Willow
TWENTY-ONE
“You’ve been weird this week.”
I tighten my grip on Daisy’s leash as she makes a committed attempt to throw herself into a park bush like it personally invited her. “That’s not a measurable unit.”
“It is in this family,” Nina says, like she’s presenting evidence in court.
Daisy sneezes mid-lunge and nearly takes me with her.
“Great,” I mutter. “I’m being judged by both of you before midday.”
Nina smiles into the collar of her jacket. “You know I’m right.”
“I know you think you’re right, which is worse.”
Daisy finally gives up on the bush and redirects her energy toward a leaf that might be plotting something. I take a careful sip of coffee, mostly to buy time.
“Different weird,” Nina adds.
“That’s still not a unit.”
“It is when you’ve known someone your whole life.”
I glance at her. “You’re very confident for someone making things up.”
“I’m not making it up,” she says easily. “You’ve been distracted. And every time one of their names comes up, you either get moody or go weirdly quiet, and those are both suspicious reactions.”
I open my mouth.
Close it again.
Because she’s not wrong. I’ve been weird.
Which is what happens when you sleep with three complicated former rockstars and leave feeling like your life is one bad decision away from becoming a public relations nightmare.
“I’m not talking about it,” I say.
“That’s okay.”
“It’s not because I’m hiding anything.”
“Sure.”
I stop walking and look at her. “Wow. Your faith in me is inspiring.”
“It’s not about faith,” she says, calm as anything. “It’s pattern recognition.”
“That’s worse.”
She bumps my shoulder lightly as we start moving again. “You love me.”
“Debatable.”
Daisy chooses that moment to spot a squirrel and attempts to launch herself into orbit.
“Absolutely not…” I brace, coffee sloshing dangerously as she drags me two steps sideways. “Daisy, we have talked about this.”
The squirrel, predictably, survives.
Nina waits until I’ve regained control before she says, “So.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything yet.”
“You were about to.”
She grins. “You know me so well.”
“That’s because I’ve had to.”
We walk a few more steps, Daisy now sniffing the ground like she’s working a crime scene, before Nina adds, too casually, “How’s your rockstar social circle?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just asking.”
“No, you’re fishing.”
“Also true.”
I shake my head, because this is exactly how she gets information. Soft voice, innocent expression, and suddenly you’re halfway through a confession you didn’t mean to start.
“I’m not talking about it,” I repeat.
“You already said that.”
“And I meant it both times.”
“Mm.”
Daisy loops herself around my legs like she’s trying to tie me to the path permanently.
I look down at her. “You’re adding nothing to this.”
Nina takes the leash while I untangle myself, which feels like a trap but also a relief. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll stop.”
“You say that now.”
“I say that until something interesting happens.”
I give her a flat look. “Then you’ll be waiting a while.”
That’s when Daisy sees another dog and absolutely loses her mind.
Pure, unfiltered joy. Full-body wiggle, tiny frantic yips, feet scrambling like she’s about to achieve flight.
“Okay,” I say, already bracing. “This is how we die.”
Five minutes later, Daisy has made a new best friend, Nina is crouched down cooing at both dogs like she’s known them her entire life, and I’m standing there holding my coffee like I’ve somehow become the exhausted parent in a situation I didn’t sign up for.
I let myself breathe. This part, I like.
The ordinary part.
The path, the trees, Nina laughing at something the other dog’s owner says, Daisy vibrating with happiness like her entire purpose in life is being fulfilled right now.
No music industry, complicated men, situations I don’t know how to define. Just normal.
Which means, naturally, it can’t last.
By the time Daisy has exhausted herself greeting every living creature within a ten-foot radius, Nina straightens and says, “Farmers’ market?”
I blink. “Now?”
“We’re already out.”
“That’s a disturbingly logical argument.”
“I know.”
I hesitate for half a second, then shrug. “Fine. But if you buy six candles and call it self-care again, I’m leaving you there.”
She gasps. “That was one time.”
“It was four scents and a tote bag.”
“They were artisan.”
“Robbery is still robbery even if you put it in kraft paper.”
She grins and loops her arm through mine as we head out of the park.
Redemption Square is already busy by the time we get there.
The market’s in full swing. White tents, folding tables, crates of produce stacked high. Flowers in metal buckets. Bread. Honey. Handmade soap that all smells like either lavender or moral superiority.
There’s music somewhere near the gazebo. Somebody with a guitar, not famous, just good enough to make the world feel fuller.
