37. It’s About Pepper Spray, Oat Milk, and a Racoon
IT’S ABOUT PEPPER SPRAY, OAT MILK, AND A RACOON
RAYMOND
A s soon as Quill and I step up to the ticket booth, Decent Joe greets us with his usual warmth. “Well, well, how are my two favorite people doing this morning?” His eyes crinkle with kindness.
Like always, I hand him a cup of coffee and a bagel fresh from Cherrywood’s beloved Hawthorne Bakery. For the past thirty days, Quill and I have followed the same routine. Every morning, without fail, we come here, take the first special ride, and make our wishes before I drop her off at school.
But today…something feels different.
I glance around, scanning the area, though I can’t put my finger on why. There’s a prickle at the back of my neck, like I’m being watched. My first instinct is to check my phone, but there’s no message from my security team.
God. Am I finally losing it?
Or maybe I’m too damn hopeful, hoping it’s her.
Quill tugs at my pant leg, grounding me once again. “Dad, shall we go?”
“Yeah, Bug,” I reply, shaking off the feeling. “Let’s go.”
We settle into the cabin, and as soon as the ride stalls, bringing us to the top, Quill reaches into her bag and carefully pulls out two sunflowers, their golden petals almost glowing in the early morning light. She hands me one, her small fingers brushing against mine, and I exhale slowly.
We do what we’ve done every morning since that first day. First Quill, then me. We close our eyes and whisper our wishes to the fairies, asking them—begging them—to let Willow know that we’re still here and that she doesn’t have to be scared.
When I open my eyes, I take a deep breath, the view of the town spread out before us. The golden morning light hitting the hills, the soft hum of life below.
It’s been thirty days.
Thirty damn days since she left, since I’ve spoken to her, and somehow—by some goddamn miracle—I haven’t completely lost my shit.
“It’s beautiful, Daddy. Isn’t it?” Quill’s voice pulls me back, her wide eyes shining with something so pure it makes my throat tighten.
“Yeah, sweetheart. It really is.”
She holds her sunflower a little tighter, a quiet smile playing at her lips. “I have a feeling she’ll be back soon.”
My heart clenches. I don’t know how she can be so sure, but I envy her confidence. It’s her and her faith that’s been keeping mine from slipping through my fingers.
The ride starts moving again, bringing us gently back to the ground.
When we step off, Decent Joe waves us off. “Take care of yourselves, you two. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I squeeze Quill’s hand, nodding at Joe before leading my daughter back toward the car.
Tomorrow. Same time. Same place. Same wish.
And one day, the fairies my daughter believes in will finally listen.
As soon as I pull onto the street after dropping Quill off at school, that nagging sensation of being watched creeps up my spine again. I glance at the rearview mirror, half expecting to catch sight of a pastel green truck with Whispering Willow painted on the side.
Nothing. Damn it.
I exhale, gripping the wheel a little tighter before shaking my head.
It’s okay, Ray. She’ll come back when she’s ready.
The day drags by in a monotonous haze. Meetings. Emails. More meetings. My usual routine plays out like clockwork. In the evening, Quill and I have dinner, her soft chatter and signing fingers filling the spaces Willow left behind. I tuck her into bed, read her favorite book, and press a kiss to her forehead before turning off the light.
When the house falls into its usual quiet, I find myself back in the one place that holds every single memory of her. The pergola. This is when I miss her the most. For so many months, it was just the two of us here. Her laughter. Her teasing. The way she’d roll her eyes at me or lean into my touch. Now, it’s just me.
My phone sits on the table, taunting me. Every single night, it tests my patience, and every single night, I resist. I could call her, just one call, one conversation, one damn chance to hear her voice again.
But if I do that, then what does it say about the wishes Quill and I make every morning? That I don’t believe in them like my bug does?
That’s the only thought that stops me.
I force myself up and march back inside, heading straight for my bedroom, determined to sleep. But the second I hit the mattress, I know—there’s no fucking rest for me tonight.
The restless energy that’s been gnawing at me since this morning only gets worse. I grab my phone, my thumb hovering over a contact that didn’t even exist on my phone until a month back but is now on my speed dial.
Screw it. I press call.
DJ picks up on the second ring.
“Raymond? This a late-night call or an early-morning one?”
“I need a favor.” I’m already reaching for my car keys. “I want to go on the Ferris wheel.”
There’s a pause, then a slight shuffle like he’s adjusting himself in bed. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
He’s silent for a second, and I can practically hear him trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my head. But to his credit, he doesn’t ask questions.
“Alright,” he finally says. “Give me thirty minutes. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“Consider it repayment for all those morning coffee deliveries.”
I hang up, already heading for the door, when something pulls me back.
The sunflowers. The ones Quill and I now keep in the house, in every room, so we’re never short when we need them.
At the last second, I reach for one from the vase in the living room, fingers skimming over the delicate petals. I tuck it carefully into my jacket pocket.
