Chapter 28
“Is it unsalvageable?” Fiona asked from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrapping Christmas presents.
When her sister’s voice cut into her thoughts, Willow nearly dropped the cotton swab she held. She sighed. “I think so.”
“Really? It doesn’t look that bad.” Fiona pointed at the machine on the coffee table in front of Willow.
“Oh. The typewriter. No, it’s fine, just a little grimy.” Willow dipped the cotton swab in rubbing alcohol and ran it along the slender arm of a type bar, removing dust and ink.
Usually, she found restoring a typewriter comforting, almost like a form of meditation, but tonight, it wasn’t working.
Her thoughts were still going in circles.
Every time she tried to focus on cleaning the type bars, her mind dragged her back to this morning’s conversation with Scottie and the upcoming holiday party.
Would Scottie be going—and would she be going alone? She’d said she was over Tanya, so maybe she would bring a plus one.
Fiona lifted her brows. “Yeah, of course the typewriter. What did you think I was talking about?”
“Nothing,” Willow said quickly. “I was just deep in thought, not really listening. Sorry.”
“Yeah, I noticed. You’ve been sitting there, staring at it for the past ten minutes. I haven’t seen you this checked out since you got your wisdom teeth removed.”
Willow grimaced. “We don’t talk about that. Ever.”
“Okay, then tell me what you were thinking about right now.” Fiona warningly held up her pair of scissors. “And don’t say ‘nothing’!”
Willow snapped her mouth shut, then opened it again. “Our office holiday party,” she finally said. “It’s tomorrow.”
“Ah.” Fiona sent her a knowing grin. “You were trying to come up with an excuse to get out of it. How about your go-to—a last-minute stomach bug?”
Willow let out a long sigh. “Honestly, I thought about it. But I have to go. Even Barb’s coming, and she just retired. I can’t get away with skipping it my first year with the company.”
“So if that’s already decided, what’s the problem?” Fiona studied her. “It’s who else will be there, isn’t it? Are you still avoiding Scottie?”
Willow softly pressed a key to test whether the type bar moved smoothly—and to have a reason to look away. “I wasn’t avoiding her,” she murmured without raising her gaze from the typewriter.
“Right.”
“I wasn’t. We actually talked today. There was”—she gestured with a cotton swab—“a little misunderstanding, but we cleared it up. We’re all good.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Willow hesitated, not sure she wanted to say it out loud because that would make it real. As long as she kept it to herself, she could pretend it was no big deal.
“Ah,” Fiona said in that all-knowing tone. “It’s not about whether she’ll show up to the party—it’s about whether she’ll show up alone. Maybe now that you’ve helped her knock the rust off, she’ll bring a date.”
Willow groaned. “I hate it when you do that.”
Fiona plopped a bow onto a box. “Do what?”
“Guess what I’m thinking,” Willow muttered.
“It’s really not hard in this case.” Fiona waved a piece of ribbon at her. “You, dear sister, have a typewriter situation on your hands.”
Willow glanced at the half-dismantled machine in front of her. “Um, yeah. That’s why I’m working on it.”
“Not that one. I’m talking about your favorite IT person.
Scottie is like one of your typewriters.
You discover them by coincidence when you aren’t even looking for another one and then tell yourself you’ll fix them up for someone else to enjoy.
But by the time you’ve lovingly removed the rust and restored them to their old glory, you’re attached to them and can’t bear to give them away.
Does that sound like your situation with Scottie at all? ”
The cotton swab slid from Willow’s hand. Oh crap. “I hate that even more.”
“What?”
“When you are right.” The thought of Scottie walking into the hotel ballroom with another woman on her arm was like a sharp punch to the ribs. Willow struggled to breathe.
Fiona put the wrapping paper and her pair of scissors down. “I didn’t think you’d admit it. So why don’t you do what you always end up doing with the typewriters—keep them? Or, in this case, keep the woman?”
“Because typewriters don’t run.” The answer tore out of Willow in a burst of anger, frustration, and sadness.
“They don’t give me that look when I tell them the truth about what happens to electronic devices around me.
They don’t stare at me like I’m some kind of digital virus when their thermostat starts blasting heat in the middle of July.
They don’t get angry when I can’t afford to go on vacation with them because I just had to replace my washing machine.
They don’t hate me when I accidentally break the camera that—”
“Okay, okay!” Fiona held up both hands. “I get it. I know you’ve been through a lot. Had your heart broken by your shitty exes again and again.”
