7. A Strange Communication
A STRANGE COMMUNICATION
WILLOW
“B ut, Joanne, you said I had until the end of the month.” My voice is taut, barely masking the desperation clawing at my insides.
The woman blinks rapidly, as if she just wants to get everything out. “I’m sorry, Willow.” Her words tumble out in a rush, and each one feels like a tiny nail hammered into my chest. “You know I loved your business idea—a grand wedding estate, cozy yet elegant. But my financial advisor’s put his foot down, and I can’t wait any longer for you to sort out the mess with your family’s property.”
Her words hit like a sucker punch, stealing the breath from my lungs. Last night, when her text buzzed my phone on my way back from the spa, I knew it wasn’t because she had missed me. But I also didn’t expect my dreams to get trampled before breakfast.
I met Joanne Taylor at Cherrywood’s small-business owners’ luncheon—my first and only time at one of those things. I’d only attended because I was curious about what people did when they weren’t drowning in paperwork or praying their businesses didn’t tank. But then Joanne started asking questions, like if I ever dreamed of doing something bigger than running Whispering Willow. And before I knew it, my mouth was running, spilling all the details of my vision for the wedding estate. Little did I know, she was considering my blabbering an investment pitch, apparently seeing dollar signs where I saw flower arrangements and twinkly lights.
For me, it wasn’t just the promise of her money, though. It was the way she believed in my idea. She’d send me links to articles about celebrities ditching lavish weddings for quaint, low-key ceremonies. Someone finally got me!
So when she called a few days later, offering to invest, it felt like fate. I jumped in headfirst. There was no hesitation, no looking back. Until Gio came slithering out of the woodwork. One minute, my land was mine; the next, Gio was sprawled on the deck by the stream like he owned it, which he believes he does.
Why had I not flung him into the water that day? It would have been the perfect solution.
Instead, everything is a mess. He doesn’t care about the land, not really. He just wants to flip it to the highest bidder, whether they plan to build a morgue or a taxidermy shop for roadkill.
But the worst part of it all? He’s winning.
Joanne’s voice snaps me back to the present, and I blink away the burn building behind my eyes. “I know this is hard, Willow, but I can’t wait forever. Plus, you’re not any closer to resolving this mess with the will and the land.”
“I’ve got enough documents to prove I’m the rightful owner.” My words come out sharper than I intended, but I can’t help it. This land is mine, and I’m sick of people acting like I’m the one stealing it from someone.
Joanne takes a slow sip of her coffee before setting the cup down with a delicate clink. She stabs her key lime pie with a fork, takes her time chewing, and finally says, “That’s not what I’ve heard. Word is, your cousin has the better claim.”
“That’s bullshit!” I snap, my frustration spilling over. “If you don’t believe me, ask anyone in this town. That land was always supposed to be mine.”
She looks at me with that pitying smile that makes my heart clench tighter. “I know, Willow. I’m a town local too. But believe and suppose aren’t the best words in the court of law. The judge prefers proof, witnesses, and legal documents. And as far as I know, your cousin has got it all.”
My fists curl under the table, knuckles turning white. This was my one shot, my only chance to make my dream a reality, and it’s slipping through my fingers because of two jerks—Gio and Raymond Teager.
Joanne wipes her hands on a napkin, nodding toward Whispering Willow’s dining area. “Want my advice?” She doesn’t wait for my reply. “You’ve built something beautiful here. Your B and B is charming. Your guests rave about their stays. I’d suggest you focus on what you already have and grow this. The sad truth is, not every dream in life gets to come true.”
I clutch my coffee mug, the heat burning my palms as I swallow back the lump in my throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
It hits differently when someone accuses you of being a failure right to your face, in your own damn place. That’s humiliation of the highest order.
She shrugs, missing—or maybe ignoring—the thinly veiled annoyance in my tone. “A wedding estate for high-end clientèle isn’t the same as a small B and B. If you can’t prove your claim on the land, how are you going to run something that big?”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t just say that!
Joanne continues. “I’m saying this because I care. Big business isn’t for everyone. Your competitors will be ruthless. You can’t just be the sweet, Goody Two-Shoes of Cherrywood.”
