Chapter 9 – Willa
NINE
WILLA
On my first full day in my new place in Holly Ridge, I wake up early on instinct and go about my usual routine, determined to get myself back on track. Now that I have peace and a new setting, I just need to fall into my routine, and I’ll be able to write.
At least, that’s what I convinced myself of the night before.
Like clockwork, I wake up, get dressed, drink a glass of water, then my green juice, do a virtual Pilates class, shower, and have breakfast. Finally, I sit, ready to write, with my guitar in my lap.
I’m hopeful, determined to believe that if I just fall into old patterns, it will happen.
On instinct, my fingers start to move, humming to an old Atlas Oaks song, and my chest feels lighter, my day brighter.
As my fingers move gently over the strings aimlessly, I wonder when the last time I did this was…
just playing for no real reason. I used to do it all the time, just sit and play random songs, my own and other artists, just for the fun of it.
That is, until the guilt barrels in, reminding me that I should be writing, not goofing around. I need to be crafting my next big album. I need to make it bigger and better and flashier, to pull out all the stops, and it always starts with the tune and the lyrics.
Reaching for the pad of paper, I pull it closer and start writing down emotions and thoughts about falling in love, hoping it will spark something.
I shift in my seat, my top cutting into my side, and realize maybe that’s my problem.
Maybe I need to change into comfier clothes, something loose and comfortable and familiar in order to tap into my muse.
Eager for any excuse, I set my guitar aside and walk away, my chest lightening with each step I take away from my work, something I ignore fervently.
When I step into my new room and open the small closet, I look around, seeing taupes, browns, creams, and blacks.
My tour and red carpet outfits are often filled with color, denoting whatever each album vibe is going to be, but my “streetwear,” as my stylist calls it, is mostly neutrals, meant to complement my hair and skin, apparently, so my entire closet is perfectly curated cool girl outfits chosen to become inspiration for everyone.
My fingers freeze over the fabrics, guilt rearing up as I take in the extravagant wardrobe. All of which, in this moment, I realize I don’t even really like.
They aren’t me, Just Willa. They’re Willa Stone TM, the brand.
And even though the brand is what sells it, the brand isn’t who writes the music. My mind drifts, stumbling on another idea: I wonder if my clothes are contributing to my writer’s block. Nothing I wear lines up with the muse I’m working with—there’s no color, no softness, no comfort.
That’s an easy change to make.
Decision made, I dig through to the back of my closet, finding a far too familiar oversized navy blue sweatshirt.
Leo’s sweatshirt. I should have thrown it out a dozen times over, and I don’t quite know why I chose to pack it up when I came to Holly Ridge, but I did.
Forcing myself not to overthink that decision too much, I grab the sweatshirt off a hanger, followed by a pair of comfy bike shorts, and change.
After, I catch sight of myself as I head back into the living room, and decide I need another change—my eyes.
Quickly, I take out the blue contacts I put in as part of my normal routine.
I don’t need them to see, so there’s no point in having them in right now.
Finally, I undo the tight ponytail I’d put in out of habit, brushing out the gel I’d used to slick it back before sitting down at my computer.
Then I go shopping at a popular athleticwear company.
When my cart is filled with pinks and purples and blues of all shades, all the colors I envision for this next album, I hit next-day delivery and sit back with a smile.
I’m still avoiding my music hours later, instead searching online for some kind of craft or hobby to pick up and placing random orders, when there’s a knock on the front door. My back straightens, my chest tightening as I look around, panicked.
Who is at my door? No one even really knows I’m here, after all.
What if it’s a paparazzi or some rabid fan who found me here?
Maybe I really should have brought a bodyguard, or at least had Jaime install some kind of security system, or—
The pounding knock comes again, but this time, a voice accompanies it. “Willa! Open up, it’s Hallie! We brought dinner!” The nerves melt away as I stand and tentatively walk to the door. When I open it, Hallie and Nat are smiling at me.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask with a laugh, stepping aside as the women walk in, Hallie holding a stack of pizza boxes, two white paper bags on top. Nat is carrying a bunch of bags, and I stare at them in awe as they move through, straight to the kitchen
“Girls’ night,” Nat says.
“Poker night is happening at my house, and the testosterone was suffocating me, so I called up Nat, and we decided we’d come here and hang out.