That was the thing—she hadn’t. Well, not since Mia, who wasn’t even an ex. Willow had always held back a part of herself, never getting fully invested. But with Scottie, she wasn’t sure she could do that if they ever got involved.
“But how do you know Scottie would run, stare at you in that judgmental way, or do any of the other things?” Fiona asked when Willow remained silent. “Just because all of your shitty friends and exes did doesn’t mean she would.”
“I know,” Willow got out through a dry throat. “I don’t want to assume she’ll act like everyone else did. She’s”—she waved a small brush, trying to find the right word to describe Scottie—“incredible. Kind and patient and easygoing.”
Fiona threw a crumpled-up piece of gift wrap in her direction. “Then what are you waiting for? Grab that woman and hold on to her with both hands, tech affliction be damned!”
Willow sighed. “I wish I could. But it’s not that easy.”
“Maybe it is,” Fiona countered. “Maybe you’re making it more difficult than it has to be.”
Was she? Willow desperately wanted to believe it.
Scottie hadn’t let the drained car battery spoil their practice date. She hadn’t laughed at Willow’s old car—quite the opposite—and she never treated Willow as if she were a bother or incompetent, no matter how many support tickets she submitted.
Even her teasing about the Nokia phone had been gentle, done in a way that allowed Willow to laugh with her instead of ducking her head in shame.
When Scottie had called her a walking lightning rod and Willow had winced, she had immediately promised to never say it again, even before Willow had told her about the bullying she’d had to endure.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “She’s wonderful and patient now.
But what if it doesn’t last?” All of her girlfriends—not that there had been that many—had started out patient, then became increasingly confused before their feelings turned into resentment.
She couldn’t bear if that happened with Scottie.
Fiona shrugged. “You’ll never find out if you don’t try it.”
The words echoed through Willow’s mind, but it wasn’t Fiona’s voice she heard; it was Scottie’s. That had been exactly what Scottie had said during their first practice date, when Willow hadn’t been sure she should risk trying the PBJ fries.
And Scottie had been right—she hadn’t regretted it.
But a relationship wasn’t the same as an order of unusual fries.
Her phone buzzed next to her on the coffee table, snapping Willow out of her thoughts.
It was a text from Scottie.
Willow’s heart started beating faster, and her stomach did a traitorous flip. She pushed back the cotton swabs and small brushes to unlock the device and read the message.
Hey, Scottie had written, will you be braving the holiday party tomorrow?
So Scottie had been thinking about the office holiday party too.
Willow re-read the text three times, trying to figure out the tone. Was Scottie just making casual conversation? Was she simply curious? Or was there more behind that question? Was she, too, wondering if Willow would bring a plus one?
Finally, Willow gave herself a mental kick and replied: Yeah, I’m going. You?
Yup, Scottie answered. I’ve got to represent IT since Mateo is out sick and Gordon’s pretending to be sick so he can dodge the party.
I can empathize, Willow typed back. To be honest, I was thinking of getting “sick” too. But then I figured it’s my first year at Kudos, so I’d better show up.
Good, Scottie replied.
Three dots appeared, indicating that Scottie was typing more.
Then they vanished.
Willow frowned, willing them to reappear, but they didn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Fiona asked.
“Nothing,” Willow murmured, still watching her screen. “Scottie was typing something. But she didn’t send it.”
Fiona clapped her hands. “Ooh, Scottie! Speak of the devil! Is she going to the party?”
Willow nodded.
“Ask her if she’s bringing someone,” Fiona said.
Willow made a face. “No. I can’t ask her that. It would look desperate. Or jealous. Or like I’m trying to ask her out.”
“Ask her,” Fiona repeated more firmly. “You need to prepare emotionally in case she’s showing up with someone else.”
Crap. Her sister was right. If Scottie planned to walk in with another woman, she needed to brace herself. She could just ask, pretending she was making small talk. “All right. Fine. I’ll ask.”
It took a minute to draft a short text, then a few more to rewrite it half a dozen times.
“Christ, it took my ex less time to sign the divorce papers than it’s taking you to send this text—and that’s saying something!” Fiona muttered.
Willow glared at her, but Fiona pretended she didn’t notice and went back to wrapping presents.
Finally, Willow settled on: Are you bringing a plus one?
A casual, totally normal question. Right?
She hesitated, her finger hovering over the screen before she finally hit send.
Instead of sending the message, her phone froze.
“Not now!” Willow aimed a pleading look at the device.
The text went out with the familiar whoosh.
“Phew.”