8. Chapter 8
Things are going well.
And it’s making me nervous. Willow’s been coming in every day this week and staying when I close up. She says I’m helping her get shit done, but all it feels like is a conversation about my old job. She asks me questions, and I answer them as she types away on her computer a mile a minute. According to her, she’s actually writing the story and has moved on from the outline—whatever that means. She told me something about switching up her style and being a pantser for this book, and I’ll be honest, I just nodded and smiled because I have no clue what she’s talking about.
If it’s helping her productivity, I’ll take it.
Tonight, I wanted to switch things up a little. We’ve been sticking to the shop, with me making us quick dinners as she works, but tonight, I wanted to cook her some real food. Earlier this afternoon, I made lasagna during a lull, and now it’s just sitting in the refrigerator, waiting to go in the oven.
I keep eyeballing the door, waiting for her to come in. It’s already past noon, and I’m getting worried. She usually shows up after the morning rush, but it’s going on lunch and she’s nowhere to be seen.
It’s not like we have a set schedule; it’s just been what’s naturally working out. But my overprotective instincts are struggling with being easygoing right this second. It’s Brittany’s day off today, so at least I have the distraction of staying busy.
“You stare any harder, and you’ll start drooling.” The sheriff’s voice startles me.
I open my mouth to say I’m watching for customers, but he just snuck up on me, so I close it just as quickly.
“What can I get you today, Sheriff?”
“You heard from your buddy again?” he asks instead of ordering.
Gritting my teeth, I try to calmly answer him, even if it pisses me off that he’s even asking. Woodcroft should have never fucking shown up here. Now, I’ll forever be answering questions like this from the sheriff. Not that I blame him—if I was the sheriff, I’d be asking questions too.
“Nope. You want your usual?” I move to the espresso-maker to make his americano.
“Willow’s sure been here a lot.”
I don’t bother looking up at him because I know it would just give him whatever answer he’s looking for. He seems to assume things are happening, but it’s not really his business.
“How’s Rina doing?” I counter. If he wants to play petty games, I’ve got plenty of ammo. I set his coffee in front of him as he grunts in response. I don’t even trying to hide my smirk.
“See you later, Oakley,” he mumbles as he walks out the front door, stopping to hold the door for someone walking in. I see Willow and meet Arlo’s eyes over her head. The look he’s giving me is indecipherable, so I turn my focus to the beauty that just came in.
“Morning!” she says cheerily.
“Afternoon, actually.” I can hear the grumpiness in my tone, so I try to calm it down. “Have a good morning?”
“So fucking good! I wrote three full chapters today!”
I listen to her tell me about everything she managed to get done today as I make her latte.
“I finally figured out what the other main character’s job is, and it’s made everything run so much more smoothly.”
“What did you decide?” I ask, sliding her coffee to her.
“She’s a coffee shop owner!” She throws her hands to the side like a ta-da moment, and I have to laugh.
“So, is there anything you aren’t using me as an inspiration for?” I smirk.
The apples of her cheeks turn that perfect shade of rose that has my cock tightening my jeans.
“U-umm,” she stutters.
“I’m kidding, Will. I think it works perfectly. A coffee shop owner hears everything, and if your CIA guy is using her as an informant, it makes perfect sense.”
“Yes! Exactly that!” Her excitement lights up the whole damn shop, and it’s infectious.
“Have a seat while I make you lunch, and I’ll come sit with you if it’s still dead in here. You can tell me all about the last three chapters.”
She makes her way to her usual table, and I have to physically tear myself away from watching her. She’s so full of life, so excited about every little thing, and it makes me equally captivated and jealous.
I keep an eye on her as I make her favorite panini, making sure to add a chocolate chip cookie to the plate as well before heading over to join her.
“Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver. I haven’t eaten all day; I was so engrossed in writing.” She takes a huge bite of her sandwich, and I sit back, covering my mouth with my hand to hide my smile. I don’t want to say anything to interrupt her. Instead, I let her fuel up so she can tell me all about her progress.
I take the time to really drink her in. Tight, black leggings cling to her shapely legs, ending with beat-up, leather sandals showing she wears them most days. Trailing my eyes up, I see a threadbare T-shirt hanging off of one shoulder, and just that tease of skin has my cock twitching. Her brown hair is plopped on top of her head, pieces falling out left and right, but it just furthers the dirty direction my mind has taken.
“Okay.” She rubs her hands on her leggings. “Thank you. I needed that.” I nod, wordlessly urging her to continue. “So, the three chapters went so fucking smooth. It felt fantastic to finally get productive words in. It’s all just basic setting stuff, but I’ve gotten the two characters to meet.”
