Willow
FORTY-FIVE
By five o’clock, Julian has somehow convinced Gabe to help him make grilled cheese sandwiches “the right way,” which involves three different cheeses, garlic butter, and an argument intense enough that I’m genuinely concerned they might dissolve Redemption Records over dairy products.
“You’re burning it,” Gabe says flatly from the kitchen island.
“I’m caramelizing it.”
“You’re setting off the smoke detector.”
Julian points the spatula at him. “You have no vision.”
I sit on one of the bar stools with Daisy sprawled across my feet, trying not to laugh into my coffee.
Julian finally slides a plate in front of me with dramatic flair. “There. Perfection.”
I look down at the sandwich. “This has truffle oil on it.”
“Obviously.”
“We’re in upstate New York, not a cooking competition.”
“We can be both, Willow.”
Gabe snorts from across the kitchen.
The whole day’s been strangely calm, considering the past few weeks have felt like living inside a dumpster fire with Wi-Fi.
Xander left early this morning without explaining where he was going. Not unusual for him, exactly, except something about him felt… different before he left. Focused. Like he’d already made a decision the rest of us hadn’t caught up to yet.
Neither Gabe nor Julian seem overly concerned, though, which means either they know something or they’re pretending not to.
The front door opens just after six.
All three of us look up, and there he is.
Xander walks into the compound with rain clinging faintly to the shoulders of his black coat, dark hair slightly damp, expression closed off in that frustratingly controlled way of his.
But something’s different.
The tension that’s been riding under his skin for weeks isn’t as overwhelming anymore.
His eyes land on me, and heat curls in my stomach before I can stop it.
“You look suspiciously functional,” Julian says from the stove.
Xander pulls off his coat. “Careful. People will start expecting things from me.”
“I already expect things from you,” Gabe says dryly. “Mostly paperwork.”
Xander ignores him entirely, still watching me. He does that a lot. Like I’m the only thing in the room worth focusing on.
“How was your day?” I ask carefully.
One side of his mouth lifts. “Better.”
That’s all he says. Not where he went. Not what happened. Just better. Which makes me even more curious.
Julian narrows his eyes. “What did you do?”
“Handled something.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It probably is,” Gabe mutters.
Xander finally looks away from me long enough to move farther into the kitchen. He grabs the whiskey bottle from the counter, pouring himself a glass before leaning back against the island.
Then his gaze flicks toward me again. “I’m taking you all to dinner.”
I blink.
Julian grins. “Are we celebrating or avoiding something?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It answered enough.”
Gabe studies him carefully over the rim of his coffee mug. “What happened?”
Xander takes a sip of whiskey before answering. “Things are going to get easier.”
His tone quiets the room.
My stomach tightens at the thought of leaving the compound.
Public. People. Phones. Cameras.
The last few weeks flash through my mind too quickly: headlines, comments, strangers dissecting my body and my relationships like they owned them.
I rub the back of my neck.
Xander notices. “You don’t have to worry about tonight.”
I glance up at him. “Easy for you to say.”
“No.” His voice stays calm. “It isn’t.”
He sets his glass down and walks toward me. Then he stops directly in front of my stool, one hand settling lightly against my knee.
“Let them talk,” he says. “Soon, none of this will matter.”
I search his face trying to figure out what exactly happened today, but all I find is certainty, and maybe a softness underneath it. Trust. Which is terrifying, because I’m starting to trust him back.
Julian breaks the tension by pointing a spatula at me dramatically. “Also, if you say no, Gabe’s going to make us eat health food.”
Gabe looks offended. “You say that like vegetables are oppression.”
“They are.”
I laugh despite myself.
And just like that, the tightness in my chest eases enough for me to breathe again.
An hour later, I’m standing in my room at the compound staring at myself in the mirror like I’ve forgotten how clothes work.
“This is stupid,” I mutter.
Daisy blinks at me from the bed.
“You’re not helping.”
I haven’t dressed up since all this started.
Partly because there hasn’t been much reason. Partly because I got tired of feeling like every outfit became public property the second I stepped outside.
But tonight feels… different.
I settle on a dark green dress that hugs my curves without trying too hard, soft fabric brushing just above my knees. Simple makeup. Boots instead of heels because I still have standards.
When I finally step downstairs, all three men look up, and stop talking.
Oh no.