I blink, taken aback. For a second, I wonder how awkward it’d be to run into Joanne after having an argument, especially in a town where there’s no concept of privacy and secrecy. But then I decide to hell with future awkwardness. “And what exactly does that mean?”
She wrinkles her nose like I’m the one being difficult. “Your cousin wants to sell to Raymond Teager, right?”
I nod stiffly.
“I’m sure you know that Raymond’s not just any buyer. He’s one of the state’s top hoteliers. Did you know that last year, he was named one of the hottest bachelors? Page Three practically drools over him.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. I’d rather eat dirt than read gossip about him. “I don’t read gossip columns.” Moreover, I have Violet to keep me up-to-date, but Joanne doesn’t need to know this.
“If our roles were switched, I’d have already been knocking on the man’s door, doing whatever it took—begging, flirting, hell, maybe even sleeping with him. I’d have made him my investor and pushed you out of the game.”
My jaw hits the floor, and Joanne smirks like she’s said the most normal thing in the world.
“That’s what I mean, Willow. You don’t have that killer instinct, that business acumen that says, ‘I’m going to do anything for my dream, to hell with it all.’”
Her words slice through me like a knife, leaving a sting I feel deep in my bones. My irritation fizzles, replaced by a heavy weight pressing on my chest.
It’s not that I believe Joanne or Gio or even Raymond. At least I don’t think I do.
But when every plan you’ve made starts crumbling around you, it’s hard not to let those doubts sink in. There’s that annoying little voice that starts echoing every crappy thing people have ever said, and lately, it’s been working overtime in my head.
Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
Maybe I should stick to what I know and leave the big risks to people with sharp elbows, killer instincts, and zero conscience.
What the heck, Wills?
You don’t need to play dirty to make your dreams come true.
Yeah, I’ll fight for what’s mine—fight like hell and do it my way. No compromises, no shortcuts. I’ll even wear a damn T-shirt that says “Ms. Goody Two-Shoes” and rock it all the way to the top.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Willow. Who knows, maybe Cherrywood will get its dream wedding estate someday. I hope you’ll be happy that day, even if your dream is realized by someone else.”
I rise, refusing to let her see how deeply her words cut me. “Thanks for dropping by, Joanne. And thanks for waiting on me these past few months.”
Her eyes widen, probably surprised at my sudden composure, but I’m done here. I don’t have the energy to waste on someone who doesn’t see my worth. Because here’s the thing, trust is the foundation of any relationship, business or otherwise, and clearly, we never had that.
So yeah, it hurts, but I’m not finished. Not by a long shot.
* * *
“Out with it, Lolo. What’s got you all mopey today? I thought mac and cheese with hot dog coins was your all-time favorite.”
Yeah, I’m still the perpetual baby of this house. I poke at the bright yellow noodles on my plate, pushing them around. Honestly, it’s a miracle I moved out when I did; otherwise, Joanne would be calling me a “good baby” instead of a “good woman.”
“Nana, seriously, no self-respecting grown adult eats mac and cheese. It’s basically glorified baby food.”
Nana’s eyes widen like I’ve just insulted her life’s work. “Get out of here! I love mac and cheese, and I may want you to call me young, but I’m not trying to be that young.” She shovels a forkful of cheesy noodles into her mouth with a satisfied hum, and I slump my shoulders.
How am I even related to this woman? My nana is a force of nature, taking crap from exactly no one, even when she’s dead wrong. She’s the kind of woman who’d argue with the weatherman if the forecast didn’t suit her mood.
Mom glides in from the kitchen, balancing a tray with a pitcher of homemade iced tea and glasses. “You’re not eating, Willow. Is it not good?”
“She said it’s baby food!” Nana growls, feigning offense like she’s been personally victimized. “You know how long I slaved in that kitchen to make this? I deserve a little appreciation.”
“Nana! You’re such a liar. How’s your nose so tiny? The whole town knows it would take an apocalypse and all the takeout joints would have to be closed for you to willingly step into a kitchen. And honestly, I’m not even convinced you’d survive on your own cooking anyway.”
Nana looks at me like I’ve lost my mind before bursting into laughter, her whole face lighting up with joy. “You’re not wrong, Lolo. It’s not that I hate cooking—I just don’t get it. It’s like, the moment I turn on the stove, some demon chef takes over, and suddenly I’m ruining perfectly good ingredients like it’s my day job.”
