Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
B riar House’s kitchen screen door creaked as Rose pulled it open for Willow. Her arms were full.
“Morning. Sorry I’m late. I figured we could use caffeine and something delicious.” She set a coffee carrier with three lidded cups and a pink pastry box on the kitchen counter. The box displayed the iconic Lightning Cakes logo.
Rose turned the coffee carrier to find her name. “You’re amazing.”
Willow shrugged as she removed a faded denim jacket from her shoulders and laid it over the back of a chair.
She wore a faded tie-dye tunic, likely homemade.
It covered a portion of the jeans she wore underneath.
A fabric headband pulled back her brown hair.
“It took a bit. Betsy and Alessia were overwhelmed. Two of their employees called in sick.” She peeled the tape off the pink box and lifted the lid.
She took out an iced cruller, then turned the offerings toward Rose.
More iced crullers, custard-filled cream puffs, and glazed cinnamon donut holes stuffed the box.
“Why’d you bring so much?”
Willow shrugged as she pulled a few small plates from a cupboard and napkins from a drawer. “Today’s lots of work. Aspen’s very pregnant. She’ll eat at least two, maybe three.”
“Aspen cancelled. Doctor appointment. She might come later.” Rose pushed up the sleeves of her lavender hoodie and pulled out a cream puff. The first bite—damn delicious. She mumbled her appreciation.
“I hope everything’s okay,” Willow said.
“She didn’t say. Maybe she forgot she scheduled one.”
Her brows furrowed. “That’s not like her. Did you speak to her?”
“Text.” Custard leaked onto her fingers. A drop fell onto her jeans.
“Here.” Willow held out a napkin.
Rose licked the custard off her fingers, then took the napkin, dampening it to wipe her jeans. Willow frowned. She didn’t do messy. Especially if it involved licking fingers.
She added a couple of donut holes to her plate.
Willow did the same, then said, “You and Aspen still need to talk.” A statement, but Rose knew it was also a question.
“I know.” It’d been almost two weeks since the reading of the will. Magnolia would have anticipated strong arguments mixed with emotion, but would have expected reconciliation.
Aspen knew this. They all did. Magnolia had reasons for everything she did.
“Has she talked to you?”
“Once or twice.” Willow paused before continuing. “She’s still upset. She was shocked to hear about the ceiling. At least she wasn’t here for it.”
“And the reason I inherited?”
“I think she’s still trying to wrap her head around that.” Willow ate another cruller. “It’s a little weird that you’re both our aunt and our sister. Aspen will come around though, realize we’re still the same family who loves each other regardless of pesky details.”
She didn’t share Willow’s confidence. “I hope you’re right.
” She and Aspen didn’t get along well—never had.
Maybe it was the five years between them.
Maybe it was the fact that Rose would rather write books and stick her hands in garden soil than mingle, dance, and sip champagne at the town’s only country club.
She toyed with the last donut hole on her plate. “What about Thorne?”
Willow sent her a gentle smile. “The silence is his way.”
“He bottles emotions, always has.”
“I’ve never seen it the way you do. Must be because you two are closer in age.”
Rose finished her coffee. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”
Willow nodded. “I’ll call him tonight, check on him. Maybe you can do the same.”
“I’ll wait until tomorrow. Don’t want him to think we’re hovering.” She popped the last bite of cinnamon enhanced evil into her mouth before loading her plate into the dishwasher. Willow followed suit.
Within a half-hour, the pastry box sat inside the fridge and the counter was clear.
Assembled boxes sat empty on the long wooden table beside stacks of newspaper and packing paper.
All the cabinet doors hung open on both sides of the kitchen.
The sight was overwhelming. One cabinet held everyday dishes.
The rest were crammed with fine earthenware and crystal ware.
All in various designs and sizes. Rose swallowed.
This would be a lot of work. Where even to begin?
Willow held her copy of the list Mr. Winslow provided of who inherited what.
Rose said, “All those generations. Why did they all buy their own set of dishes?”
“Because they wanted to.”
“How are we supposed to know which set is which?”
“They should say on the bottom.”
“The Spode is the blue and white?”
Willow set the list down. “Yes, but so is the Burleigh.”
The Burleigh would go to Rose. Most in calicos and chintz patterns.
Willow left the room and came back with a six-foot ladder. “I’ll start with the Spode since I know it’s mine.”
