Chapter 16 #2
“I wasn’t going to ruin your special day.”
“Oh, honey, you are the first, the original, love of my life. There is no day you can ruin. If you need me, I’m there.”
“I know that. And I love you, and I feel the same way. But there’s more. That’s not why I’m staying in Calamity for a few weeks.” This was the harder part to talk about. “Saturday morning, I took my dad to the ER. He’s got high blood pressure, and he needs to change his lifestyle.”
“What? Wills, is he okay?”
“Yes. He’s totally fine.”
“He was more of a father to me than my own dad growing up. I love Jack.”
“I know. Everyone does. So, anyhow, I’m staying to help him make some changes.”
“You mean diet and exercise? That kind of thing?”
“Yes. And also… He’s retiring from the inn.”
“Okay, now I’m just mad at you. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”
“Listen, my drama’s not going anywhere. And you only get married once. Well, I mean, twice for you—”
“Okay, that one’s getting old. And anyway, what alternate universe have I dropped into? Jack Holland can’t retire. He is the Wild Rose Inn and Saloon.”
“Yeah, well, get this. He was thinking about selling it.”
“Oh, no, he is not. Whoever buys it will turn it into a basic hotel. It’ll lose all the charm, the history, the personal touches. The cookies, Willa. You cannot let this happen.”
“No, I won’t. Which is why I’m hiring someone to run it. We’ll keep the department managers, and Dad’ll still be involved, but he won’t have to deal with the guests and the daily issues.”
“I can’t believe I missed all of this. Are you okay?”
She heard Decker’s deep voice on the other side of her bedroom wall. She imagined him helping Birdie get dressed and wanted to be there with them—not because he needed her help. He didn’t. But because her heart hurt for that little girl.
Because I didn’t have a mom either.
She might’ve been alive, but she wasn’t in my life.
She didn’t want me.
That was a harsh reality still working its way through her.
“We need a night out,” Finlay said. “Let me see if Molly’s still in town.”
“All right. Text the group and see when we can all get together.”
“On it.”
After disconnecting, she got up and went to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, ran her fingers through her hair, and just when she sat on the toilet, the door pushed open. “Oh. Hey.”
Birdie walked in and sat down on the floor, cross-legged. She gave a big sigh and shook her head. “Dat man.”
Willa had to stifle a laugh. “What’s he doing?”
“Makeded yucky food. I not eat it.”
“No, I don’t blame you. Is he making more chicken and broccoli?”
“No shicken. It gween and boo.” She stuck out her tongue, making a face of disgust. “Yucky.”
Green and blue? What on earth was he making a three-year-old?
“Okay. Let me see what’s going on.” The easy solution was to grab some muffins and scones from downstairs, but she had to talk to Decker first. Maybe they could find a compromise.
After washing up, she set the hand towel back on the rack and took the little girl’s hand. “Come on.”
In the kitchen, she found her dad at the table, reading the Calamity Gazette and Decker in his gym clothes. “Heading to the Anti-Gravity Center?”
He nodded, knocking back the rest of his blue smoothie. He tipped his head to the sippy cup on the table. “Finish your breakfast.”
“I not eat dat.” Birdie pressed her lips together.
The apple pie was still in the middle of the table, only one small slice missing.
“No pie? Dad, I’m so proud of you.”
“It wasn’t about his health,” Decker said, his tone full of humor.
“The top got a little burned,” her dad said.
She and Decker shared a smile. Thanks to their evening activities on the roof, they’d lost track of time. “Looks like the chef got distracted. So, what can we get this little birdie for breakfast?”
“I made her a smoothie.” Decker lifted his glass. “It’s delicious.”
“And what are the other options?” Willa asked pointedly.
“I could make eggs.”
“No one likes your eggs.” In a show of solidarity, Willa clapped a hand over her mouth and opened her eyes wide to pretend like she couldn’t believe she’d said that.
The toddler grinned and repeated, “No one wikes you eggs.”
They all burst out laughing. “Sit down.” Willa settled her in a chair.
“I’ll see what we can do.” As she approached Decker, she saw he was freshly showered, his hair still damp, droplets of water on the tips.
