5. Willa
Chapter 5
Willa
I ’M GOING TO kill my sister.
And my mother.
And Tom and Jerry.
Even Agatha, who I thought might actually be on my side with this whole ridiculous mess.
And I am especially going to kill my traitorous best friend, Matty. Who just FaceTimed me on his way back from visiting Farmer John about thirty miles north of here to inoculate all the cows.
Yes, Farmer John really is the man’s name, bless his heart.
I’m about to lay into Matty for FaceTiming while he drives, because he knows good and well how I feel about that, but you know what? No. Maybe this way he’ll have a tiny wreck. Bust a tire. Then there’s a chance he won’t be as into this stupid double-single date thing that Goldie’s roped me into. Because when the hell has Goldie ever needed my help roping a man?
Never, folks. The answer is never. I am the opposite of helpful.
“Come on, Willa,” Matty wheedles, giving me a view of his nostrils as he holds the phone and drives. “Just do it. What’s the harm? ”
“You have a booger in your nose.”
He smirks and moves the mobile closer to his nose. “Wanna pick it?”
“You’re disgusting.”
He readjusts his hold and glances at me. “Come on, Willa. Be a good sport.”
“Because being a good sport means looking like an idiotic third wheel on what is clearly a date for my sister?”
Matty makes a noise in the back of his throat.
“What was that?” I demand.
“What was what?”
“That noise. Did you just snort your snot?” I gag. “You’re disgusting.”
“It was just a noise!”
I point at the screen. “No. You’ve been a large animal vet for too long. You’ve gone to the dark side. You’re snorting snot.”
“Willa!” he laughs. “I wasn’t…God, I can’t even say it. You’re disgusting.”
“Fine. Then you made that noise on purpose. Why?”
Matty shrugs and grins. “Nothing, Willa. I was clearing my throat.”
“Bullshit.”
Goldie chooses that moment to FaceTime me as well. Rolling my eyes, I say, “Goldie’s calling. Behave.”
“Don’t I always?” he asks with a mischievous smile.
“You do the opposite, Matthew John Brodigan.” With that, I disconnect with him and accept the call with my little sister.
Her smile fills the screen, but I can still tell she’s in her bedroom at our parents’ house. Even though I couldn’t wait to move out and get my own place, Goldie has no such desire. “What are you wearing?” she asks.
I angle the phone down so she can see. “Same as earlier.”
She makes a face. “Absolutely not. Don’t you have a dress?”
“Have you met me?” I don’t care about clothes, and she knows it. Most of mine smell like the diner, anyway, no matter how much detergent I put in the wash, so why bother? I mean, sure, I could wear chef’s pants and tops in the diner, but one, it’s a diner , and two, I haven’t worn a chef’s coat and pants since that disaster of a semester at the Culinary Institute of America.
Spend ten weeks getting followed around by a film crew you didn’t know was going to be there, layer on top a chef whose anger and ego make Gordon Ramsay look like a kitten, and you get my illustrious CIA career. One that I have no intention of reviving. I’ll be just fine here at the diner, thank you very much.
On the screen, the eye roll that Goldie gives me is Oscar-worthy. “Come on, Willa. Put in some effort. You wore that all day today.”
“And why not keep wearing them?” My most comfortable shorts and a white T-shirt.
“Because you…never mind. Here’s what I’m wearing.” She pans the bed, and I see a summer yellow sundress. It’ll be perfect on Goldie, with her tan skin and thick blond hair.
“Cute.”
She turns the phone back on her face. “Exactly. And you need to look cute, too.”
“This is your date, Goldie. Not mine.”
“Then please, please, please wear something different. Show me what you’ve got.”
Sighing, I heave myself up from my extremely comfortable couch and pad into my bedroom. I prop the phone on the dresser and open up a drawer.
“Pull out whatever’s in there,” Goldie prods. “No blind rummaging. I know you.”
Damn. She really does. I pull all the contents of the drawer out and hold each item up for her inspection. Finally, a grueling fifteen minutes later, I have an outfit that meets with my sister’s approval: cut-off jean shorts that I’ve had since high school and an emerald-green, unstained T-shirt that she’s deemed acceptable.
