3. Willow
WILLOW
S unlight filtered through the windows, stretching across her giant bed, inching closer and closer to her face. Willow shifted restlessly, trying to avoid the early morning. After the third attempt, she sat up with a frustrated huff.
Willow rolled over and felt something hard jab into her side. Her brow furrowed, and she reached beneath herself, letting out a little laugh when she realized what it was.
“Oh, uh, hey. I think it’s time to go home now.”
She leaned over to slip the sex toy back into the drawer of her bedside table, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
Standing up, she winced, her head throbbing lightly.
It wasn’t unbearable. She’d braced herself for a full-blown hangover, but instead, it felt like she could take some ibuprofen and move on.
She was feeling oddly optimistic about the day ahead.
After all, there was a farmer’s market downtown.
Willow padded over to her dresser, pulling out her clothes for the day. She chose a white tank top embroidered with delicate sky-blue birds, one of her favorite shirts, with blue jean shorts. The forecast had sold her on the promise of warm weather, perfect for getting a little sun.
She and Poppy didn’t go into the heart of the city much. It was only a fifteen-minute drive, but Willow’s anxiety kept her from getting behind the wheel of a car. Poppy didn’t mind the traffic, but her tendency to drive like a rally car racer put Willow off taking trips with her sister.
Today, she decided she’d pop an anti-anxiety pill and just try to get through it. There was ice cream to devour, lattes to sip, and baked goods to acquire.
Willow made her way downstairs. The condo was hers for the moment; Poppy wouldn’t be awake for a couple of hours at least. The stillness of the morning was a blessing.
She loved lighting candles and sipping coffee in the quiet before the world was awake.
As much as she adored Poppy, her rapid-fire chatter wasn’t exactly ideal while she was still trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.
Willow slowly began working the drip coffee maker, filling a liner with fresh grounds and then setting it to make a full pot.
Her sister insisted they use it instead of a newer machine that used plastic pods.
“Terrible for the environment and our bodies! There are microplastics, Willow!” she had said.
Once the coffee maker was done brewing, Willow filled a white mug with the ambrosia of dawn.
Swirling steam danced upward, a soft tornado of scent.
She liked her coffee sweeter than most, much to Poppy’s dismay.
Her sister was convinced that sugar before noon would ruin your entire day.
It was endearing, her need to protect Willow however she could, even if it ended in rolling eyes and exaggerated sighs.
With her creamy, sweet beverage in hand, Willow sank into a seat at the counter. The ceramic mug warmed her chilled fingers, grounding her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on nothing but the warmth of the mug, the taste of the coffee on her lips, and the rich, comforting aroma that surrounded her.
***
“Come on, Willow, it’s not that bad!”
Willow was not reassured by her sister’s words. She gripped the handle above her seat with one hand, her other clutching the middle console as if it could somehow anchor her. The anxiety was suffocating .
“I knew I should’ve taken another pill,” she groaned, letting her head fall back against the headrest, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Oh, stop it. We’re almost there.”
By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Willow was just relieved to be in one piece.
She straightened her tank top and grabbed her purse from the floorboard, slipping the white tote bag up her arm and over her shoulder.
It was big enough for a few items, and her sister had brought a couple of reusable bags.
They both climbed out of the vehicle and started toward the farmer’s market.
After a long stroll through a crowded street, they could finally see the tops of the stalls, colorful tents rising above the crowd.
“Oh, I hope that weird art lady is here again!” Poppy exclaimed enthusiastically.
“Do you mean the one with the scary fetus sculpture, or are you talking about yourself in the third person?”
“Hush, you.”
They both laughed softly, taking in the symphony of sights, sounds, and smells. In front of them, a vendor sold cheese, milk, yogurt, and even ice cream. Across from them, a woman tended to her plants, speaking with a curious passerby.
Something caught Willow’s eye. She felt her breath catch in her throat, her gaze darting back and forth before it finally settled on him.
He was tall, muscular, and devastatingly handsome. Her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met, the moment stretching, heavy with some meaning unknown to her. It felt like a black hole had opened in her chest, beautifully suffocating.
