Chapter 5
Willow
I’d closed up the café hours ago but hadn’t gone upstairs yet, idling in the peaceful aftermath of a busy day.
There weren’t many calm fall evenings in Maple Hollow with the town ballooning in size, and I never took one for granted.
The chairs were all upended on the tabletops, the floors were mopped, and every surface sparkled.
I had a sneaking suspicion that Harlow had learned a few cleaning tricks—or charms—from Jordyn.
Not only had closing taken half the time, but I’d never been able to get the espresso machine so clean that I could see my reflection in it like Harlow could.
When manual labor stood in your way of a date with a special witch, you found ways of working smarter, not harder.
Tonight, the love bats were at the movie theater for the midnight matinee of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Full glam and fishnets. Meanwhile, I was blasting Fiona Apple while I sat at my favorite corner booth and worked on the café’s quarterly bookkeeping.
The most glamorous part of running a café.
But no one wanted to get on the wrong side of a paranormal tax audit. Those zombie accountants had nothing but time, and their overdue rates were killer.
My “Criminal” singalong was cut off by the sound of rapping at the back door. I hit pause on my phone and ambled that way, hedging my bets that either Billy or Agnes was about to remind me of one obligation or another.
It had taken a couple of years—and plenty of free refills—for the mayor and vampire matriarch to warm up to me.
I’d thought all my hard-won ground had been for nothing last year, when Harlow had moved to town and almost killed Agnes with a dash of nutmeg.
But with a little help from Harlow’s witch girlfriend—and the two of them solving a murder case—we no longer felt like complete outsiders.
With all of that jumbling around in my head, I unlocked the back door and opened it wide, my eyeline meeting a broad, muscular chest.
“Wyatt.” Surprise lifted my voice to an embarrassing pitch. “What are you doing here so late?”
I took in his scruffier-than-usual appearance: a well-worn band tee with small tears along the collar, dark blue jeans that still had the ghosts of flour handprints around the thighs, and his signature unbuttoned flannel with the sleeves rolled up to reveal veiny forearm muscles that only came from years of kneading dough.
But I did note that his hair looked freshly trimmed and styled, and a spritz of botanical scent rose above his normal cinnamon sugar.
A typical werewolf’s schedule was already unpredictable, but add in the demand of a booming business with deliveries all over town and a line of customers out the door and I wasn’t sure Wyatt had had a full night—or day—of sleep since he’d opened Full Moon Bakery.
Wyatt pinned me with an incredulous look. “You opened the door without checking first?” he teased, but I could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
I remained fixed in the doorway. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and ruefully shook his head. “I’d still prefer that you check who is knocking before opening your door at night, though. Especially in a town full of paranormals.”
I crossed my arms and popped my hip tauntingly. “Do you want me to shut the door, werewolf?”
His cheeks reddened. “No.” The crooked smile pulling at his cheek did something unholy to my insides.
“Did you need something?”
He slid his hands into his front pockets as he offered me a strained smile. “Can I come in for a minute?”
I considered him for another long moment.
Wyatt and I “hung out” all the time, but not in the evening when it was peak hours at Full Moon Bakery.
Usually, we’d spend some early-morning time chatting before he went to bed for the day.
Or if he woke up early in the afternoon, he’d come round before he started his shift.
But this? This behavior was bizarre, even for him.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” I stepped out of the doorframe to allow him entry and led him out into the main seating area of the café.
“What’s all this?” He gestured to the piles of receipts and paperwork I’d left on the table.
“I’m updating the books. Taxes or whatever.”
“You must be riveted.” He attempted to sound like his normal, lighthearted self, but I could hear the added effort behind it.
I leaned against the table and folded my arms, watching him. “Oh yeah, nothing gets me hotter than math and inventory.”
Wyatt only grumbled a low, “Mm-hmm.” His eyes wandered around, hitting every corner in his sight line, effectively avoiding me.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or do I need to put you to work? I have about five hundred pounds of coffee beans in the back that need to be put in the storage closet.”
He perked up instantly. “You need help?”
I shook my head and laughed. “I threaten you with unpaid labor and you’d rather do that than just come out and tell me what you want? Typical man.”