Plus, we had a bunch of stuff to bring here, decorations and whatnot,” Hallie says, lifting one of the bags.
When I step closer, I realize it’s filled with home goods—a throw blanket, some art prints, and a bunch of knick-knacks.
“Decorations?”
“This place is empty and boring. You came here to write—I can’t imagine you find it very inspiring,” Hallie says with a shrug.
“I can’t possibly—” I start, shaking my head, but Nat just smiles at me, putting a hand to my forearm.
“You’re going to hurt Wren’s feelings if you turn them down,” she says low.
“She’s not even here,” I say, looking around.
“Yeah, she has a meeting to help plan the summer festival. But that’s neither here nor there. She’ll find out you didn’t take them and then be offended.”
“So I just…accept it?”
She shrugs with a smile.
“Welcome to Holly Ridge, babe,” Hallie says. “Now let’s eat.”
Two hours later, I’m full of pizza, salad, and some of the best garlic knots I’ve ever had in my life, and the little cabin is completely decorated.
The walls are covered with various art pieces and prints, and they even helped me hang the big mood board I made for the album, which I felt was imperative for getting inspired.
I love it. Every single inch of it.
It’s not necessarily what I ever thought would be my style, but the truth is, I’m not even sure what my style is. Maybe this mish-mash could be me.
“Thank you, guys, for this,” I say, looking around in awe, my heart full from their generosity.
“Are you kidding me? This was a blast!” Nat says with a grin.
“Nat loves any excuse to take over and give people some kind of style,” Hallie says, and Nat rolls her eyes.
“You say it like it’s a crime.”
Hallie just shrugs, neither confirming nor denying the accusation, and I smile at them. But even as I do, an ache burns in my chest.
I’ve never had a group of girlfriends who tease and joke and drop everything to help one another. I’ve read about it, and I’ve acted it out, and I’ve even pretended to be part of a celebrity girl gang a time or two, but I’ve never actually had it.
I’m lost in those thoughts when Nat reaches out, fingers grazing the strands of my hair, a thoughtful look on her face.
“You know, you’d look good with some low lights.
I’ve always thought that, but now that I see you in person, I can’t stop thinking it.
” I reach up for a lock of my hair, pull it forward, and look at it before giving her a thoughtful look, and her face goes nervous.
“Not that I’m saying your hair isn’t gorgeous, of course.
I just… Fuck, I’m an ass. You have a lot of people to deal with, and I’m just a small-town hair stylist, I—”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head, the smile spreading across my lips.
With that, Nat’s nervousness fades a bit.
“No, you’re not out of line or anything.
I agree. My natural hair color is closer to a dirty blonde than this.
” I grab a few locks and pull them in front of me, inspecting the too-blonde strands.
A wide grin spreads across Nat’s lips. “My mom’s hair has been a darker blonde most of my life, but they’ve been keeping it light since I was a kid, and I’ve kind of just leaned into it. ”
“We should do a spa day, give you some low lights, freshen it up. I mean, if you’re here for a while, you’re definitely going to need something, you know?” I sigh, knowing that’s not an option.
“I’m pretty sure dyeing my hair doesn’t fall into the strict instructions Leo gave me.”
Hallie raises an eyebrow, the words clearly piquing her interest.
“Instructions?”
“He told me to stay out of trouble while I was here so he wouldn’t have to deal with me.
” Her eyes widen, and without meaning to, I continue ranting.
“Which is bullshit because it’s not like I ever get into trouble.
Like, ever. I don’t do anything that isn’t for my tour or for promo.
When would I get in trouble? With all of my free time? ”
“Why would he say that?” Hallie asks, annoyed on my behalf.
I groan and sink back, the familiar irritation rising once more
“Who knows, but it’s so annoying. I came here because I need to stay out of the spotlight.
Not to mention, throughout my entire life, I’ve worked to maintain my image.
America’s sweetheart can’t get into trouble.
I have sacrificed everything to build that.
Why would I do anything to jeopardize that? ”
“Is that why he looked like he was constipated the entire time he and the guys were here?” Hallie asks. I shrug.
“I guess. He’s mad I’m here. Did you see him pull me aside when he got here?” I ask, still annoyed, and Hallie nods. “He’s acting like he’s my dad or something, like he needs to keep me in line. All I’ve ever done is stay in line!”