She brings her phone close to her face and glares. “You better wear those.”
I give the screen a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her left eye twitches, but she disconnects without another word.
I get dressed and shove my feet into my trusty Birkenstocks, then appraise myself in the mirror. I look fine. Hair is up in its customary ponytail, and hell, I’ll even put some lip gloss on for Goldie. Done.
Then it’s time to meet Reid outside. I take some centering breaths. This is all for my sister. I can definitely do this. The man is so handsome it nearly hurts to look at him, but for Goldie, I’ll do it.
She owes me.
Big time.
Taking one last breath, I step out of my cottage and head around Agatha’s to wait in her front yard. I don’t know what to do with myself. We didn’t talk about where to meet. Sure, technically the man lives next door, but am I supposed to go to his house and knock? I live behind Agatha’s house. Was Reid supposed to leave his back door, cross the lawn and come to my place?
Crap. Maybe that’s what was supposed to happen. But this isn’t a date. Not for me, anyway. Not even close.
No, I was right to be out here.
I think.
I hate this.
I swivel on my heel, seconds from fleeing to the safety of my cottage, when I hear Reid’s voice.
“Willa.”
I jerk my head in his direction.
Oh, God .
I…I should never have agreed to this. Really glad I didn’t shave my legs, because the sight of Reid is giving me goosebumps, never mind that it’s ninety-five degrees in the shade and, dear lord in heaven, today may be the day I’m leaving this mortal realm.
Because Reid is…well. He looks every bit the fancy man from Miami with his dark hair held back by a pair of sunglasses, a white collared button down fluttering over a fitted sky-blue tank that is definitely painted on, and white shorts that are just a smidge shorter than what I’m used to seeing on a man.
God damn. He is scrumptious. He’s tomato pie and sweet iced tea on the porch with the ocean breeze ruffling your hair. He’s Big Mama’s banana pudding. He’s the juiciest steak served perfectly off the grill.
Give me strength.
He smiles.
And my legs go weak. Again.
Then he looks up at me, his dimples popping. “Hi.”
My knees weaken further, and as I begin to lose my fight with gravity, all I can think is, well, at least he smiled at me. Darkness begins to overtake me as Reid breaks into a run, his arms tightening around me to pull me upright just before I fall.
I force my eyes open as my heart rate kicks into high gear. My whole body shakes, and I’m not sure I can stand. “Mortified beyond recovery” doesn’t really begin to describe what I’m feeling. I know one thing and one thing only: I would like to die now.
I am not just blushing the color of a tomato. I have turned into one. An overripe, gooey, just-this-side-of-becoming-sauce tomato.
“Are you okay?” The concern seeping through his voice isn’t helping matters whatsoever. But then his face comes into focus, and his eyes are so pretty and green that I think maybe, perhaps, I can endure the burden of his presence just a little longer .
After I procure some kind of concoction that ensures he never, ever, ever, so help me ever , remembers this moment.
Like, ever.
“Willa?” he prompts again softly. You know what’s not soft? His arms. The ones I’m currently wrapped inside. His muscles might have muscles.
“I’m…fine,” I rasp. I’m definitely wrinkling his shirt.
Reid leads me to Agatha’s porch steps and helps me sit on one of the wooden stairs, then takes my wrist in his hand to check my pulse.
I use the opportunity to study him. His hair, thick and wavy, is mussed to perfection, waving back from his brow as though an artist had spent hours styling it. His dark lashes are a thing of beauty. And have we talked about how freaking good he smells? Like honey in the forest. The combination shouldn’t work, but it does. My lord, does it ever.
He looks at me with concern. “Your heartbeat is racing.”
Yeah, no shit. It’s because you’re hot as hell, and I can’t handle it.
“When was the last time you ate?”
I consider. Oh. My voice is small as I mutter, “This morning.” That explains a lot.
I’m an idiot.
His face darkens. “We need to get some food in you.”
Then he stands up. Before I can do the same, the man scoops me into his arms. Just, boop ! Scoops me up, like I’m nothing.
Aaand holy cow, his muscles are legitimately bulging. My arms tighten around his on instinct, and I promise the warmth in my belly has nothing to do with my proximity to him.
Right?
Right.