She wanted to stand on her toes and kiss him on the mouth, but he wasn’t giving off romantic vibes. At all.
This was exactly what she’d worried about. Disappointment slammed into her. Even though she’d seen the red flags, she’d still expected better from him.
So, that was how long it took to “get his fill of her?” Well, that’s insulting. “We’ve got muffins and scones downstairs,” she said in her professional voice. Because yes, she was hurt. “And I’m sure we have some of the French toast sticks that Cady bought.”
“I’m not feeding her that crap. She needs good food in her body.”
She got right up in his face so neither her dad nor Birdie could hear. “The only thing she needs right now is to feel safe. That’s it. That’s your only job. Later, you can do your psycho eating and exercise plan and take all the pleasure out of her life.”
He watched her for a moment, that intense gaze studying her.
Right when she thought he was going to tell her to mind her own business, that grim line of a mouth curved into a smile.
He leaned in and kissed her. “You’re right.
” He pushed away from the counter and hobbled over to the table.
“According to Willa, you’ve got three choices. Muffins, scones, and French toast.”
“Fwench toast, pease.”
“Cool. While they’re heating up, we need to get you dressed. I have to be at the gym in thirty minutes.”
“You’re taking her?” Willa asked.
“Yeah, they’ve got daycare for kids.”
“No, fank you.” Birdie tipped the salt and pepper shakers back and forth like they were dancing.
“I've got to work out, so you're coming with me.” He watched her wrap a worn pink ribbon around her hand. “But don't worry. We won’t be gone long.”
She loved how he paid such close attention and adjusted his tone. But damn him for being so closed off. It wasn't like she was asking for a lifelong commitment. She knew the deal.
Birdie dropped off the chair and stood at Willa’s side, the ribbon dragging on the floor.
“Can Birdie hang out with me?” she asked. “I’ll be working from here most of the day.”
“You sure? Like I said, this place has daycare.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She smoothed the girl’s tangled hair.
“What kind of work?” her dad said. “What’s on the agenda?”
“I've got to find a general manager.” She might’ve sounded like it was no big deal, but it was only to take the guilt off her dad’s shoulders.
In truth, this project was scary. She hadn’t lived here for thirteen years, and when she had, she’d been a kid.
What did she know about running an inn? How did she evaluate prospective managers? “I’ve got a whole list of things.”
“Another boring day in my daughter’s life. If only she had a little more gumption.” Her dad smiled. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m going to hire a piano player and a new chef, and I’d like to see if there’s anything we can sell for Wild West Days.
I know it’s last-minute, but I don’t think we should miss it.
I get that sarsaparilla and ginger cookies aren't the same as a half-decaf mocha soy latte with salted caramel foam and a chocolate croissant—”
“I want shocklet,” Birdie said.
“I know you do, sweetie.” She smiled at the little girl.
“And maybe we can take a break and go into town to get an ice cream cone.” She turned back to her dad.
“But I don’t want to break the tradition of our booth.
You still have the pamphlets, right?” Their tri-fold full-color brochures had a timeline of photographs going back to the earliest days and a picture of some of the suites—all of which had outlaw names. It was awesome.
“Of course,” her dad said. “But the event starts in two days. What can we come up with in such a short amount of time?”
“Not we,” she said pointedly. “Me.”
“Huh.” Decker stood by the table, scratching his scruff and staring at the apple pie. “If only we had something to sell that people liked. I can’t think of a single thing.”
“Wait, are you talking about pies?” Joy bubbled in her chest.
“Who doesn't like pie?” her dad said.
Willa loved the idea.
“But can we make enough to meet the demand?” her dad asked. “The festival brings folks from around the world.”
“How many pies do you think we’d sell in a day?” Decker asked.
“Are they mini?” her dad asked. “Whole?”
“Let’s do hand pies,” Decker said. “They’re easiest.”
“Okay, well, we get about eight thousand people in town a day. You figure forty percent of them eat one festival snack. So, that’s thirty-two hundred people buying food. Of that, five to ten percent will choose pie, so—”
“Two hundred seventy pies a day,” Decker said.
Her dad raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.
“He’s a numbers guy, too,” Willa said. “Two peas in a pod. So, the issue is how we come up with three hundred pies a day.”
