19. Willa
19
willa
I spend my morning lazing around the cabin, eating cake, and drinking the pot of coffee. I can’t understand how it’s so good, but it is. Since Beckett won’t be home for a while, I savor it, making it last for most of the morning.
Beckett texts around eleven.
Meet you at the Wildflower Cafe around noon.
Great. I’m going to head out soon to scope out your town
I’ll give you a tour after lunch
if you want
Sure
See you in an hour
I put my phone to the side, but he texts again.
Hope you’re having a good morning
My smile is automatic.
I just finished the pot of coffee. Now I’m going to explore the parts of the cabin I haven’t yet to find your skeletons
Have at it. I’ve got nothing to hide
I love how you think I’m serious. I’m going to shower and then head out. My sleuthing will have to wait until after lunch
That’s too bad for you
Get back to work
I’m finished but wasn’t sure if you’d be ready for lunch yet
I could eat earlier and explore after
Want me to pick you up? I’ll drop you back off after our tour and then finish what I have to do
Because you don’t trust me to drive your car?
I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t trust you
Oh, good point.
So what then?
He doesn’t respond right away, so I put on socks and shoes.
What’s the weather?
Hoodie weather
My hoodie
Territorial much?
A week ago, I would have said no . . .
The dots jump, but no message appears. I’m forced to confront his unanswered question.
So are we meeting at the cafe?
be at the cabin in seven
Guess that answers my question. Why am I not surprised?
Why am I not upset?
eep. Better get ready
I finish the last sip of coffee and dart to the bedroom to change out of my pajamas and into clothes. Since my trip involved lounging around the cabin, I don’t have much in terms of “leaving the house and looking like a presentable human for a cafe” clothes, but I pair a clean pair of black leggings with a crewneck sweatshirt and hope for the best. Doing my hair would take away some of the sting, but the sound of the back door opening has me rushing to run a brush through it. I’ll tie it back out of my face so it’s not so wavy. Even though I dried it yesterday, it’s taken on a life of its own this morning.
“Leave it down,” Beckett barks from the bathroom doorway as I’m struggling to tame it into a less messy version of a lazy bun.
Yes, barks.
“It’s crazy,” I note, pointing to the out-of-control strands.
“It’s beautiful.”
His words cause me to stumble, needing to steady myself on the sink. Our gazes meet in the mirror. He breaks it to rake his down my body, eating me up like I’m his next meal.
“I can’t wait to see what color and style your undergarments are later today. Meet you in the driveway.”
His comment whirls around my brain. The man makes me so unhinged with one comment. It’s maddening. Yet, I love it at the same time .
Glad to know I’m not completely broken.
You’re welcome. Elias’s voice echoes around me on an exhale.
Wildflower Cafe is packed. Half a dozen booths line the back wall with low and high tables scattered throughout the rest of the floor. The usual casual decor is embellished with holiday decorations. They’re not so “in your face” as the outdoor spectacle of Main Street, and I can—possibly—admit they’re tasteful.
Like the grocery store the other day, people bombard Beckett with greetings, smiles, and questions.
A man in his fifties approaches first. His skin is like tanned leather, like he works outside a lot of the year.
Reaching his hand out to Beckett, his gaze slides my way before returning to Beckett’s. “Didn’t have a chance to congratulate a job well done. Or, jobs I should say. The lights, the breakfast, the parade. Is there any part of the town festivities you didn’t have your hand in?” A deep laugh rumbles from him, and his cheeks blush a rosy red.
Beckett shakes his hand. “Thanks, Mert. It was a busy year.”
“What will you do now that you’ve won this year’s contest?”
Beckett smirks like the Grinch. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve got lots of ideas up my sleeves.” Again, Mert’s attention draws my way, but Beckett dismisses him with a, “See you around.”
Mert seems perplexed at Beckett’s cursory tone but eventually takes the hint. “Oh, right. I’ll be seeing you.” He strolls back to his table.
We get a small reprieve until an older woman, probably my grandmother’s age, ambles to the table, leaning heavily on her cane.
“Beckett Nicholas. Just the man I wanted to see.” In a move I’m not expecting, she twists her body, angling her ass toward the booth seat, using the back of the booth and the table as leverage to sit down next to Beckett .
“Hey, Birdie,” he mumbles courteously but without the enthusiasm I’ve seen from him. Can’t blame him, though. She’s interrupting our chat, taking up residence in the booth like we invited her to join us. He smiles at her, but his dimple doesn’t make an appearance.
“We must chat about next year’s holiday breakfast.”
Beckett sighs, mouthing, “Sorry” to me.
I excuse myself to the bathroom. An inkling of guilt tries to worm in, but I shove it away. He suggested lunch, knowing full well how his town works. Mostly keeping to myself at home, I don’t spend too much time out and about in Havenwood, so I’m not sure how it compares to Winterberry Junction. Here, it seems like everyone knows everyone else, and a few of Beckett’s comments corroborate the notion.
I don’t stall in the bathroom, but I don’t not either. Hoping I’ve given Birdie enough time to chat about next year’s breakfast—like if they don’t get started immediately, they’ll run out of time for something happening in twelve months—I make my way toward the table in time to catch Beckett’s eye roll and his “save me.” I stifle my laughter, but he looks like he needs saving.