“You can use me—I mean, no.” He tripped over another few words before straightening himself. “I just mean, if you need help, I’m here for you.”
I pursed my lips to keep from laughing.
“Fine.” He sighed, his shoulders falling along with his defenses. “I just wanted to come see you. It’s been a weird day, and you make it feel less . . .”
“Weird?” I supplied.
He nodded, then stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a finger down my forearm. “I’ll leave if you want me to. Or I can haul all those beans for you.”
“Are those my only options?” The words came out before I could stop them, and we both froze.
We held each other’s gazes, daring one another to pull away or worse—not.
The longer we stared, the more I felt my temperature rise. I couldn’t take this anymore. Everything unsaid between us was festering and rotting, ruining the first friendship I’d made here in Maple Hollow.
Wyatt’s chin dipped, but just as the realization that he was about to kiss me dawned, he spun away, putting two tables between us.
I shook my head, balling my hands in frustration. “I can’t keep doing this, Wyatt.”
He huffed out what sounded like a mix of frustration and feigned confusion. “Doing what?”
“This!” I waved between us, but he only paced the floor, making me want to pull my hair out.
“If you don’t know what you want, if it’s just so damn hard to say it, if it’s not as easy as breathing, then I think you should go.
I don’t want to be confused or feel like it’s somehow my misunderstanding.
” I threw my hand toward the door. “Just leave. I don’t want to play these games anymore. ”
It was like a dam had burst. I couldn’t deny it any longer: he was torturing me. He didn’t know what he wanted, and I didn’t want to be a part of the list of things he wasn’t sure about.
“Willow, please,” he lamented as I shoved him toward the back exit. He was a wall of muscle and didn’t budge for a second before stumbling backward of his own volition, as if trying to assist me in the shove.
“I’m just . . . tired,” I muttered, backpedaling like the coward I was.
Wyatt stared down at me with those puppy-dog eyes, and I wanted to combust. “Yeah, it’s late. I’m sure you need to get to bed.”
I wasn’t sleepy.
No, this was a bone-deep sort of exhaustion. I decided that if this was it, then fuck everything to hell; I’d just say it. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t have feelings for you.”
There it was, out of my mouth and into the world.
Just one heartbeat, one split-second decision, and my confession was unable to be taken back.
“And if you don’t know what you want, I can’t help you find it.” I rushed past a clearly gobsmacked Wyatt and flung the back door open.
Like the man he’d always been, he followed my lead and stepped, stupefied, out the door before I shut it with a loud thud.
I snicked the lock shut and leaned against the solid barrier, tears falling down my cheeks.
Why did I do that?
I’d just ruined a four-year friendship in two sentences. But I couldn’t regret it. Being more than friends and less than lovers had been tormeting me for years.
I took a deep breath to steady my quaking shoulders.
It was better this way.
It had to be.
I pushed away from the door, my adrenaline and grief finally catching up to the late hour. But as soon as I took a step, there was a gentle knock, knock.
Fuck, did his lycan hearing pick up on my sniffling?
“What?” I snapped, trying to hide the sadness in my voice.
“Willow, open up,” he said in a gentle voice. “Please.”
“I have nothing more to say to you,” I called, holding my ground—as crumbled as it was.
“Then I’ll talk,” he countered. “But only if you open the door.”
I shouldn’t. I knew that if I opened that door, it would end up with me in tears in front of him. And I couldn’t let him see me falling apart.
“Willow?”
Staying silent wasn’t going to work, not in this town. And I couldn’t run from him. He was stronger, faster, and had my daily pastry order.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and righted my spine. “Fine,” I grumbled, pulling the door open. “You have one minute.”
Wyatt moved with lupine speed, darting through the doorway and grabbing my cheeks in both hands and pulling my lips to his.
I froze, my hands splayed out cartoonishly wide as my brain caught up.
He was kissing me! Holy shitballs. Wyatt Sullivan, the hot werewolf baker of my dreams, was kissing me!
And I was frozen like a dead fish.
My senses finally caught up to me and I returned his kiss, my hands delving into his hair and pulling him closer.