Julian recovers first, dramatically clutching his chest. “Jeez.”
Gabe’s gaze drags over me. “You look beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks.
Then there’s Xander.
His eyes move over me once, heavy enough that my pulse stumbles. Then he steps closer, fingers brushing lightly against the side of my waist.
“You should wear green more often,” he says roughly.
My stomach flips. Traitorous thing.
The Lamb is warm against the dark evening, golden light spilling through the windows onto the wet street outside.
The last time I came here with Xander, I ended up stomping out the door to escape women throwing themselves at him.
Tonight feels completely different. Maybe because I’m not alone.
Julian keeps his hand at the small of my back as we walk inside while Gabe stays close beside me.
And Xander walks ahead like he’s daring the entire world to become a problem tonight.
Heads still turn when we enter. Whispers follow almost immediately. But somehow, it doesn’t hit the same. Not with all three of them around me.
Martha Callahan looks up from behind the hostess stand and grins. “Well. This is either a date or a kidnapping situation.”
“Still determining that,” I tell her.
Julian gasps. “After all I’ve done for you.”
“You made grilled cheese.”
“Professionally!”
Martha laughs, leading us toward a private corner booth near the back. As we sit, I notice people staring less at me tonight. Or, at least, that’s how it feels.
The conversation comes easy.
Julian tells ridiculous stories about touring disasters.
Gabe argues with Martha about wine pairings like he secretly enjoys being challenged.
Xander mostly watches all of us with that quieter expression he’s had since he got back.
And every now and then, I catch him looking at me like he’s relieved I’m here.
Like maybe he wasn’t entirely sure I still would be.
The warmth in my chest at that realization feels dangerous.
Dinner arrives. Drinks follow, and I actually start relaxing.
Then the front door opens and my stomach drops.
Caitlyn West.
The tabloid writer spots us almost instantly, excitement lighting up her face like she just found buried treasure.
“Oh, wow,” Julian mutters. “Does she have bat-like hearing for scandal?”
“She probably smelled emotional instability,” Gabe says dryly.
Caitlyn’s already crossing the restaurant before I can decide whether I want to hide under the table.
Her phone’s in her hand.
Recording.
Fantastic.
“Well,” she says brightly as she reaches us. “This is cozy.”
Xander doesn’t even look up from his whiskey. “Go away.”
Her smile twitches. “The public is very interested in—”
“The public can learn boundaries,” Gabe cuts in smoothly.
Julian leans back in the booth beside me, grinning without warmth. “You know, legally speaking, stalking probably shouldn’t be your whole personality.”
“I’m a journalist.”
“You’re an asshole with a cell phone.”
I choke on my drink.
Caitlyn’s attention snaps toward me. “Willow, how are you coping with all the attention surrounding your relationship?”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
Then Xander sets his glass down. The sound alone quiets the table. He finally looks at Caitlyn directly, ice blue eyes flat and cold enough to cut glass.
“I said leave.”
Caitlyn hesitates.
Xander leans back in the booth, one arm stretching behind me along the seat. Protective. Possessive in a way that somehow still feels entirely about my comfort instead of his ego.
“You got your story,” he says calmly. “Now, move on.”
“And if I don’t?”
Julian smiles. “Then Gabe starts using legal terminology and Xander starts glaring at people until they cry.”
“Historically,” Gabe adds, adjusting his cuff, “both approaches are extremely effective.”
For one tense second, I think she might actually push harder.
Then Martha appears beside the table holding a bread basket like a weapon.
“Sweetheart,” she says to Caitlyn, “either order food or get out of my restaurant.”
I almost laugh.
Caitlyn looks around the table one last time before finally scoffing and backing away.
The second she leaves, the tension breaks.
Julian exhales. “Well. That was romantic.”
“You threatened a journalist,” I tell him.
“I threatened her with charm.”
Gabe shakes his head. “That sentence alone should disqualify you from adulthood.”
Xander’s hand settles against my thigh beneath the table. “You okay?”
And maybe I should say no.
Maybe I should admit all of this still scares me sometimes.
But sitting here between them, warm restaurant light spilling across the table while Martha yells at someone in the kitchen and Julian steals fries off Gabe’s plate like a menace to society… I actually am.
So I look at Xander.
Then Gabe.
Then Julian.
And I smile.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I think I am.”