Holding her gaze, Decker picked up his phone and put it on speaker.
“Hey, how’s it going?” She recognized Gunnar’s deep, rough voice.
“Good,” Decker said. “I need three hundred hand pies a day for Wild West Days for the inn. If I get you the recipe, can you help?”
“If we batch the dough and fillings, I’m thinkin’ we can do thirty each. Hundred-fifty a day from the five of us. Good enough?”
“That’s great, Dad. Thanks.”
Okay, seriously. If she sent out a request on the law firm’s chat, asking for people to help with anything—even to check the weather—no one would respond. Yes, she worked in a cutthroat environment, but Gunnar was busy, too.
“I’ll call Tiny at the club,” Gunnar said. “Get them in on it, too.”
Out of curiosity, she wondered what her friends would do. It wasn’t the same, of course. She hadn’t lived there in thirteen years, and she rarely came home. It was unlikely any of her friends would have the time to bake for the event. What would they get out of it?
Still, she sent a text to the group.
Willa: Big ask here, but do you happen to know anyone who’d be willing to bake hand pies for Wild West Days? We were looking for something new and different to sell, and a certain quarterback came up with this idea, so we're seeing if we can make it happen.
Fee: Guys, don’t bother reading all those words. Listen up: Everyone needs to bake pies for the inn for Wild West Days. I’ll be sending out the recipes, a link to order the ingredients from the market, and then you can make as many as you’d like. No amount is too small!
Willa: When did you become the organizer?
Fee: I don't think you know how friendship works!
Molly: I’m still in town. My aunt needs help shaping the trees, so I’m working remotely and helping her out. She and I can make a bunch of pies. It’ll be fun!
Eloise: I can make a batch a day.
Fee: No, you can't. You’re busy editing my wedding photos, remember?
Eloise: I’m a single mother. I can multi-task like a boss. It won’t be a lot, but I want to help.
Willa: I love you all so much. Thank you!
Ava: We’re talking to the bike club right now. And I’ll stop by the precinct, see what I can do there.
Her dad pushed his chair back and stood. “Well, I’m off to the warehouse.”
“No, sir, you are not.” She blocked him, pressing a hand to his sturdy chest. “Dad, I’m not sure you understand how serious your health issue is.
” She picked up the notebook she’d started and turned to the first page.
“This morning, your blood pressure was one-sixty-eight over one-oh-two. That’s better, but it’s still not good. ”
A crease formed between his brows. “I have to finish sending out those invoices.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
“I appreciate it, Willa-Bear, but that’s something I’ve got to do myself.”
“How about I swing by the warehouse after my session and pick up what you need?” Decker asked. “You can do it here.”
“Thank you, but my desk’s a mess. I just need to sit in a chair for a few hours.” Her dad lifted both hands. “That’s it.”
“Can you wait a few days?” Willa asked. “Please?”
He sighed. “I guess. But I’m not sure which is more stressful, handling paperwork or sitting around here, twiddling my thumbs. You know I don’t like doing nothing.” But he sat back down. “Maybe I’ll make some pies.”
“Oh, no, please, don’t do that,” she teased.
“Hey, I’ve gotten a lot better at cooking since you left. At least I wouldn’t burn the crust.” His eyes widened with humor.
“Dad,” Willa said, worried how her grumpy quarterback would take the joke.
But Decker just laughed. “I got distracted.” As he passed her to rinse his glass in the sink, he whispered in her ear, “Worth it.”
He’d lit the fuse, and it sparked. But then, he cupped her chin and kissed her on the mouth, and the world burst into Technicolor. It wasn’t a quick peck, and it wasn’t a simple gesture. It had urgency and desire, which meant he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
He just hid it better.
She’d have to remember that.
“Too bad we don't have a pastry chef anymore,” her dad said, oblivious to their stolen moment. “Hey, you know what? You should go to the town hall meeting tonight. You can get everything checked off on your list there. The town’ll come through for you.”
She had a hard time believing anyone would care about the inn’s need for a piano player. Also, it was summer, and school was out, so who would have time to bake pies?
But it wasn’t like she had a better idea.
She had to start somewhere.