notice without my permission.
I may be physically “safe,” but I get the sense I’m not leaving Winterberry Junction unscathed.