Chapter 19 – Willa
NINETEEN
WILLA
The next morning, I wake up energized. I take my Pilates class, shower, make myself a quick breakfast, put on a comfy yet cute tennis dress in a pretty lavender, and nervously sit down to inspect what I wrote the night before after painting with Leo.
Relief washes through me when I realize it’s not just decent: it’s exactly what I wanted from this song.
It perfectly captures the excitement of feeling butterflies after a long time without, the joy of a new crush, and that nervous energy that seems to linger about.
I make a few small changes, then set it aside to start on the next track.
Nervously, I stare at a new blank piece of paper, dread creeping in at the thought that nothing will come, that my routine will once again fail me.
Except my routine hasn’t worked for this album.
In fact, the opposite seems to be happening: the more I stick to my routine, the more my creativity fails me.
Which leads me to believe that maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I need to tire myself out all day, then try writing at night. I’ve never been one to write at night, preferring to do it earlier when my mind is fresh, but I also have never had writer’s block that feels this immovable.
Maybe I need a new routine. That thought would normally would bring panic, but as soon as it crosses my mind, I find myself smiling, because I know exactly where to start.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling the key from my ignition after I park in Leo’s driveway just as he steps out onto his front porch.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, crossing his arms on his chest, and once more, I can’t help but watch his muscles move and ripple beneath the tight tee. He’s in a pair of light-wash, paint-speckled jeans, and his wavy dark hair is messy, no product keeping it contained.
Blue-collar Leo is way hotter than expensive suits Leo.
“Here to work, of course,” I say with a grin as I slide my sunglasses on top of my head, pushing my hair back.
I have a claw clip in my bag to keep it contained later, but I drove here with it down and loose, the windows down and blowing it about.
I don’t miss how Leo does a top-to-toe of me as I step towards him.
This morning, I’m in a ribbed white tank top, a pair of old blue-jean shorts I found at the back of my closet that are definitely not Jackie-approved, and flip-flops.
I tossed a pair of sneakers in my car too, unsure of what I’d be assigned to today.
“Work?” he asks, and I nod before explaining.
“Yup. Yesterday, you earned yourself an assistant, like it or not.” He looks at me, then sighs, but his face is missing his signature irritation.
“Aren’t you here to write?”
“Adam and Wren are away for two weeks now that she’s off work for the summer. I’m just…here. So now it’s your job to keep me entertained.” He lifts one thick eyebrow at me, and I suddenly have the strangest urge to close the gap between us and rub my thumb along it.
“It is?” he asks, and I push the intrusive thought away and nod stoically, then lift a shoulder in a half-shrug.
“Or else I might get bored. You did tell me to stay out of trouble, didn’t you?”
“And then I believe the very next day you toilet-papered my house.”
I nod as if we’re on the same page and bite back a grin.
“Exactly. So put me to work. Keep me busy so I can’t find any trouble.”
He stares at me, and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to get mad. I half expect him to snap at me and tell me that I’m not his responsibility to entertain and keep out of trouble, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, then steps aside and opens the door for me.
“Come on. We’ve got another coat of paint to do.”
We spend the day painting another coat in Leo’s guest room, then he adds the trim.
I help when needed, and when I’m not, I start taping the edges of his living room.
We work in silence most of the day, talking occasionally, but mostly we listen to music.
A lot of oldies and some new stuff, some Atlas Oaks.
Anytime one of my songs comes on, I hurry to change it, something that Leo seems to find increasingly entertaining, but I hate listening to my own music casually.
I hear the mistakes, the small things that, with time and bettering my craft, I would change if I were recording it now, and it always makes me self-conscious.
We pause midday for a quick lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, something I haven’t had in years, but considering Leo’s kitchen is relatively empty, it is one of our only options.
I’ve eaten at some of the most highly regarded restaurants in the world, but it’s the best meal I’ve had in years.
At around four, we decide to call it quits, and when he walks me out to my car, my body aches with the same kind of satisfied exhaustion I feel after a day of practicing for tour or a performance.