* * *
I’m less than five minutes from the Ferris wheel when my phone rings.
“Please tell me you’re not canceling on me, DJ.”
“No, man. Not at all,” he says, a little out of breath. “I’m running a little behind. But you don’t need to wait for me. I’m texting you the instructions for the secondary entrance. We always leave it open. Just head straight to the bottommost cabin, and I’ll be there to start the ride.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Got it.”
As soon as we hang up, my phone pings with a text. I pull into my usual parking spot and follow DJ’s directions through the side entrance, my Berluti shoes crunching against the gravel. The air is thick with the crisp scent of night, damp earth, and?—
I stop mid-step, inhaling sharply. Tangerine.
My gut clenches, my chest tightening so fast it knocks the air from my lungs.
God, I’m so far gone for this woman, it’s humiliating. And she’s scared I’ll leave her?
If she were standing here right now, I wouldn’t know whether to throttle her for not seeing what’s in front of her or kiss her senseless to show her what she means to me. The scent clings to me, winding around my senses like a memory I don’t want to let go of. But I know it’s my own desperation messing with my head.
I stride toward the cabin, gripping the door handle and pulling it open?—
A blood-curdling shriek splits the silence. Before I can process what’s happening, something cold and sharp stings my eyes, burning through my sinuses like liquid fire.
“Shit!” I stumble, clamping my hands over my face just in time to avoid getting the full blast of what I now realize is pepper spray.
The lunatic inside the cabin is still shrieking like a murder victim, and through the haze of my temporarily blinded state, I register a familiar voice.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
That voice. That damn voice.
Even with my eyeballs on fire, my chest cracks wide open.
“Willow?” I choke out.
A sharp gasp. “Raymond?”
“Jesus Christ, Firefly, did you Mace me?” My voice comes out hoarse, strained between coughing and blinking furiously in a desperate attempt to regain my sight.
“Oh my God!” She scrambles out of the cabin, the sound of her movements frantic. “I—I didn’t know it was you! You scared me!”
“I scared you ?” I choke out, hands still rubbing at my eyes. “You’re the one hiding in the dark like some unhinged raccoon waiting to pounce!”
She grabs my arm, guiding me toward the bench beside the ride. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m so sorry.” She digs into her bag and pulls out a bottle. “It’s milk. This helps neutralize the spray.”
I finally force my eyes open enough to squint at her. “Are you telling me that in addition to a goddamn weapon, you’re also carrying emergency milk?”
She has the audacity to look sheepish. “It’s oat milk.”
I groan, but the sound is swallowed by her pressing a napkin soaked in oat milk to my face.
“I swear, if this makes me smell like one of your favorite fucking latte?—”
“Shut up and hold still.” She dabs at my eyes carefully, and despite the situation, the warmth of her hands against my skin does something to my insides. Even with my face burning and my pride in absolute tatters, she’s touching me. She’s here.
“What the hell are you doing here, Wills?” My voice is softer now, my irritation paling in comparison to the storm of emotions raging inside me.
She hesitates. “I…I don’t know.”
Bullshit .
“Try again.”
She sighs, her finger running over the tattoo on her wrist. I can barely see her, but I know that nervous habit like I know my own heartbeat.
“I just…needed to be here. I didn’t know you were coming here too.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, gripping her wrists, still not trusting myself to open my eyes fully. “Are you serious? Willow. I’ve been coming here for thirty fucking days.”
Her sharp inhale tells me she knows exactly what I’ve been doing, but then she mutters, “Well, I didn’t know until yesterday because I was too busy trying not to need you.”
And there it is. That unspoken truth between us, hanging in the cool night air, thick with something electric. I don’t give myself time to think. I drop the napkin, grab her wrist, and tug her down so she’s straddling my lap.
She gasps, hands landing on my shoulders for balance. “Ray?—”
“You ran,” I cut her off, my voice rough. “You ran because you were scared of losing me, but did you ever stop to think about what it did to me? To Quill?”
Her eyes shine under the dim glow of the Ferris wheel lights. “I thought I was protecting us all.”
“You were breaking us apart.” I rest my forehead against hers, my grip tightening on her hips. “But guess what, Firefly? You’re here. You came back. And I’m not letting you go this time. If you need to let go of some fear, you do that while you’re in my house. But no more giving you space. I fucking hate space. I need as little space as possible. If I thought it’d help, I’d move us all to a single-room apartment so there’d be no space possible for anything but being together.”
Her breath hitches. “Ray…”
“Tell me you don’t love me,” I dare her. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me, and I swear I’ll walk away.”
I get her silence followed by a shuddering breath, and then she says, “I can’t.”
A victorious growl rumbles from my chest before I crash my lips against hers.
And just like that, every wish, every sunflower, every prayer to the damn fairies…it all fucking finally worked.