“That’s really good, right?” I want to be able to help her more, but so much of this flies over my head. The topic, I know a shit-ton on, but writing? I’m clueless and feel extremely inadequate. I’ve read every single one of her books, and I know just how phenomenal her brain is, so I’m just trying to keep up.
“So good! Like, Charlie—that’s the CIA agent’s name—has gone to a new coffee shop around the area, where the ‘crimes’ are taking place, and Niya is the bakery owner. She hasn’t put up with his shit so far, so I love her already.” She beams.
“That sounds interesting.” And I mean it. It just sounds far from her usual set up, so I’m interested to see where this goes.
“So, I think I’m going to crash here and try to get some more words in, and then pick your brain when you close. That good with you?” She’s already pulling out her laptop, eager to get back to her progress.
The front door chimes, and I start to stand up. “I’ll let you get back to it, but I was thinking we could head to my apartment after I close up today.” That sounds fucking creepy. “I made a ton of food for dinner, so I figured you could eat with me,” I add awkwardly and cringe. God, that was almost worse.
“That sounds great, Oakley, thanks.” Her focus is far from me, and I’m just glad for the new customer, even if it is Jim Mathews.
He is the start and the end of the gossip train here. Mabel and Alice have nothing on him, contrary to what they think. He’s also Ledger’s soon-to-be father-in-law.
“Good afternoon, Oakley. How’s the day been?” he asks jovially.
“Not too bad. Just keeping the lovely people of Bluebell Falls caffeinated and fed. You want your usual?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, please. And can you throw on a double chocolate cookie? Don’t tell the missus—she’s trying to get me to eat healthier.”
“Absolutely.” I slide his medium drip coffee to him and move to grab the cookie, throwing it in a bag for him.
He picks both up, saluting me as he turns right back around, heading out to go bug someone else around town. I sigh in relief that he either chose to ignore that I was just sitting with Willow, or that he didn’t see it. Either way works for me because I don’t want to be the center of any attention.
The rest of the day is slow, leaving me ample time to watch Willow work, and daydream about fucking her. And by the time I’m ready to close up, she’s deep in the writing zone.
Locking up takes no time at all, and I sneak upstairs to pop the lasagna in the oven. I set a timer on my phone and then head back downstairs to check on Willow.
She’s in the exact spot I left her, except her hair looks a little more haphazard, and from what I’ve learned, that usually means she’s getting frustrated.
“Hey, you want to take a break?” She jerks back at my voice, and I feel like shit that I scared her. “Sorry.”“No, no, you’re fine. I was zoned out and didn’t even realize you were waiting on me. I definitely think it’s break time, though.” She sits back with a frustrated sigh.
“We have about a little over an hour until dinner is ready. You want to head up and talk about it?” I offer, feeling yet again creepy and awkward at the same time. It’s not like I’m great with people in general, but damn, it’s exponentially worse with this woman.
“God yes.” She starts gathering all her stuff, and I hurry over to help her.
Once we’ve gotten everything collected—she legit has so much shit with her today it’s shocking—she tosses her backpack over her shoulder, but I snag it before it makes it onto her back. She eyes with me a strange look in her eyes, almost like she’s curious as to what my end-goal is, and honestly, I have no fucking clue what my endgame is. I just know I want to make things as easy as possible on her, so that means carrying her bag in some convoluted way.
Leading the way to the stairs that lead to my apartment, I hesitate. I still don’t know if it’s a good idea to bring someone into my personal space. It feels like a huge step, and mentally, I’m not sure I’m ready for it.
“We can go back down, Oakley. It’s fine.” Her soft voice, so caring and full of concern, snaps me out of my overanxious thoughts.
“Nope, this is perfect. Besides, I need to share that big-ass lasagna with someone.” I force a chuckle. God, it’s like I can’t function like a normal person around her.
“You made lasagna?” The excitement is clear in her tone.
“It’s nothing. Just made it earlier and then popped it in the oven while you were working.” I run my hand over the back of my neck, uncomfortable as all hell. I’m not sure why this feels so personal, but I’m starting to struggle with bringing her up here. But this is a good thing. Woodcroft reminding me that I’ve cut out a lot of my previous life made me realize I’m not really open in this version of my life either. I’m hoping this small step can help change that because the limbo I’m living in isn’t sustainable if I’m really trying to get over my issues.
Willow’s little body jolts me back against my door as she tackles me in a hug.
“Thank you, that’s extremely thoughtful,” she mumbles against my shoulder.
Hesitantly wrapping an arm around her middle, I breathe her in, smelling the lingering scent of coffee and fresh air. Comfort.
“It’s not a problem, Will. Let’s get inside so you can tell me about where you’re at in the book.”