28. Beckett
28
beckett
The last twenty-four hours have flown by in a whirlwind.
Sex with Willa last night differed from all the other times. A slower pace, less frantic, more . . . lovemaking. I won’t admit that to anyone else, but yeah. Last night was not two people having casual sex. It wasn’t one-sided, either. She felt it, too.
In the way her eyes shone with affection, the kaleidoscope of colors breaking through.
In the way her expression was softer, yet full of intensity.
In the way she clung to me. Not in desperation but comfort. Familiar. Loving.
If I have my way, it won’t be the last time we come together, but there was definitely a “goodbye” vibe.
This morning, we went to Mom and Dad’s for brunch. I couldn’t help but observe how she seamlessly fit in, what a great addition she’d make to our family, especially when Mom surprised her with a gift. Willa accepted it graciously, not letting the fact she had nothing in return make her feel guilty.
These thoughts have to stop.
She’s not currently mine, nor will she ever be. We’re too different. She’s not from here. The holiday break isn’t “real life” but a fantasy.
Temporary.
The weather was warm enough for a stroll down Main Street at dusk when the lights come on. If I thought she came alive last night during our drive, it was nothing compared to her reaction to seeing them up close, walking among the brilliance. An air of wistfulness wafted off her, and she shed a few tears in Elias’s memory, but she wasn’t upset. Her hatred of all things Christmas seems to have dissipated with her breakthrough in coming to terms with her feelings. I’m not sad about it at all, and my ego is plenty full of itself about being the one to change her tune.
As if I should take full credit for it. In no way is it all because of me, but I like to think I had a large part to do with it.
We ate leftover chili as an early dinner and dessert will be later.
Now, we’re cozied up on the couch, a movie playing in the background, the only lights those of the tree. Willa was the one who plugged them in and doused the room with light, smiling as she did it. She’s tucked into my side, our legs tangled under the blanket, neither one of us taking it further than cuddling. Not that I don’t want to, but this is also nice. Something I didn’t think I’d enjoy as much as I do with her.
A phone rings faintly from the other room, and Willa groans. “It’s Clem. I can’t not talk to her.” She skirts out of my hold, leaving a cool breeze in her wake. When I think she’s going to take the call in my bedroom, she reappears, her phone held out in front of her, snuggling back into position. “Merry Christmas, Atlas. Did Santa bring you everything on your list?”
I peek to see the boy, his expression jubilant as one should be on Christmas.
“Yep. I got a new Creator Lego set, an A-Z mysteries box set, and a new bike.” He must be a reader like his aunt. Bet she loves how he’s into mysteries, too. Wonder if he knows what she does .
“Awesome. And what about Jace?”
“He got some blocks, a new puzzle, and a tablet to play on.” He seems less enthused about his brother’s gifts.
“That’s amazing,” Willa coos, her excitement palpable. I try to remove myself from under her to give her space, but she’s not having it. “Stay,” she murmurs, her eyes never leaving the screen.
So I do and listen as she chats with her nephews and her sister, getting my first look at Clem, noting the contradictions between them.
Clem’s fiery red hair is pin straight to Willa’s wild locks. Her eyes are a sparkling emerald green. She has more of an oval face, her lips less plump and more heart-shaped.
“Are you finally letting her leave tomorrow?”
Clem’s question catches me off guard, and I’m sure it shows on my face. “Uh, as soon as I can get her car fixed, she’ll be on her way. She’s itching to leave.” I try for joviality, but the cadence falls flat.
Clem laughs, but it’s short-lived, and a serious expression coats her face. “Thanks for taking care of her, for giving her back her spark. Even over the phone and FaceTime, the differences are obvious.”
“It’s been my pleasure.”
Which isn’t a lie. It has been a pleasure getting to know Willa this past week, but it’s so much more than that, too. Things I’m not prepared to deal with now. Maybe even later, after she’s gone. After her scent vanishes, fading without a trace.
“I’m excited to sleep in flannel sheets,” Willa declares, a yawn stretching her lips and gives me her attention. “How about coffee with dessert?”
“Regular or decaf?”
“Depends on how long you plan to keep me awake tonight.”
“On that note, I’ll say good night. Enjoy your last night in Winterberry. Call me when you’re on the road if you want company. Love you. Merry Christmas, Beckett. ”
“Merry Christmas, Clem. Thanks for sharing your sister with me for the holiday.”
“As if I had a choice. I’m glad she celebrated the holiday. Her plans sounded so bleak?—”
“And good night, Clementine. Merry Christmas to you and the boys. Call you tomorrow. Love you.” Willa’s finger taps the red button a ridiculous number of times.
“So, that’s Clem.”
“That’s Clem.” She sinks against the cushions, trying to become one with the couch. “How about dessert and spiked coffee? Maybe start the movie over again or choose a different one. I’m lost.”
“Spiked with what?”
“Whatever’s in your liquor cabinet. Today, I’m not feeling too picky, just a little . . .”
I wait for her to finish the sentence. When she doesn’t, I prod, “A little . . .”
“Edgy? Unsettled? Restless. Yep, that’s it. Restless. You should build a fire. A fire, dessert, spiked coffee, and a movie. Perfect way to end the best Christmas I can remember.”
Her words elicit contradictory feelings, things I’m not prepared to tackle tonight.
And don’t get me started on the way she peers at me, challenging me to disagree with any of her suggestions.
As if I could.
This girl’s got my balls in a chokehold. I never thought I’d be the pussy-whipped guy. Sure, I’ll go out of my way to help strangers, but my behavior for the last several days is uncharacteristic. Uncharted territory. A conundrum.