Sliding into the seat across from them, I don’t waste time interrupting Birdie’s speech. Something about red versus green decorations. “Um, Birdie, was it?” I raise my voice to be heard over hers.
Her glare swings my way, almost offended I’m impeding her conversation. Ironic since she’s the one who first muscled into my and Beckett’s discussion. “And you are?” Her tone isn’t quite rude, but it’s more abrasive than other Winterberry residents, something I file away to inquire about later.
“Willa.” Do I tell her I’m staying with Beckett? That we’re fuck buddies for the week? She’s not innocent, but that doesn’t mean she won’t take offense to it.
“Willa,” she repeats. “But who are you? You’re not from Winterberry. I’d know.” She crosses her pudgy arms over her chest, tilting her head down to peer over her glasses. Like a light bulb goes off, she snaps her fingers, surmising, “Oh, you’re the woman staying with Beckett. I heard about you.”
“Looks like the Winterberry gossip mill is at it again,” Beckett chimes in with a shake of his head. “Actually, she’s only here for a few more days. I’ll catch up with you next week about your ideas for next year’s breakfast.” Beckett stresses next and year . Hopefully, Birdie comprehends.
She’s slow but eventually she harrumphs, and with a struggle, awkwardly pushes out of the booth. Once she’s standing, leaning heavily on her cane with one hand and the table with the other, she stares at Beckett. “I expect to see you next week. I’ll have Marlene block out some time on my calendar. Plan for an hour.” One last scowl in my direction, she hobbles off.
Beckett lets out his breath and slumps against the booth, his fingers running through his hair. Before I can get him to explain, a cute teenager arrives to take our order, her eyes akin to googly ones, her smile ear to ear, her focus solely on Beckett.
“Hey, Beckett. How’s it going?”
“Great, Justine.”
If possible, her smile widens at the use of her name. She’s got it bad for him, but he doesn’t indicate the attraction is mutual. Only because she’s too young for him. Or I’d assume that’s what he’d say. He’s a handsome, single guy. How he doesn’t have women falling all over him is beyond me.
Or maybe he does. He’s spent a lot of time out of the cabin. Sure, he says he’s at work, but he could be with someone else and using me as a backup. With this being so sudden and also temporary, it’s not like we set rules or boundaries. And if he is getting it from someone else, good for him. Maybe she’ll be more permanent.
Even considering him with another woman sours my stomach. Which is the stupidest ever because he’s a fun time for the time being. Nothing more.
“Willa?” Beckett’s voice breaks me out of the trance. He regards me with an unusual expression, almost as if I’m a stranger. Oh, right. I am. “Have you decided what you wanted?”
“No. Can we get a few more minutes?”
Justine smiles at me, but it’s not as bright as the one for Beckett. “Sure thing. I’ll come back in a bit. Something to drink while you wait?”
“Water, please.”
“I’ll have a Coke.”
“Be right back.” Justine flitters away, leaving us to get back to the menu.
“What’s good here? What’s your favorite?”
“For breakfast, their avocado toast. For lunch, the grilled cheese and tomato soup combo is my go-to.”
“Is that what you’re getting?”
“Was waiting to see what you want. If you want to share something, we could do that. If you want to each order our own, we can do that, too.”
I scan the menu again, getting stuck on the sandwiches section. “I’m a sucker for buffalo chicken sandwiches.”
Beckett nods. “Good choice.”
“But the tomato soup and grilled cheese combo sounds good, too. Want to go halfsies on the meals?”
“Sure.”
I stare into his blue eyes, the color deepened by the dark green sweatshirt he sports, his auto body shop logo front and center. “Are you agreeing with me for me or are you agreeing because that’s what you want?”
He ponders my question before shrugging. “Honestly, a little of both. I’m not too picky when the food’s good, but I get a rise out of making you smile. If sharing sandwiches will do that for you, I’m here for it.”
“You know how to sweet-talk the ladies, make them swoon. The ladies of Winterberry Junction are a lucky bunch.” Like earlier, something yanks at my heart at the suggestion of him with another woman. Even when Elias and I first started dating, I wasn’t this territorial, and that relationship had the potential to turn into more.
I don’t know what to make of this realization. It’s probably a good idea not to delve into it.
Beckett laughs. “Not when you’ve known them all since before elementary school. Or rather, they’ve known me for that long. Hard to find a solid relationship with someone you’ve known your entire life.”
“Valid point. Guess it’s the tourists who have an advantage.”
“Like you.”
“For sure. Women like me.” My cheeks heat under his watchful examination. Thankfully, Justine reappears with our drinks.
“All set?” Her pen hovers above her notepad.
“Yep. Two bowls of the tomato soup, grilled cheese on sourdough, and the buffalo chicken wrap, substitute ranch instead of bleu cheese.”
“What kind of cheese for the grilled cheese?”
He defaults to me. “Swiss or American?” I propose.
“Swiss,” he confirms to Justine, handing our menus to her.
“Super. I’ll go put this in.” With a last glance in Beckett’s direction, she skirts away from the table.