He let out a satisfied rumble against my mouth as his tongue flickered against my bottom lip, and I opened for him.
God, why did he feel so good?
He plundered my mouth, and I moaned into his. My whole body felt like a live wire. Every sense was suddenly heightened, as if magic had taken over my body. It was headier than the buzz of any drink or potion.
Wyatt was kissing me, and it was everything.
Together, we stumbled backward. The door closed behind him just as he hoisted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his taut waist. Both of us were so acquainted with the layout of the shop that I wasn’t surprised when my ass hit the pickup counter.
The frenzy in me grew tenfold. Four years of pent-up desire had been unleashed in a single moment, and I clawed down his back as he nipped my lip and trailed feverish kisses down my neck, a rumble in the back of his throat.
I cursed my T-shirt for not magically melting away, but pulled at the hem of his. Something in that action snapped him out of whatever we were about to rush into.
“Wait,” he rasped, more to himself than to me. He took a giant step back but planted his hands on either side of my thighs on the countertop.
I panted, feeling elated and giddy as I touched my swollen lips.
“I’m sorry.” The wild need in his eyes told me more than his words. “Sorrier than you know. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long, long time.”
I knew he was restraining himself, and a loud part of me wanted to scream at him to keep going and never stop. Until he nudged the hair from his eyes and the light caught on his elongated canines. We were approaching a danger zone, and warning alarms were going off in my head.
“Oh yeah?” I taunted, and he gave me a look. “So why didn’t you?”
“Reasons. Complicated reasons,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ones I should’ve given you years ago, but I didn’t want to scare you away or change what we have.”
“Tell me now,” I demanded, reaching down to his forearm and feeling the goose bumps rise under my touch.
He chuckled and shook his head. “I want to. But not here. Not tonight.”
I looked around at the empty café. “Uh. Okay, well . . .”
“Go out with me. I want to take you on a real date.”
A real date.
“And what if I say no? Would you tell me what you need to say now?”
“You have no idea how badly I want to, but if I stay any longer . . .” His gaze trailed to my lips and stuck. We both knew exactly what would happen. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for four years. I want to do this right. You deserve to be wooed properly.”
I wanted to tell him that I already felt pretty fucking wooed by that incredible kiss, but instead I just answered, “Fine. When and where are you taking me on our first official date?”
He finally stood up straight, putting some much-needed distance between our humming bodies. “Apple picking. Then dinner. Eloise promised to make you a dozen donuts if you say yes.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest.
In that moment, I knew two things: One, Wyatt knew how much I wanted to go apple picking because I talked about it every year but never had the support staff to leave for the whole afternoon. Two, his sister’s apple cider donuts could win me over in less than one date.
My smile stretched wider because he understood me like no one else—apart from being completely clueless about how into him I was.
“Apple picking sounds good,” I said instead.
He leaned in, cupped my cheek, and gave me the most panty-melting smile. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow after my morning deliveries.”
“Pick me up?” I cocked my head. “The orchard is two blocks back. I could just meet you there.”
He shook his head, and the shag of blond brushed over his brow. “Not a chance,” he replied with a smug smirk. “I can’t let you talk yourself out of it.”
My jaw snapped shut. He really did know me a little too well.
“We’ll walk there together,” he said. “It’s a date, after all. The first of many, I hope.”
“I hope so, too,” I admitted.
He stared at me wistfully, his eyes dropping to my lips again as he said, “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I thought he would kiss me goodbye, but instead he planted a soft peck on the top of my head before rushing out the back door and shouting, “Lock this behind me.”
Huffing out my sexual frustration, I locked up and forced myself to clean up my paperwork and head to bed.
Would it have been so terrible if we’d slept together tonight?
Yes, Willow. Calm your clam. He wants to make this special, I reminded myself over and over during the coldest shower of my life.
My skin was on fire, and my vibrator was doing nothing to quell the need. But what did I expect after four freaking years of edging?
Lying in bed, I stared up at the ceiling until the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d hung overhead when I’d first moved in gently swayed.
This was going to be the longest night and workday of my life.