Mom’s shaking her head at us, the amused grin on her face clearly saying, I can’t believe that’s my mother .
Nana’s eyes crinkle with mischief as she continues. “And besides, Steph’s cooking is so damn good. Why should I waste my energy when I can enjoy her food instead? Who knows how many meals I have left to enjoy.”
Mom and I snort in unison while looking at this drama queen.
“Ma,” my mom says, rolling her eyes. “Despite all the junk food you guilt me into making, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. If anything, out of the three of us, you’ll probably outlive us all.”
“Agreed.” I nod along. “You’re like a human battery that recharges on iced tea and fatty food. Sometimes I wonder how Gramps kept up with you. Did he ever get tired of being your personal chef?”
Nana’s expression softens, her eyes gleaming with nostalgia. “He loved every minute of it. Ask your mother.” She winks at Mom before turning back to me. “That’s why we started the B and B, you know? He loved cooking, and I loved chatting with people. We were the perfect team.”
Her words tug at something deep in my chest—a mix of longing and admiration. I love that my grandparents had the kind of partnership that everyone dreams of, effortless and real. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m fumbling through life, hoping I end up finding someone to share the highs, the lows, and all the messy in-betweens with.
Wills! Why would you even say something like this, when you know no one stays forever?
I stare down at my half-eaten plate of mac and cheese, wondering why we humans are so damn good at complicating our lives. Why do we constantly set the bar higher, chasing bigger dreams and better things, instead of just…being satisfied? When did being content with what we have become so out of style?
“But that was our life, Lolo. Yours doesn’t have to be the same.” Nana reads me like an open book. “I hope you write your story with lots of love, heaps of compassion, and…” Nana pauses, leaning in as if she’s about to drop some sage wisdom. Mom and I instinctively lean forward. “Endless nights of never-ending, toe-curling sex.”
Mom immediately doubles over in laughter while I groan, sinking back into my seat, fully regretting taking her bait. “And here I was thinking we were finally having a serious conversation.”
Nana’s grin is as wide and unapologetic as ever, her eyes twinkling like she just got away with something. “Sweetie, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that being too serious doesn’t do a damn thing for you. Life happens. Shit happens. And if you take it all too seriously, it’ll blow up in your face.” She throws her hands up in the air like a grenade just went off, even ducking her head dramatically. “But if you stay ‘unserious’”—she makes obnoxious air quotes—“all those shit bombs turn into glittering stardust.”
“Did you say shit bombs ?” I deadpan, rubbing my temples. My brain cells are screaming for bleach.
She laughs so hard she almost snorts. “Did you just picture little turds exploding everywhere?”
“Oh my God, stop! You’re so gross.”
“That’s called having fun. You used to be fun too, Lolo. What happened?” She taps her chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing like I’m some science experiment she’s trying to figure out.
“Life happened. Shit happened. And now I have no idea how to fix it.”
Nana’s playful expression fades, softening as she reaches out and cups my face in her hands. Her touch is warm and grounding. “Listen to me, sweet girl. There’s only one rule in this house, and that’s if something’s going wrong in your life, you share it. No suffering alone when we can all suffer together.” Her smile is tender, but there’s a knowing glint in her eyes.
I can’t help but think of my mom’s marriage and how it left its mark on all of us. I’m sure we all wonder what could have been if Mom had had the courage to tell the truth to everyone much sooner.
“Got it?” she adds, a little lighter this time, giving my cheeks a gentle pat.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Joanne backed out. She’s no longer investing in the wedding estate.”
“Good. I always thought she was a total bitch anyway.” Nana huffs, crossing her arms like she just declared a universal truth.
“Nana!” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That doesn’t matter. We don’t have to like everyone we work with! She was going to invest, and now she’s gone.”
Nana waves a hand like I’m missing the point entirely. “Of course she was. It’s a killer business idea. Anyone with half a brain would jump on it, especially if they knew you were involved.”