“Not a fan of bleu cheese?” I infer.
“I’ll eat it if there’s nothing else available, but Bonnie’s ranch—she’s the chef and owner here—is out of this world fantastic.”
I admire him for not asking if I’d mind the substitution and instead making the change. Not that I’ll let him know it.
“What if I want bleu cheese?”
“I’ll get you some on the side.”
Damn, didn’t account for him to have a reasonable answer ready. It’s not flippant, but genuine, like the man himself.
I forgo asking more about Marlene and Birdie. I don’t care enough to know. They’ll be a distant memory as soon as I hit the town limits. Instead, I ask, “How was the holiday breakfast?” I’m proud of myself for speaking without a stutter .
“Fun and rowdy. Participants enjoyed themselves.” A full-on smile broaches his lips, his enthusiasm infectious until I remember why he’s excited. He takes a sip of his Coke. “What did you do? Get any words?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t feel like dealing with a blank screen, so I didn’t attempt to write. I’ll try after lunch, but I’m not hopeful.”
He raises a brow. “Even after unlocking all those words yesterday?”
“A fluke, I’m sure.”
“Ah. We could do it again tonight. I have something I can’t get out of, but after dinner at my parents, my top agenda item is discovering what’s under your clothing and completely free for anything else.”
My cheeks flame hotter. “Beckett,” I hiss, lowering my voice. “This is not appropriate lunch chatter. In a public place.”
He leans in closer, motioning for me to do the same. “It would be inappropriate for me to ask to see them at lunch. Talking about it is on the table.”
“It’s all inappropriate at lunch.” He’s got me all hot and bothered, feelings that have laid dormant until a few days ago. I want nothing more than to act on them, but this isn’t the place. “Save the foreplay for the cabin.”
“Ever done it in public?” Straight-faced and even toned, he poses the question. Like he was asking if he needed an umbrella if it was raining.
I survey the cafe. The tables aren’t close enough together for other patrons to hear us in our hushed tones. But still, I make sure only Beckett can hear me. “How public is considered public?”
“Outside the house. In a parking lot. Where people might see.”
“Yes to a parking lot. No to the last one.”
Beckett rests back against the booth, his arms crossing over his chest. “Interesting. Was the parking lot crowded? Any chance for people to look in?”
I swallow. “No.”
“Did you feel scandalous?”
“So much,” I deadpan.
Beckett rolls his eyes. “How about at a make-out spot? Where people go to have sex.”
“No. Too much of a chance to get caught there, of it getting back to my parents. My mother would have a conniption.”
“Nice word choice. So, you were always the good girl?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Hardly. But with things that might tarnish my mother’s reputation, I was.”
“Gotcha. And this parking lot sex. Was that Elias?”
“Nope. He was more of an ‘in the house’ kind of guy.” It’s a bit awkward talking about my past sex life with Beckett, but it’s less awkward in public than if he were to bring this up in the bedroom. Don’t ask me why because I won’t have an answer.
“Adding it to my agenda for later.”
“Um, should I be afraid to ask what ‘it’ is?”
“Afraid? No. Intrigued? Definitely.”
Justine delivers our meals, prompting a brief pause in our conversation. “Can I get you anything else at the moment?”
“Drink refills, please.” The smile she sends Beckett’s way has more wattage than before, yet he’s oblivious to it.
“You got it.” She’s back in two minutes, long enough for me to sample the soup.
“This is delicious,” I compliment.
Justine beams, her attention on me for the briefest moment. “I’ll let the chef know. Enjoy.” She flitters away again, and Beckett splits the sandwiches so we get one half of each.
“Dip the grilled cheese in the soup. You won’t regret it. And eat those first. The other sandwich isn’t hot.”
If his command wasn’t rational, I’d fight it, but it makes sense.
“Good plan.” I submerge a corner of the grilled cheese in the tomato soup and put it in my mouth. It’s the ideal temperature and the perfect combination of savory flavors. Beckett watches my every move, waiting for my reaction. “Wow. Delicious.”
“There’s something special about Bonnie’s soup. I’ve tried recreating it, yet it’s never as good.”
“That shocks me. The meals coming out of your kitchen are delicious, too.”
He nods, not quite accepting the praise. I’m no food critic, but when flavors and ingredients appeal to me, I’m the first one to let the cook know.
We fill the rest of the meal with idle chitchat, not getting back to his earlier proposition. Once our tummies are full and fed, Beckett doesn’t allow me to pay the bill. We walk out of the cafe, his hand on the small of my back. It’s not possessive or anything but a quiet gesture, a comfort. His touch alone sends warmth through my body. It’s both a good and bad problem to have.
“What time do your duties require your attention?” He switched the truck for the SUV and opens the passenger door for me.
“I’m trying to get out of them, but I don’t think my sister will let me.”
My lips draw into a frown. “Why would you want to get out of them?”
“More time with you.” He doesn’t allow me to get a response to his statement. He also doesn’t take his eyes off me as he rounds the hood of the car, his expression stoic. Does he do these things on purpose to rile me up?
I’m guessing yes. He likes the rise he gets and enjoys throwing me off-kilter.
Well, he hasn’t seen anything yet.