“It’s a bummer he’s kind of a grumpy asshole. He’s pretty hot,” Nat says. “Kind of like if you mixed Madden and Jesse’s style and got the perfect mix of both.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Hallie says. “When he was here for the festival, he was all button-down shirt tucked into slacks, which sounds out of place here, but on him it worked. But since he’s been here, he’s all dressed down, working man. Hot.”
“He’s usually wearing these suits and looking all angry and yelling at people.
” My mind moves to the white tee he was wearing, the way it hugged his chest, the way those jeans fit just a little too well.
His hair is always combed back nearly, but it was clear he hadn’t put the same effort into combing it back like he does when he’s on the job, and the whole look was very, very appealing.
“Which, like, hot, I guess, but I’ve never seen him like that, you know? He’s never dressed down.”
I never thought I had a type, but the way my heart and other places responded, I might after all.
“Do you mind if I ask…have you two ever…” Nat asks, her voice trailing off before a blush burns deep on her cheeks. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that, I’m so sorry. I’ve been around Hallie far too much and—”
I let out a laugh and shake my head.
“That was one of the most politely asked personal questions I’ve been asked over the years. Tabloids and interviewers love to try to corner me and ask the strangest questions.”
Nat scrunches her nose in disgust, and I shrug.
“Okay, but that wasn’t a no…?” Hallie says, voice trailing off with a bit of irritation. I let out a laugh and shake my head.
“No, no. Leo and I have never and will never. The man can barely tolerate me.” They look at each other, a knowing smile I can’t decode shared between them.
“Wren thought the same thing about Adam, you know,” Hallie says eventually.
“What?” I ask with a laugh. “Adam, who basically kisses the ground she walks on?” Hallie smiles wide and nods.
“Yup, couldn’t stand her when he got here. And Jesse was a total grump when he and Hallie were forced together,” Nat says
“Seems to be a trend,” Hallie says, a playful smile on her lips, giving me a knowing look, and I finally understand what they’re implying.
“Well, I love that for you guys, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. Leo can’t stand me. It’s purely business between us.”
There’s another beat of silence before Nat speaks. “Should we tell her?”
“Tell me what?” I ask, confused, staring between them. Nat opens her mouth, but Hallie slaps her hand over her mouth and shakes her head.
“No, no, it’s more fun this way, if she thinks he really hates her.”
“Should I get the popcorn now or…?” Nat asks, and Hallie laughs.
“Why does everyone in this town talk in riddles?” I ask, fully confused.
Hallie shrugs. “Part of our small-town charm. But you know what I think? I think you should tell Leo to go fuck himself.”
“What?”
“I think this would be a great time to get into trouble.”
“Get into trouble? That’s exactly what I was told not to do.”
“Exactly. I mean, do you always do what Leo tells you to do?”
I bite my lip nervously. “Not Leo,” I say.
Nat’s brow furrows.
“But you let other people tell you to do?”
I sigh, unsure of why I’m even entertaining this.
“It’s complicated. I don't exactly live a normal life.” There’s hesitation, and I hope she doesn't dig any deeper, since I’m coming to terms with a lot these days, and one more thing might send me over the edge. I’m relieved when she nods, clearly deciding not to press it.
“Okay, well, we're gonna be living a normal life for the next three months. And that’s going to start with getting into some trouble.”
Hallie sits up and moves to the edge of her seat, a light sparking in her eyes, and I can see an idea forming in her mind.
Part of me knows to be nervous of it—that look in her eyes—but I can’t seem to.
Instead, excitement brews in my veins. “How? As fun as it sounds, I can’t be getting arrested or anything. ” Hallie rolls her eyes.
“In order to get arrested, you’d first have to do something that would make Leo actually want to call the cops, and then he’d have to deal with your drama.
Kind of counterintuitive, you know?” I stare at her, seeing her logic, and it’s clear my moment of hesitation fuels her.
“Actually, it’s genius. You can have fun and be silly and get into trouble for the first time, but in a controlled way. It’s kind of foolproof.”
“I don’t know—”
“I do,” Hallie says, standing.
“Come on. It’s not actual trouble. It’s…good trouble. Like a white lie.”
“What are you thinking?” Nat asks, clearly on board.
She turns to me with a widening smile, mischief written all over her face. “Ever toilet paper a house?”