He walks me back to his place, unlocking the door and walking us into the kitchen, still carrying me, as though I weigh no more than a sack of potatoes.
Which, honestly, is probably how sexy I am right now. Again: I should have at least shaved. I did not. I refuse to look and see just how bad it is, but I’m absolutely positive he’s getting some good exfoliation on the part of his arms that are touching my legs.
He deposits me onto a chair before I have a chance to get a good look at my surroundings.
“Coke?” comes his gruff voice.
I turn. He’s got the refrigerator door open and is looking back at me, worry still plastered all over him.
“Do you have any tea?”
An amused smile drifts across his lips. “Willa. Do I look like the kind of guy who has iced tea in his fridge?”
No, you look like the kind of guy who might tie me up and spank me for misbehaving. I shake my head to get rid of the thought. “Coke is fine.”
He pulls a can out and pops the tab with a hiss and a pop, then sets it on the tiny table in front of me. “You like Little Debbie?”
I scoff. “I am a southern woman, Reid. Of course I like Little Debbie.”
He smiles again, much broader this time, but thank God not enough to make one of those illegal dimples appear. “Oatmeal Cream Pie?”
I nod and answer, “Roll Tide,” referencing the Alabama football coach who was known to eat at least one of them a day.
He blanches. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Think carefully before you answer this question: Where did you go to school?”
He smirks. Smirks! “Florida.”
I swear on a stack of Little Debbies, I almost throw up in my mouth. “As in...the Gators?” I choke out.
He folds his arms over his chest, the move serving only to bring my attention to his incredibly defined forearms. Which, I’d just like to say, I didn’t even know could be a thing. Since when do forearms distract me? “Yes, as in the Gators.”
I grimace, but inwardly I’m practically doing jumping jacks. Finally , I’ve found a flaw in this man. “I’m not sure we can be friends, Reid.”
He holds up the snack. “But I have Little Debbie.”
I grin, unable to help myself. “Give it here and I’ll reconsider.”
Something like surprise flits across his face before he tosses it to me and I catch it, despite my shakiness. I unwrap it and take a bite, glad for the sugar that immediately hits my bloodstream. “Thanks,” I mutter around a mouthful of sugary deliciousness.
“Anytime,” he answers.
He’s quiet while I snarf the snack, but to be fair, it’s not like that takes a long time. I chug a few sips of the Coke and start to feel better.
“Color’s coming back,” he observes, pulling out the chair across from me and studying me the way a doctor would a patient.
“Sorry about that.” I swallow the last of the delicious goodie and pull out my phone. “I should text Goldie.”
He nods, and I send a message telling her what’s happened.
Goldie
Are you okay?
I’m fine.
I don’t tell her how embarrassed I am.
Goldie
Still coming?
I look up at Reid, then back to my phone.
Still coming .
Reid keeps his hand at the small of my back as we walk to his car, and I have to force myself not to swoon at the move. First, he scoops me into his arms and carries me inside his house, and now he’s guiding me to his truck. Which doesn’t really match with the rest of him, if I’m being honest.
He gets into the cab’s driver seat and starts the truck up.
“Is this new?” I ask.
“The truck?”
I nod. “It doesn’t have that new car smell, but you don’t look like a Ford 250 kind of guy, I’ve gotta be honest.”
He chuckles and steers us onto the street. “And what kind of guy do I look like?”
I consider. “A Mustang,” I finally say. “A black one. With a really loud muffler or whatever, so that everyone hears you coming. And a vanity plate.”
He straight up guffaws, the laugh emanating from deep within his belly, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel some kind of way to hear it. And to know that I did it.
I shake myself free of the thoughts. This is a date for my sister. I’m just the third wheel. We meet up with Goldie after Reid parks the truck, and we walk to the coffee shop.
“Need more to eat?” Reid asks, his attention never really straying from me. Which is weird because Goldie looks pretty as a picture in her sunshine-yellow dress and curled hair hanging down her back.
Goldie looks at me sharply. “Are you okay?”
I shrug, a little embarrassed at the fuss they’re making over me. “I’m fine. No need to worry about me—let’s go to Marnie’s Art Shop first.”