I narrow my eyes, feeling a mix of flattery and confusion. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
She looks at me all serious now, like she’s laying down world-altering truth. “It means that while me and your mom were still trying to figure out which way was up after your gramps got sick, you were the one holding the B and B together. You rebuilt something that was falling apart, and now look around—it’s thriving, Willow. Guests rave about it, the staff actually like coming to work. Even I’m not mad when you make me listen to all the accounts stuff, when I’m well beyond postretirement age and should be enjoying my time in an exotic place. Maybe Cabo.”
Her playful smile and words soften that sting from the day, yet I still feel the weight of Joanne’s rejection pressing on my chest. “But Whispering Willow is small compared to what I’m trying to do with the wedding estate. What if I…don’t have talent for it?”
Nana narrows her eyes and leans back in her chair. “Your gramps used to say, ‘Talent is highly overrated. Hard work, consistency, and a little bit of stubbornness will beat talent any fucking day.’”
I can’t help but voice the question that’s been rattling around in my head ever since Gio arrived. “Do you ever wonder why Gramps left the land to his brother in the first will?”
Nana doesn’t miss a beat. “Because your gramps was a fool who thought no woman would ever put up with him long enough to build a life. So when his younger brother’s girlfriend gave him some papers to sign, he didn’t even bother to check what he was giving away.”
“Can you at least be respectful?” Mom cuts in, shooting Nana a disapproving look. “Dad’s not here to defend himself.”
Nana ignores her, looking up at the ceiling like she always does whenever she’s having one of her conversations with Gramps. “I love him, and he knows it. Don’t you, honey?” She gives a little nod like she’s hearing some silent response from the other side.
Yep, that’s my nana—talking to the air like she’s got a direct line to Gramps.
“I’ll tell our Lolo exactly that,” she continues while Mom and I simply stare at each other, waiting for her to finish her session. She finally turns to me, face soft and serious. “He says there’s always been only one rightful owner of that land. And that’s our Willowbean.”
I try not to choke up at the sound of the nickname only Gramps ever called me. Nana might be full of her usual nonsense, but she’s damn good at making you believe it.
“And,” she adds, raising a finger like she’s not quite done, “he also says your business partner is out there. You just have to be patient. They’ll find you.”
How does she always manage to make her little conversations with Gramps feel way too real, and everyone gets caught up in her magic?
“Call your lawyer, Willow. That land is yours. Dad would have wanted you to have it,” Mom says with a knowing look.
“Damn right, he would,” Nana adds.
Their optimism is infectious, but I’m not naive. I know exactly who I’m up against.
“I will,” I sigh. “And I’m taking Captain Lick with me tonight.”
Mom and Nana exchange one of those knowing looks that make me want to crawl into a hole, but before I can escape, Mom reaches for my hand. “No one’s going to judge you if you decide to stay here for a few days, Willow. We all have those lonely moments, and?—”
“Mom.” I throw my hands up to hide the fact they’re shaking. “I’m not lonely. He’s getting old, and I want to spend as much time with him as I can.”
Mom gives me a look that says I haven’t managed to convince her, but she nods. “If that’s what it is, fine. But if you ever feel like you need to come home?—”
“I’ll show up with a bag,” I say, cutting her off before she can get too sentimental.
This time I welcome the craziness when Nana pipes up with a wicked grin. “A little heads-up would be appreciated, though. So I can clear out the stash of Playgirl magazines I’ve been hiding under your bed.”
I groan. “Oh my God, Nana. Gross.”
* * *
I unlock the door to my apartment, and the silence practically smacks me in the face. It’s the kind of quiet I once craved after living with Nana and Mom my whole life. But lately, it feels less like peace and more like…well, I don’t want to say lonely out loud, but there it is.
Captain Lick lets out a dramatic sigh from his dog carrier, reminding me I’ve been standing in the doorway like a total weirdo.
“Sorry, bud. I know you just want to crash.” I unzip his bag the second we step inside, and he trots straight to the bedroom, not even sparing me a glance. I trail behind him, watching as he curls up in his bed and blinks at me once, then shuts his eyes as if to say, Good night, human.
“Oh, Cap. I envy your life sometimes.” I sit on the edge of the bed, and he cracks one eye open, giving me that You want to talk now? Have you seen the time, lady? look. “You’re one spoiled dog, you know that? Everyone loves you. If you don’t realize how adored you are, that’s a real tragedy.”
He doesn’t even open his eyes this time, just tweaks an ear. Yeah, he’s over this conversation. I pet him once more before heading to the bathroom for a shower.