“So, what’s next? Another room?” I ask, turning toward him once I’m at the driver’s side door. He stares at me, and I expect him to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he seems to accept this new fate of his with a sigh.
“It’s going to be nice out for the next week, so I’m thinking about tackling outside tasks. Next time it rains, I’ll go back to indoor things, but there’s enough outside to keep us busy for a month.” My heart flips a bit at the word “us,” but I push it down and clap instead.
“Fun! Landscaping!” With my excitement, he grins.
“You know, if you told me that Willa Stone would say the word landscaping and fun in the same sentence last month, I’d tell you you were out of your mind.”
“Then you didn’t really know me at all,” I say, lifting a shoulder and smiling at him over it, opening the door.
“I’m starting to see the truth in that,” he says. We lock eyes for a long moment before he nods, as if to himself, then puts a hand on the frame of my car door as I slide in, start the truck, and roll down the windows. Once I’m buckled in, he slams it, then gives me a wave before I drive off.
That night, I follow the same routine as the day before: make a salad for a quick dinner, shower, slip into my comfy clothes, pick up my guitar, and try to write.
Once again, words hit the page, and once again, relief washes through me. I don’t get a ton done, just some lines and a couple of melodies before I decide to go lie in bed and read a book, but I fall asleep exhausted, excited, and satisfied for the first time in a long, long time.
“Can we go look at the flowers?” I ask a few days later as we move through the parking lot of the home improvement store and past a huge outdoor display of flowers.
I’ve come to Leo’s house every day since I helped him paint, and this morning he didn’t even question me when I showed up, instead asking if we could take my SUV to the home improvement store in order to get some pavers to fix up his front walkway.
“Flowers?” he asks over his shoulder as he grabs a giant flat cart. I nod, then explain.
“There are a few pots outside of Hallie’s place. I was thinking about filing them.”
“Do you know how to grow things?”
I shake my head.
“No. But I’ve watched videos,” I say.
He smiles at me, the real one that he seems to be giving me more and more of when I say something that thoroughly entertains him.
“You seem to watch a lot of home improvement videos for a woman who painted a room for the first time this week.”
“I keep my feeds very, very well regulated, so I don’t see anything about myself that might ruin my day. It’s a relatively safe niche for me to watch, and I like watching them.”
“You’re a strange woman, you know that?” he asks with a laugh. Instead of moving in through the main door, though, he guides the cart to the right of the store where the nursery is, and I smile as I follow him.
“Oh, these are pretty!” I say, running my fingers over the colorful flowers of the hydrangea bush. “I love hydrangea.” Then I step over to touch the petal of a rose. “Oh, and these roses are gorgeous. And these coneflowers!” I sigh reverently. “They’re all so pretty.”
“Get them,” Leo suggests, and I shake my head.
“They’re perennials, so they come back every year. I don’t want to plant something Hallie will have to do upkeep for in the future.” I sigh, stepping away and moving back towards the annuals I came for, but his voice stops me.
“I could use some bushes. Pick some out.” I turn back towards him, but his face is impassive.
“What?”
“Pick some out. The front gardens are a mess. You can fill them up.” My heart skips a beat as excitement floods me.
“Really?” I ask hesitantly, trying to play is cool.
“I don’t see why not. I want it to look nice, but I don’t see myself prioritizing flowers anytime soon, much less even knowing which ones to plant.
” He looks beyond me at the garden center.
“You’d actually be doing me a favor. I figured I’d have to hire a landscaping firm to do it, but you can try your hand at it if you’d like. ”
“Oh my god!” I say, then, without thinking, I lean in, wrapping my arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
He’s still for a moment, then relaxes, an arm moving loosely around my waist in a sideways hug.
When I step back, I clap excitedly, nearly unable to contain myself before I get it in check, but when I look back at him, his eyes are soft, his lips tipped up in a way I’ve never seen on him, but in a way that looks really, really good on him.
I take it in for long moments, trying to calm the haphazard beating of my chest before I finally look away and start loading up on flowers.