2. Will
CHAPTER 2
Will
I decided to make the drive to Willow Pines this morning instead of getting in last night. I needed a clear head when going back to the place I grew up with the people I can’t get out of my mind. There’s one redhead in particular that makes me more nervous than anything, which is why I thought leaving the city at six a.m. to meet one of my best friends, Jeremy Rose, at the town’s coffee shop around seven felt like the right move.
And I was right.
By the time I pull my truck into a parking spot a few stores away from Miss Jane’s, my head is clear, and I’ve gone through every scenario in my head.
If I run into Millie, the previously mentioned redhead and Jeremy’s older sister, I will say hello.
I will not linger.
She might be—no, scratch that—she is still mad at me. She might even hate me for choosing the city and my life there over settling in Willow Pines.
Maybe this was a bad idea, coming back to town. I could have gotten someone else to check on Grandpa, to know if he’s okay. Surely if something was off, someone would have called me.
He’s the reason I’m here.
And I’ll only be here for one week. Two weeks, tops.
A loud bang comes from the right side of my truck, and I clench the steering wheel with both hands, gritting my teeth. When I investigate what made the sound, Jeremy snickers on the other side of the window, waving like a person who’s already had three cups of coffee.
“Jeremy.” I glare his way as I hop out of the driver’s side. I debate grabbing my bag from behind the seat but ultimately decide to leave it there until I go to my place. Even though I moved to the city for college and never came back permanently, the studio apartment above the record shop that Grandpa has owned for the past fifty years has always been mine. “Still buzzing your hair?”
Jeremy runs his hand back and forth over his head. “What? You don’t like it?”
“Nah, I do. I figure you’d want to grow your hair out in this cold weather.”
“It’s better for the bar to keep it short. When it was long, it got in my way. Not the best to make drinks and impress women.”
I haven’t seen Jeremy since I was in town six months ago, but we chat every now and again while playing video games. When he first opened Pines and Pints, his hair, which is the same red as Millie’s, was right below the ears. He would do this thing where he’d whip his hair when talking to someone new, so I’m glad the habit died.
“No comment on that,” I say.
Once the truck is locked, we walk to Miss Jane’s.
I’m fairly certain I could leave Willow Pines for an entire decade and everything would still be the same when I came back.
The main strip is cobblestone, some of it being the original from when the town was founded. The sidewalks are mostly clear, but down the way, there's a large flower pot waiting to be filled with blooms come spring. I can't see flowers and not think about Millie. All thoughts related to her are pushed to the back of my mind, locked them in a box to deal with later.
Finally, we reach Miss Jane’s. Her wooden sign hanging from the front door has seen better days, but its origin is one of my fondest memories from childhood.
Willow Pines has been home to me since the age of three when I was dropped off by the man that was supposed to be my father, forcing my grandpa to step in and raise me as his own. I’m lucky to have him and the Rose family.
I was eight when we made a sign for Miss Jane to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of her store. Jeremy’s dad bought the piece of wood and drilled holes on the top for something to hang it with. Millie braided various colors of strings, weaving in dried coffee beans and flowers, to create the handle for the sign. Jeremy and I used spray paint over stencils for the letters. Our three hand prints are side by side on the back of it with the year.
“Remember that?” Jeremy points to the sign.
“I remember not being able to wash the black paint off my hand for an entire week,” I respond as he walks through the door. I’m about to follow him, but my body pauses at a familiar voice from behind.
“I remember you two giving me shit for braiding the handle, telling me it wouldn’t work. But look, twenty-one years later, and it still functions.”
I slowly turn to take in Millie Mae Rose standing in front of me. Although her ruby red hair is braided to one side, a few pieces have fallen out and frame both sides of her face. My eyes rake the length of her body, if only for a moment. Her face is flush, which tells me she must have walked around the block instead of walking out the front door of her shop. Under her knee-length black coat, the embroidered flowers on her legs tell me she’s wearing her work overalls.
“Eyes up here, William.”
And her sass, that mouth , always makes my heart stutter an extra beat.
“Rose,” I say, drawing out the ‘o’ in her last name as I allow my eyes the time to re-trace her legs, her hips, the curve of her breasts, until my gaze finally settles on hers. “It’s good to see you. You—uh, you look good.”
Okay, so I said hello, and I’m lingering. This is going perfect .
Millie blinks, opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something but ultimately decides against it, and shoulders past me into the shop, not giving a response.
I’m left wondering if she knew I’d be here, if Jeremy told her. In the back of my mind, thoughts from the locked box leak out, leaving me questioning if there’s a way to repair what I ruined and go back to how things were between us.