As the water streams down, the scent of my orange shampoo and bodywash fills the air, but my mind’s drifting to places it shouldn’t be.
Like Raymond Teager. His voice, so damn affectionate when he asked about Quill, keeps playing in my head. If I worry about my dog not knowing how much he’s loved, how hard would it be on Raymond when Quill chose to speak to me instead of him?
Stop empathizing with the enemy, Willow, I scold myself.
If Joanne were here, she’d have a field day laughing at me.
Business Rule #1: Do not feel sorry for your opponent.
I step out, wrapping myself in a pastel green towel with Whispering Willow’s logo embroidered on it, after making sure the bathroom door is locked and I’m out of sight of Captain Lick.
I made the mistake of drying him with one of these when he was a puppy, and now he thinks it’s his personal property. This trait, as cute as it seems, became a full-blown disaster when he ripped a towel off a guest’s head while she was reading on her balcony. One minute she’s relaxing, fresh from the shower, and the next my dog’s perched on her head, tugging the towel like it was a tug-of-war game. Nana still brings that up whenever she needs a laugh, but I had to comp the guest’s entire stay and replace all the towels with lavender ones. So now I’m left with a lifetime supply of these green towels, which can only be used when my dog is not around.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the embroidered logo of the inn on the green fabric—a weeping willow tree inside a circle. And above it, right on my chest, a tattoo of the same design—my first.
Sometimes I wonder what Mom was thinking when she named me Willow, a tree that practically screams grief. Not that I’d ever ask her about it. I already know she carries enough guilt about my childhood. No point in adding more.
But damn if it doesn’t feel fitting right now. My life feels like it’s been stuck in a downward spiral, and all I want is one sign—just one—that things are going to start looking up.
I’m still lost in thought when my phone buzzes, sending a shiver throughout me that has nothing to do with the cold. My heart does this annoying little skip, and for a second I let myself hope, before wrapping myself in a bathrobe and heading for the bed and grabbing my phone.
And now I have a full-blown blender in my chest running at full speed.
It’s Parker, my lawyer.
I texted him earlier, asking about our chances against Gio and Raymond, hoping for some good news.
Parker: Hi, Willow. I spoke to a few colleagues and my mentor. Unfortunately, even with your grandfather’s doctor’s letters, your case isn’t strong. Like I said before, your best option is to talk it out with your cousin or the buyer.
Well, that hope didn’t last long. My stomach drops, and I flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like maybe it’ll give me some answers.
Then, my phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number: Hi, Willow. This is Quill. I had the best day, and I love my new nails.
A smile sneaks onto my face, despite the day I’ve had.
Me: Hey, Quill! I’m glad you had fun. I love my nails too.
I press send, and then it hits me—isn’t Quill too young to be texting?
Me: Aren’t you a little young to be texting me perfectly spelled sentences?
Three little bubbles appear, and my stomach does a weird flutter as I wait for the reply.
Unknown Number: It’s my dad.
Unknown Number: And he’s not doing this of his own free will.
Oh, God. I flop back on the bed, my heart doing this weird mix of dread and amusement.
Me: Is this from Quill or her dad?
Unknown Number: Her dad, of course. And he’d like to meet you tomorrow for breakfast.
Me: Can you tell him I don’t give a damn what he’d like?
Unknown Number: It’s about Quill.
Me: You seriously have no shame using your daughter as bait?
Unknown Number: Okay, it’s about Quill, me, and you. And your property. I think I’ve found a way we can both get what we want.
Me: I know a way—drop your partnership with my cousin, and I’ll get exactly what I want! If you can’t do that, see you in court, Mr. Teager.
Unknown Number: I’ll be waiting for you at La Bella Vita, 9 a.m. tomorrow. This isn’t a joke, Willow. I’m serious.
Me: Then you must know La Bella Vita doesn’t open until 12. So where are we going to talk, on the sidewalk?
Unknown Number: At the risk of you hating me more than you already do, every business can open any hour of the day. You just have to know the right price. And before you accuse me of flaunting my wealth, I only reserved it because I thought you like that place.
I stare at my phone, a weird mix of nerves and confusion running through me.
What the hell does this mean?