Chapter 16 Willow
sixteen
Willow
Well that was easy. All I needed to do was put my foot down and the man just… caved. Who knew marriage could be so easy peasy?
So maybe Kiara’s right. Maybe my heart will end up being collateral damage.
But so what? My goal is to be the most believable wife to Noah Callaway, and looking around me, I see I have my work cut out.
Chris is right, all the Callaway ladies always worked at the store—I remember from old pictures on a projector during social studies, and Mrs. Callaway was here most of the time, keeping a gentle eye on the candy aisle when we came by after school.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I turn most of the lights on and get the coffee machine started.
It might make horrible lattes, but there’s nothing like the smell of coffee in the morning.
It just wakes people up, and it’s at the intersection of home and workday—that perfect moment when your whole life is in balance, and everything seems possible.
It seems to me the store should smell like coffee in the morning and cinnamon in the afternoon.
Next, I go to the very back, where all the outdoor gear is sold.
And frankly, what’s up with that? It makes no sense.
I personally hate it when stores change the layout on you constantly, but frankly, now that I’m on the other side of it, I can relate.
It’s not to annoy and confuse your customer, but to present to her what she is going to absolutely want in this moment.
Today? Umbrellas.
I grab an assortment of various colors. Thank god they’re wrapped in plastic sleeves, because there’s a lot of dust there.
I unwrap them and step into the window display, moving aside dusty board games and crockpots.
That was fine for winter—maybe. But now it’s almost summer.
Please. Rummaging under the register, I find a microfiber rag and cleaning product and get to work.
Then I dart to the hardware rack at the very back of the store.
“Why, if it isn’t little Mrs. Callaway!” Dean, the store’s main employee, says as I return with a hammer, nails, hooks, and nylon string.
“Can I help?” He’s standing in front of the greeting cards rack, a notebook and pencil in hand.
It’s refreshing and surprising at the same time how natural he seems to think that I’m here.
“I’m all set, thank you!”
Elaine comes out of the prep room wiping her hands on her apron and takes me in a warm hug.
“I told you she’d be here! Congratulations, dear,” she says before turning to her colleague.
“See? Our Willow understands what it means to be a Callaway.” She pats my cheek.
“You know where to find me if you need a snack.”
Forty-five minutes later, I duck into Noah’s office to grab my boots. He barely lifts his gaze from his computer. “How long have we had these umbrellas?” I ask.
“No one buys umbrellas here.”
“So—a long time?”
“I could check,” he says, not looking at all like someone who wants to check.
“Nope, all good.” I step outside, and staying under the awning, look at my display.
Two umbrellas hang from the ceiling of the window at an angle, five more rest on the bottom of the display, large splashes of color facing the street.
Three or four are still folded and neatly tucked in a vintage metal bin.
The whole thing looks playful… and necessary.
I’ll just switch the yellow and the red so the whole composition is both more balanced and more contrasted.
Nathaniel, the old man in charge of flower baskets, mowing, snow removal, and trashcans around town, comes up to me. “How much for these?”
We never sell umbrellas, so I make the price up. “Fifteen apiece, two for twenty-five, three for thirty.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Three for thirty, huh? I’ll take the pink, the blue, and the yellow. For the grandkids and the wife.” I grab the umbrellas from inside, and he hands me rumpled bills.
“What was that about?” Noah asks, frowning. He’s holding a paper cup of coffee in his hand, making a face as he sips from it.
“Sold three umbrellas,” I say, feeling very proud.
“To Nathaniel?”
I nod. “For his family.” I give him the bills.
Noah huffs and shakes his head like that’s the weirdest thing ever. He gets behind the register, sets his coffee on the wooden counter, and starts typing a whole lot of stuff.
“Wait, show me,” I say, sliding right next to him.
He pushes his glasses up. “I have to do a little finagling for the tax,” he explains. “Lemme show you.”
We spend the next ten minutes going over the operation of the register. Noah’s fingers grazing against mine don’t exactly help in the focus department, but overall I stay on task.
“I could take the second register, you know. This way people would see my face and—”
“One register’s enough. If there’s a line, I go. You can… just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Oh. Cool.” That’s good, right? He’s happy I sold something. I think.
Once we’re done, I drag the whole container of umbrellas right next to the entrance. Then I put a sign with the pricing I came up with and Noah didn’t seem to have a problem with.