Once Rose consulted the list, she glanced at the cabinet opposite where the crystal sat. “The stemmed crystal is the Waterford?”
Willow nodded. “All Aspen’s.”
She retied the laces on her sneakers, then grabbed a sturdy chair from the table. “I’ll pack the crystal, get it out of the way. Aspen shouldn’t be on a ladder.”
“I’ll designate a shelf for any Burleigh I find for you.”
They worked as quickly as wrapping fragile items allowed. The sounds of packing tape, cardboard and the crinkling of paper created their own music, with snippets of conversation in between.
Willow said, “I ran into Carina Wellington at Betsy’s.”
Rose offered an unladylike snort as she reached for a champagne flute. Carina ran the town’s social media. Rose avoided it. Gossip and vitriol. The sixty-two-year-old encouraged it all.
“Who’s she looning about now?”
“You, of course. Word’s out that the house is yours.”
“Crud.”
“I know. You’ve been back for two years. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”
Rose shrugged. “Now I know why Lucas Bowers asked me out when I got gas yesterday.”
Willow turned to look at her from the ladder. “Tell me you turned him down.”
Rose nodded. “I sat next to him in ninth grade World History. I never got past the way he dug into his nose in class and wiped it on his jeans.”
“High school?” Willow didn’t wait for her to confirm, but visibly shuddered. “That is so unsanitary.”
It was.
“There’s more,” Willow said.
“More about me and the house?”
“No, about you and Finn Murphy.”
Damn. She placed another crystal flute on the counter below her.
“I wasn’t the only one who saw you talk to him after the funeral.”
Rose stared hard at the few remaining flutes on the shelf. “Don’t people have other things to do besides gossip?”
A small sigh escaped before Willow said, “It’s the way you look at him.”
Rose climbed off the chair, ire rising inside her. “How do I look at him?”
A subtle grin formed as Willow came down off the ladder. “Like he’s a piece of Betsy’s seven layer chocolate cake.”
“I don’t—” She swore. Betsy’s seven layer chocolate cake was pure sin.
The grin was full force now. “I know what I saw. Even in grief, I saw it. You liked seeing him.”
She didn’t want to talk about this. “I’m taking a break. I need some fresh air.”
Rose opened the screen door, walked to the short set of steps, and sat down. Willow followed a few minutes later. She took a seat beside her and handed her a glass of lemonade.
“Rose…word is Finn will be around more. Some wonder if he’s moving back.”
“He’s not. He’s here to help his dad.”
Willow gently bumped her shoulder and said, “When you moved back here, I worried about you.”
“It was the idea that made the most sense.”
How many times did she have to explain her willingness to move home? The choice had been lifesaving.
Willow sighed. “I worry the memories here haunt you.”
“Life is full of memories. This place is part of mine. So is Finn. I can’t undo that.” Better the memories here than what she’d gone through in New York.
New York City changed after she broke her engagement with Caleb Brentwood.
Her temporary fiancé had destroyed her confidence, her trust, and her ability to read other’s sincerity.
She’d fallen for someone who’d been acting a part.
He’d only revealed his true self after he slipped a ring on her finger.
The friends they shared there had taken his side. Whatever reason Caleb told them for their break-up worked. No more book club, no more Friday morning coffees with girlfriends. Only one woman had bothered to return her text messages, letting her know her loyalties lay with Caleb.
Thankfully, she had her own friends. She’d known Ada almost as long as Finn.
They’d roomed together in college. Becks made them a trio the year they rented an apartment together.
Both of them helped her heal, helped her move past the fact that she’d fallen for someone who didn’t exist. With their emotional support, she found her confidence again, excelled in her job at the magazine, and found the courage to write her and Finn’s childhood adventures.
She’d poured her creativity into writing. Within a year, she published her first book and enjoyed a bit of celebration because of it. When she published her second, her success made her long for home. When Magnolia suffered a stroke, she volunteered to return to Evers Hollow.
The sounds of squirrels on branches, the sight of multicolored leaves, were restorative after packing boxes full of fragile crystal.
“I love it here. It helps me think. Every morning, I walk in the very woods my books come from. It’s like coffee.”
Willow lifted her glass as if to toast. “You’ve always been more attached to Briar House than the rest of us.”
“I still can’t believe she chose me over all of you.”
“You’re her daughter. That there is reason enough.”