“Do you work early in the morning?”
Her question is out of the blue, but maybe that’s because I’m too focused on trying to rationalize my actions toward Willa.
“Most years I’m there by eight because our Christmas celebration is never late, so no use wasting the day. The piece to your car should be delivered by nine. Figured I could get a jump on fixing it to get you on the road before daylight ends.”
“I’m not looking forward to driving for several hours,” she complains.
Stay.
I bite my tongue to keep the word from spilling out.
The idea is ridiculous, for all the reasons I’ve convinced myself of, the biggest one being we hardly know each other. Except, as my mind likes to argue, Willa’s gotten a side of me I’ve shown no one else. For that reason alone, it would be worth her staying, seeing if this instant chemistry between us had staying power or would fizzle at the first sign of incongruence.
It’s not like she has a job she has to get back to. She can write from anywhere, including my kitchen table. Hell, I’ll build her an office of her own. I’ll give her two if she wants.
Ludicrous. I’ve gone mad. Willa’s officially pushed me to the brink of insanity.
“Beckett?”
I snap out of the trance I’m in. “Hmm?”
“What’s wrong? Your body’s here, but your mind’s elsewhere. I recognize the vacancy in your eyes.” She shifts on the couch, planting her feet on the ground, her expression one of concern.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. Coffee?”
She thwarts my attempt to stand. “Some things aren’t meant to be. Much as we want them to work out, it’s often better not to force it, you know?”
“No.” I shake my head, not believing I voiced the word. Her shoulders slump, the repercussion of my action clear. “Shit. I mean, yeah. I get it.”
Are we even talking about the same thing? How did she decipher my innermost thoughts? Or is she feeling something similar?
No, Beckett. Do not go there.
My head’s a tangled mess. I should go out to the workshop and hit something. My punching bag or the car I’m restoring. Pounding out the dents should set me straight.
Even as I think the words, I won’t do it. She leaves tomorrow. I can feign I’m fine, pretend I’m not jumbled chaos for twenty-four more hours, and then once she’s a memory, I’ll get back to my real life, and I’ll laugh about what a pussy I’m being.
For now, I’ll make her spiked coffee, build her a fire, and curl up on the couch with a woman I wasn’t ever supposed to meet, but one who unlocked the key to my heart.
Wonder what’ll happen when she takes it with her tomorrow.
“You’re up early.” Willa stumbles into the kitchen around six, her hair falling out of the messy bun, her glasses askew on her face hiding tired eyes, and her fingers toying with her ear.
“The bed was too cold. How long have you been up?”
“Too long.”
All night, I don’t say aloud. Perhaps there was one hour I drifted to sleep, but other than that, I didn’t catch a wink. My mind wouldn’t quit.
Other than Nana, all the other grandparents died when I was too little to remember them. The only person I’ve said a permanent goodbye to was my grandmother. As much as I loved her, I knew she wouldn’t be around forever.
It’s different with Willa. I can’t explain it, can’t find the right words to express what her leaving means, how much I’ll be devastated.
“I think I’ll take one last soak in your tub before I pack up.” She wraps her arms around her middle, leaving so much unsaid.
Or maybe there’s no more. I’m so in my head, I’m assuming she’s feeling the same as me, but I could be completely off base and out of touch. Maybe I’m hoping she feels the same way so I’m not the only schmuck reeling from our interaction.
“Good plan. I’ll be out of your hair in an hour or so. I’m going to work out and then head to the shop. I’ve got this one client who needs her car today, and she’s not letting me forget it.” I try for levity, and by Willa’s small, shy smile, I’ve somewhat achieved it.
“Yep, gotta be on my way home . . .” she trails off, a melancholy lilt front and center. Maybe I’m not wrong about how she feels.
“Coffee will be ready in ten minutes, pancakes are warming in the oven, fruit’s in the fridge. I take it you’re capable of washing and cutting it up?”
“You know it.” Another simper, smaller than the last. “Do you have time to eat with me or is that pushing your timeframe? Or we could do lunch before I leave. But you probably don’t have time for that either since you mentioned you’ll be busy today. Never mind. Forget I said anything. Don’t mind me. I’m a bit inundated this morning. Words, the holiday, going home, leaving.” Her voice wavers, and moisture pools in her eyes.
Despite what I told myself this morning—don’t drag out the goodbye, let her leave with clean ties—I’m around the island, yanking her flush against me, my hand on the back of her head. My heart rattles, but it doesn’t stop me from pushing her head against my chest, needing her to hear and feel the way the organ thunders.
I’m such a selfish bastard, needing her to know what I’m feeling when I should be offering her the comfort I’m stealing from her.
For however long, we stand in my kitchen, Willa crying silently against my chest, me trying to hold on to every shard of willpower I possess to not lose it. To not let even one tear fall.
I’m a man, damn it. Grown men don’t cry. Grown men don’t give their hearts away so easily, especially not to women they barely know.
Like a parent narrowly avoiding getting caught by their kids on Christmas morning, I pull away, schooling my features to not let her see how affected I am. Her forlorn expression about does me in, but I stay strong, battling forces I didn’t know I had the strength to face, erecting concrete walls around my heart to hold back the emotions from springing free.
“I’ll drive your car back here, we’ll pack it up, and we’ll do lunch on your way out of town. I’ll text you later when I have a better estimate on timing.”
For one of the last times, I lean in and kiss the top of Willa’s head. Much as I want to, I don’t linger, escaping to the garage.
Is this what it feels like to have a broken heart? No wonder I’ve avoided them until now.