Chapter 3
Willa
Henry picked me up yesterday afternoon and drove me home.
My car wasn’t at the bakery but it wasn’t going anywhere from the mechanic’s place anytime soon.
He called Henry to explain that the part for a car of my age…
well, not exactly standard, on-hand or easy to obtain parts.
But then he insisted on picking me up this morning to drive me to work again.
I tried to say I’d walk, but when he crossed his arms and tipped his head to the side, I couldn’t help but concede that… I need someone.
And that’s hard for me.
Wally took so much and my trust is high on the list. Trust of men. Trust of myself. Trust of a lot of things. I don’t want to be this way, but sometimes we have to just be until we can be something else. I’m being the best I can.
And when Henry drove off, I felt weird. Like I was missing something or hadn’t done something and that I regretted something but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
So weird.
And my dreams last night… oh my, my dreams! So hot. I woke up writhing, calling out his name, and parts of me that haven’t sizzled in a while were definitely sizzlin’.
There is hope that things are still working down there.
Now this morning, I’m hyperaware of everything in Henry’s truck and so is my body.
The way the leather seats creak when I shift my weight.
The faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla that clings to him— or maybe it’s his cologne, I really can’t tell.
The photos clipped to his sun visor, all of Ben at different ages, grinning that gap-toothed smile and then that smile filling in.
This man loves his son with his whole heart.
I can see it in every picture, in the way Henry’s hand holds firmly onto the steering wheel like he’s navigating with cargo that’s precious to him and he has to protect.
Every day, he’s carrying the weight of being both mother and father, and somehow he still has energy left over to be kind to strangers whose cars break down.
To be kind to me.
And I wonder if he has room in his life for anyone else. Sometimes single parents need to focus. I see it in my practice all the time.
But what if there were someone who could take half the weight from him…
“You’re shaking.” His voice is gentle, concerned, and I realize my hands are trembling in my lap.
“I’m fine.” The words taste like bitter coffee. “Just thinking about work. I have a full schedule this morning.”
He glances at me, and I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me.
But instead of pushing, he just nods. “We’ll get you there.
I promise. You look great today. I love that you take keeping warm seriously and that puffy jacket looks great on you.
Blue is definitely your color. Too many ladies out there don’t and I worry they’ll regret it. ”
The kindness in his voice makes my chest ache. When was the last time someone made me a promise they actually intended to keep?
Maybe not never, but it’s been a long time. Wally made promises. But they were always conditional. Always dependent on me being perfect, being small to his big, being what he needed me to be.
And my parents, they expected nothing less than perfection, and I always delivered.
I could see how my brother’s behavior and decisions created tension and I just wanted them to stop yelling, stop hurting him and in some ways hurting themselves.
I think in some ways, that’s what attracted me to Wally.
He was so much like my father and had that same presence of authority and like he was going to take care of me. But I was always on my own.
And maybe I like it that way.
“So, you’re a pediatrician,” Henry says, clearly trying to distract me from whatever anxiety is making me shake. “What made you choose taking care of the under eighteen crowd?”
I take a breath, forcing myself to focus on his question instead of the panic trying to claw its way up my throat. “I like that kids are honest. They tell you exactly what hurts and where. No games. No hidden agendas. Relatively little drama.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I said too much. If he can read between the lines and see that I’m damaged, broken, not worth—
“That’s really beautiful. Just like the woman who said it,” he says softly. “Ben would love you.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?” I adjust my body closer to the door.
He sees my unease. “Ben. My son.” He gestures to the photos.
“He’s been asking me about you for weeks.
‘Who’s the pretty lady who gets the blueberry muffin?
Does she like kids? Can she come over for dinner?
’” Henry’s ears turn slightly pink. “I told him you were just a customer. But he’s perceptive. He knows when I’m telling a fib.”
“I can’t imagine you lying.” Heat floods my face. “But… you’ve been talking about me?”
“I’m a single dad who runs a bakery at five in the morning and does bedtime stories at eight at night.
My conversation topics are pretty limited to baking tips and techniques and dinosaurs and Legos.
Pretty much opposites. So yeah, when a beautiful woman shows up every morning and makes my day better just by existing, I might have mentioned it.
Once or twice.” He shoots me a sideways grin that makes my stomach flip. “To my seven-year-old.”
Beautiful. He called me and what I said beautiful. And even more he made me feel beautiful.
Wally used to tell me I’d be pretty if I lost ten pounds. If I styled my hair differently. If I dressed less like a frumpy doctor and more like the women in his favorite shows.
Henry says I’m beautiful in a ridiculously puffy coat even with my hair thrown up in a messy ponytail and dark circles under my eyes.
“I really like kids,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I wouldn’t be a pediatrician if I didn’t.”
“Ben’s going to hold me to having you over, you know. When I tell him you like kids, he’s going to want to meet you and when he sets his mind to something… there’s no stopping him.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. Something that feels dangerously close to hope.
I clear my throat. “I’d… I’d like that, Henry. To meet Ben, I mean.”
Henry’s smile could light up the entire town. “Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
The tendrils of hope that tickle at my heart aren’t something I’ve felt in a long time. And I can’t say if I like them or want them to go away, just yet.
We pull into the clinic parking lot too soon, and I’m surprised to find I don’t want the ride to end. I want to stay in this warm truck with this kind man and pretend that maybe, just maybe, I could have this. Connection. Conversation. Someone who looks at me like I matter.
But the clinic looms ahead, and reality crashes back in.
“Thank you,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Really. For everything, Henry.”
“I’ll call Jake about your car. And I’ll pick you up after work to take you back to get it?” It’s phrased as a question, but his eyes are so hopeful.
“You really don’t have to—”
“Willa.” He waits until I look at him. “I want to. Is that okay?”
I should say no. I should protect myself, keep some distance, not let this gorgeous man with his kind eyes and his sweet son get too close.
But instead, I hear myself say, “That would be nice.”
His smile is worth every risk.