People call hello as we pass. Daisy attracts attention the way some women attract bad decisions.
Bill Smith is already arguing with someone over peaches. Martha Callahan is pretending not to enjoy it.
Grace Holloway has an outdoor book display set up outside Daffodil Books and is absolutely watching the entire square like gossip is pollen and she’s the local bee population.
Normal. Harmless. Fine.
And then Nina goes still beside me.
That’s never a good sign.
“What?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
She just stares past me with that delighted little focus she gets when she’s spotted something she intends to investigate.
I follow her line of sight.
Oh shit.
Xander.
He’s standing near the fountain with a paper bag in one hand and his phone in the other, dressed in dark jeans and a black henley like the universe personally sat down and designed him to be inconveniently hot in daylight. His head is bent, attention on the screen, one hand shoved into his pocket.
He looks normal.
Just a man in the middle of a farmers’ market buying fruit and existing with his stupid shoulders and his stupid face and the exact same mouth that has caused me an unreasonable number of problems lately.
“Interesting,” Nina says.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I do. And no.”
She starts walking before I can stop her.
I grab her arm. “Nina.”
“What?”
“You cannot just go over there like this is some kind of educational field trip.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s a fantastic reason. People have respected less.”
She gives me a look that’s deeply, infuriatingly sister shaped. “You’re being weird again.”
“I’m being cautious.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Before I can explain that those are different things, Daisy spots Xander, too.
Because traitor that she is, she perks up, tail whipping, and takes off toward him with enough enthusiasm to drag me three steps before I regain control.
Xander looks up at the exact moment Daisy barrels into his boots like she’s been reunited with a long lost lover.
“Well,” he says, crouching down as Daisy throws herself into his space without shame or hesitation. “That’s one way to say hello.”
“Don’t encourage her,” I say, arriving with the leash, Nina, and my dignity hanging by a thread.
He glances up at me, then at Nina. “Hi.”
Nina smiles, perfectly pleasant and absolutely lethal. “Hi, Xander. I’m Nina. Willow’s sister. We met the other night at Friday Night Lights.”
“Nice to see you again.”
“Oh, I’m very happy to see you again.”
He huffs a laugh.
Great. Amazing. Everybody’s having fun.
Daisy has now fully committed herself to seducing him, scruffy body wedged between his knees while he scratches behind her ears like he has all the time in the world.
“She likes you,” Nina says.
“She has terrible instincts,” I mutter.
Xander stands, still holding Daisy’s attention, somehow. “That doesn’t seem accurate.”
“It does if she’s trusting strangers in public.”
“Strangers,” he repeats, looking at me.
I ignore the way that lands.
Nina, because she’s a menace in a cute cardigan, steps right into the silence. “We were just heading through the market.”
“I gathered,” Xander says.
“Do you come here often?” she asks.
I close my eyes briefly.
When I open them, Xander is looking at her intently.
“Sometimes,” he says. “Depends how much time I have.”
Nina nods, like this is all very normal and she isn’t currently conducting a soft interrogation in front of me. “And the peaches?”
He lifts the bag. “Yup. I needed the fruit.”
Nina nods. “Were you heading home?”
Xander looks at me before answering. “Eventually.”
“Well,” Nina says brightly, “you should walk with us.”
I snap my head toward her. “He absolutely shouldn’t—”
“I’d like that,” Xander says.
Nina beams like she’s personally brokered peace between nations.
That’s how I end up wandering through the farmers’ market with my sister, my dog, and the man I had sex with in a lake and then with two other guys, all while acting like this is somehow a reasonable way for a Saturday to unfold.
Daisy trots between us as if she arranged the whole thing.
Which, maybe she did.
Nina asks Xander questions like she’s trying not to make them obvious and failing beautifully.
What’s the studio like? Do artists really want to work in a small town? Did he really grow up here? Does he miss performing?
He answers all of it more openly than I expected.
He tells her the town feels smaller than it used to, that artists are tired of being treated like products, that yes, he grew up here, and no, he doesn’t miss every part of being on stage.
“Just the parts that mattered,” he says.
Nina looks at him like she heard something in that I’m not sure I wanted her to. Then she nods and steers us toward the flower stall.
I hang back for half a step, watching him reach down to keep Daisy from tangling her leash around a display of lavender.
He notices me looking and lifts a brow. I look away first, because I’m weak, apparently.
At the bakery stall, he buys Nina a cinnamon roll before she can protest.
At the coffee stand, he replaces mine because it’s gone cold.