“Willow, are you listening?”
Poppy’s voice broke her reverie as she gave Willow a light tap on the shoulder. When Willow looked back, the man was gone. She wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.
“I think I’m going crazy,” she muttered to herself.
“Oh, sweetheart, we’ve been there for a while.”
“Oh my God, Poppy. Come on, let’s check out the vegetable stands.”
Her voice was dismissive, but she couldn’t help the agitation stirring in her gut. She hadn’t liked being pulled from whatever that was—whatever had just happened. She tried to shake it off, focusing on the market instead.
They stopped at a tent full of plants from one of the local farms. It was like a jungle, overflowing with ivy and foliage, the leaves thick enough to shield everything around you from view. Willow quickly lost sight of Poppy, but she didn’t worry about it. Her sister was often wandering off.
Instead of searching for Poppy, she paused in front of a display of orchids, marveling at their odd shapes. Her fingers brushed the soft petals, and she leaned forward to inhale their fragrance.
“Hey, there.”
Willow gasped, startled, and whipped around, nearly colliding with the man from before.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, her cheeks bright. She could feel the heat in her face, a rush of warmth spreading.
“No, you’re fine,” he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “I shouldn’t have startled you. I just really love orchids and wanted to see them.”
He seemed pleasant enough, and Willow didn’t feel threatened. There was something oddly magnetic about him. Clearing her throat, she offered, “Would you like to look at them with me?” It was an odd question to ask a stranger, and she wasn’t sure why it had left her mouth .
His grin made her heart seize in her chest, brilliant white teeth flashing between soft, kissable lips. Willow blinked rapidly.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Yeah, absolutely. Which one’s your favorite?”
She turned back to the flowers, trying to steady herself. The man shifted slightly, his torso nearly pressing into hers. She could feel the heat radiating from his barrel chest. His presence was overwhelming, and her breath hitched.
With a trembling finger, she pointed to a pink orchid, her voice barely a whisper.
“That one.”
“Ah, good choice,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Orchids are fascinating, you know. They’re one of the most ancient plants alive.”
“Are they?” she breathed, frozen in place as his scent washed over her. Mint and vanilla.
“Yeah.” He reached around her, his chest brushing against her arm as he plucked the flower from the plant, leaving a small piece of stem at the end. Willow’s pulse quickened as his hand grazed her skin. “They use mimicry to attract insects that pollinate them.”
“Oh?” Her voice was strained. She could feel the heat between her legs, a pulsing, insistent need that made her squeeze her thighs together.
“Yes.” His voice had dropped to a murmur as he slid the flower behind her ear, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her neck. “They’re masters of deception.”
Willow’s breath caught in her throat. The world around them seemed to fade as she turned to face him, bringing them far too close to each other. There was nothing else anymore, only the intensity of his dark gaze.
“You’re not supposed to tear up the flowers,” she whispered, mesmerized by his gleaming eyes.
“I think you’ll find I’m allowed to do anything I want, Willow.”
The sound of her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. It was as if he had marked her, claimed her with just one word. Something in the back of her mind screamed at her to run, but her body refused to obey. The real question, however, was, How does he know my name?
“There you are!”
The spell was broken. Poppy’s voice jolted her back to reality, and she took a step back, reeling.
“Sorry about that, toots. I just felt like following my heart right to the pot plants. Turns out they don’t have any! Who’s the dude?”
Poppy’s eyes narrowed, noticing how close Willow and the stranger were still standing.
“Oh, he’s…” She realized she didn’t even know his name. But somehow, he knew hers.
“Milo! Nice to meet you,” the man said with a grin, offering a small wave.
“Well, Milo, are you coming with us to get ice cream? Because we’re getting ice cream.”
Willow’s stomach churned. She wanted nothing more than to escape, to forget this strange magnetism she felt toward him. It wasn’t unlike her sister to do something like this, ever outgoing and willing to make friends with anybody. But did it have to be this man in particular?
What the fuck is going on?