But Goldie’s not having it. “You definitely need to eat. I can see it all over your face. What did you give her?” Her tone is sharp.
Reid doesn’t miss a beat. “Oatmeal Cream Pie and a Coke.”
Her eyes bug out. “Seriously? ”
He shrugs. “She nearly fainted, and it’s what I had to offer.”
Goldie threads her arm through mine. “Come on. You need actual food, and then we’ll do the art walk.”
I let myself be led away, and after a quick meal of sandwiches and tea at the coffee shop, we head out to the main section of downtown where the art is. It’s one of my favorite weekends of the month, and I don’t get to go nearly as much as I’d like to. Working as Dad’s only other main cook has its advantages, but there are plenty of disadvantages, too. Namely, not being able to take off every weekend like I would if I had a more regular job. Then again, what’s the fun in a regular job? Besides, it’s not like I’d know what a “regular job” was if it walked up and introduced itself to me.
Goldie positions Reid between the two of us, which makes no sense. Unfortunately, Reid’s giant form blocks me from looking at my sister and eyeing her. I peel off to a pop-up booth on the sidewalk at my earliest opportunity, and in between inspecting the handmade wooden spoons that should really be on display in a gallery and not be for sale to use willy-nilly like this, I hiss at Goldie. “What are you doing?”
She looks at me, the picture of innocence. “What are you talking about?”
I set a spoon down and cross my arms. “Putting Reid between us. We’re here for you, not me.”
Her eyes widen. “Willa, we’re just showing our new police officer around town. He needs friends.”
I make a noise of disgust and turn around, knocking right into the man of the hour’s very formidable—and very solid—chest.
“Oof,” I breathe out, unable to help myself from flattening my hands on that awesome chest we just reviewed.
Holy muscles. Again. I should be used to this by now, but alas, I am not.
“You okay?” he asks, his hands steadying me as I rock back on my heels .
No. No, I am not okay. Because once again, I am assaulted by him and his muscles and his ridiculous cedar-y masculine scent, and it’s unholy the way my body is reacting, thanks. Never in my life have I had an overwhelming need to confess my sins to someone, but right now? Have mercy.
Again.
Basically, I need everything to stop because I cannot with this. I’m not even mad about it anymore. Just begging for it to stop.
“Willa?”
I blink. “I’m fine. Can we go?”
“Of course.” He gestures for me to go ahead of him, and I swear I feel the heat of his hand over my lower back as I weave through the crowd to return to the street.
Goldie joins us, once more positioning Reid between me and her, and we continue our stroll down the street. I feel utterly foolish, and I’m positive the heat on my cheeks is not, in fact, from the sun.
A click sounds a few feet away, and I startle. There, inspecting the screen on his massive camera, is none other than JJ Jennings, looking pleased as punch at the photo he’s snapped.
“Nolan Jennings, Junior, Lucky Herald ,” he says, sticking out a hand as he moves toward us. “Everyone calls me JJ.”
Reid takes it, mercifully stepping forward a bit and giving me the distance I need to be able to freaking breathe.
As I gulp in deep breaths of non-Reid scented air—glorious, glorious plain ocean air—JJ is performing his standard spiel for all who have the misfortune of becoming the focus of his interest.
“Owner and proprietor of the paper, of course. You know how hard it is these days to be a small paper. Tough. Gotta do what needs to be done to keep providing the news to the people, you understand.”
Reid’s eyes have glazed over in the few seconds JJ’s been at it, and even Goldie seems a little dazed. I take a last heaving gulp of fresh air and step forward, hoping that Reid’s scent will have somehow dissipated in the short time we’ve not shared the same square footage.
“Okay, JJ.” I step between the men and take small sips of air. “He gets it. You’ve not even let him introduce himself.”
JJ waves me off. “I know who he is. What I really want to know is how he managed to get out here with both Dash women.”
Reid flashes him a teasing grin, one of his dimples showing. “Lucky, I guess.” Then he turns to me and Goldie. “Ladies, shall we?”
Goldie brandishes her own smile. “Absolutely. But we should give JJ what he wants.”
We each take an arm and pose. Reid is gorgeous, Goldie is her usual confident self, and I probably look like a troll. Can’t wait to see this story in the next edition.