Sensing I’m onto something, I grab a large wicker basket and go around the store gathering items for a rainy day: Foldable ponchos, rain boots, coloring books and crayons, yarn and knitting needles, playing cards and other small games.
Then I put them right next to the umbrellas and make a pretty sign indicating where they can all be found.
When that’s done, I tackle the endcap shelf that’s most visible from the entrance, clearing it of all the maple syrup products and filling it with Father’s Day gift ideas for any budget.
Pocket knives, engraved mugs, fishing lures, beer sleeves, rolled T-shirts.
The display is both attractive and affordable.
But there’s so much more in the store that could go on that shelf.
So I add a sign: Ask us for ideas for Father’s Day!
I’m just done tacking the sign at eye level when Haley comes in.
“Oh cool!” She wraps me in a hug. “Look at you, going all Mrs. Callaway on us! I couldn’t believe it—had to come check it out for myself.
You sneaky little bee-atch. I love you, you know.
” She takes stock of me visually. “How are you doing?” she asks.
“I mean, really,” she adds in a whisper.
I blink, not knowing how to answer that. This isn’t the place for open-heart confessions. “Hanging in there,” I answer. “Doing my best.”
“Awww, babe. You are the best,” she says, taking me in a hug again.
Noah comes out of his office, walking up to us. “Haley. I thought I heard voices. Anything I can help you with?”
Haley wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Nope! I came to say hi to Willow. Maybe shop for Dad, and Willow can help me with that,” she says, pointing to the display I just put together.
Noah’s gaze falls on me and… is that tenderness? He smiles and says, “You’re in good hands with her. I’ll leave you to it.” He walks away, and I can’t help but admire his broad shoulders, and the way his khakis mold his butt. He turns around and catches me staring. “Babe?”
Babe? Did he call me Babe? How does that make me all hot and bothered?
“Yep?” I quip. This is totally off script. We only talked about PDA in a general fashion. I don’t know how to act right now.
“Lemme know if you need anything, 'kay, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart? I give him a thumbs up, unable to say anything.
“Ohmygod you two are soooo sweet together. Like, I never, ever, saw it coming.” Haley squeezes my arm. “Okay, show me your Father’s Day stuff.”
I take her to the different areas of the store—the wine cellar with its rare vintages and select whiskeys, as well as some of Haley’s own production, then to the clothing with super comfortable outdoor gear, the back area with gardening, animal feed, barbecue paraphernalia, and heavy equipment.
Finally, I take her upstairs to show her the larger furniture pieces that her dad, Craig, would enjoy.
“Let me recap,” she says, opening the notes app on her phone. “Leather gloves and matching tool belt.”
I nod. “Made in Vermont, and we can have them custom engraved.”
“Rocking chair.”
“Same. Local makers, and you could have the family name engraved. Top it with a nice wool blanket.”
“'Kay,” she says, focusing on her screen. “Timberland American Craft boots. A smoker—I think his is getting pretty old. A fishing rod. A heating wool jacket. Um… wow. Okay. Lemme text the gang, and I’ll let you know what we settle for.”
I walk her back to the entrance. “Cards and wrapping paper will be on us,” I say, pointing to our gift-wrapping display.
She pulls me close to her as we walk back in front of the Father’s Day display. “Selfie!” she says! “Remember Alex’s lessons!” Alex was, and still is, all over the small businesses in town using social media to promote themselves and Emerald Creek for free.
She taps her screen, possibly posting the photo already, then says, “I’ll tag you, Noah, and the store. And I’ll text you about Dad’s gift.”
“You do that,” I say, smiling at her.
Right after she leaves, Lane comes in. “Oh, I’m happy to see you,” she says. “I saw Chris is hiring… I didn’t know… Noah didn’t say…” She takes me in a hug without a warning. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, rubbing my back.
Her support is unexpected but also so genuine, I wish I could have this bond with her for real and forever. “I’m good. Your brother is going to have to put up with me.”
She tilts her head back dramatically. “Ohmygod, yessss.” Letting go of me, she motions toward the display window and checks to make sure Dean is out of earshot.
“I sort of figured you were here, when I saw that. It’s the little things, you know?
It matters to people. Noah is always locked up in his office.
” She rolls her eyes. “You gotta be on the floor, selling. You’ll be great, and you make him so happy. ”