9. Willa
CHAPTER NINE
WILLA
I’d baked until two in the morning because every time I closed my eyes, I felt his mouth on mine and my hands on his shoulders and the way he’d gone completely still before his hands found my waist. Standing in my kitchen measuring flour was safer than lying in bed trying to convince myself I hadn’t just ruined everything.
A kiss I’d initiated.
A kiss I’d walked away from because staying would’ve meant admitting things I wasn’t ready to say out loud.
Neither of us had mentioned it. As if it hadn’t happened.
The cookies were a compromise, something I could control. They said I was thinking about him without having to spit out the words.
Peanut butter chocolate chip. My grandmother’s recipe. The one I made when I wanted to impress someone.
I kept glancing at the container on my passenger seat during my drive to work on Friday, second-guessing everything.
This was too obvious. He’d know exactly what it meant.
Or worse. He wouldn’t know, and I’d stand there holding homemade cookies like a 1950s housewife while he looked confused and I died of embarrassment.
I almost left the container at home. Pretended I’d never baked them. But the image of him eating the bakery cookies kept me pressing the accelerator forward.
Fred was floating near the ceiling when I walked in, Amanda riding on his back, a tiny crowned monarch surveying her domain.
My coffee sat beside the keyboard on my desk, steam rising in a thin curl.
Two creams. No sweetener. He was here already. My pulse kicked up.
I set the cookie container down beside the coffee, my hands not quite steady, and took a long sip. Perfect. Exactly how I liked it. And I got to work, completing one task after another, trying not to think about the meeting this afternoon when we’d be alone.
Would he mention the kiss, or would he act like it never happened?
Two thirty came much too soon and not soon enough. I rose from my desk, smoothed my skirt and blouse, and walked down the hall, a notebook and the container of cookies in hand.
Like before, the conference room door was closed, but I could see movement through the frosted glass. Traig’s unmistakable silhouette, pacing again.
I knocked once, and the pacing stopped.
“Come in,” he called out.
He stood near his chair at the head of the table, his hair tied back, wearing a t-shirt that outlined his muscles and jeans. His eyes met mine and held.
I walked around behind him, hyperaware of his woodsy scent and my overwhelming urge to stop and lean against him. When I reached my chair to the right of his, I set the container on the table.
His gaze dropped to it. “You brought something.”
“I baked cookies last night.” The words came out fast. “Peanut butter chocolate chip. You seemed to like the cookies last time, so.”
He sat and reached for the container, tugging off the lid. The smell of peanut butter and chocolate drifted up from the container, making my belly rumble. He paused before lifting out a cookie and taking a bite.
My breath caught.
He chewed slowly, his eyes closing for half a heartbeat. When they opened again, they locked on me with a look that made my knees tremble.
“You made these.” An accusation wrapped in awe.
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal, I just—”
“These are better than the bakery ones. You made these for me?”
“Yes.”
He finished the first cookie and took a careful bite of a second one, his gaze never leaving mine. “You went home after you kissed me, and you baked. For me.”
My face went hot. “I, well, yes.”
My throat felt too tight. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you thought about me.” His jaw shifted. “All night.”
“I—yes.”
He picked up the cookie again, taking another bite without breaking eye contact. I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
A yellow-and-pink blur shot through the gap where I’d left the door cracked.
“No. Nix,” Traig said, his shoulders falling.
Nix chittered, already building speed as he raced around the perimeter of the room.
We both scrambled out of our chairs and lunged for him.
The fizzling discharged between us, the crack sharp enough to make every hair on my body stand on end.
I stumbled backward, Traig catching my arm to keep me from falling.
We froze, staring at each other.
Nix chirped from near the filing cabinet.
We didn’t move.
“Earlier this morning, I reinforced the enclosure again,” Traig said, his voice one big rasp.
“I’m sure he appreciated the challenge.”
His mouth twitched. “He’s persistent.”
“So are you.”
His fingers slid across my wrist as he released me and turned toward Nix. Sighing, he went to retrieve the creature.
I sat down before my legs could give out and pretended to review my notes while my entire arm tingled from where he’d touched me.
By the time he’d returned Nix to the enclosure and came back to the conference room, I’d almost managed to create a professional expression.
He settled across from me, picked up his half-eaten cookie, stuffed the entire thing in his mouth, and pulled his tablet closer.
“We should finalize the creature selection,” he said.
“Right. Yes. Creatures.”
We worked, and for whatever reason, it didn’t feel awkward. He’d suggest something based on behavioral patterns, I’d push back on kid-friendliness, and we’d land somewhere better than either starting point.
He ate another cookie while explaining why the clatterwings needed to be second, not third in the rotation.
Then another while I suggested moving the driftwhisp encounter to week four.
By the time we’d mapped out the full eight-week schedule, he’d eaten four more cookies. Good thing I’d made a couple dozen.
He reached for another one and paused, looking down at the container. “I’ve eaten most of the cookies. Again.”
“You have.”
“You should have some.”
“I made them for you. I have more at home.”
He picked up the cookie but didn’t eat it. Just held it, staring at me as if I’d said something profound.
I turned his tablet so we could both see it, and pointed.
“Look,” I said. “We did it.”
The creature component of the curriculum sat there, complete.
We both stared at it.
“This is good,” he said.
“It is.”
“We made this.”
“Together.”
I looked at the document, then at him, then at the nearly-empty container between us, realizing I’d need to bake more cookies. Perhaps my almond sugar cookie recipe, the ones with almond icing and colorful sprinkles. I could use my flower cookie cutter.
“Why do you always change my organizing back?” I asked softly, having noticed yesterday that he’d—again—put the filing system back to the way it was when I arrived.
His tusks scraped across his upper lip. He set the cookie down, but his gaze remained on the tablet. “Because I built those systems. I know why they are the way they are. Most people don’t. I don’t expect them to.”
I bit down hard to hold myself together. “But you could explain why you use them. If someone asked.”
His fingers drummed on the table. “No one’s ever asked.”
“I’m asking,” I said.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the table and he leaned closer—
The door banged open. Krem strode inside, holding his usual clipboard, sporting a full-tusked grin.
“Good news,” he said. “Brovish just told us the school coordinator loves the plan. She wants to move faster than we thought. The first visit will be in two weeks.”
“It’s not much time to get ready.”
“It's very exciting.” He flipped a page on his clipboard, squinting at it.
“Also, a family is coming a week from Saturday to meet our puddlewump pair.
Brovish and Laina are going to the ocean that weekend and won't be here.
The rest of us have an intake to pick up in the orc kingdom and won't be back until late that Sunday. Could you two handle this adoption?” His gaze shot to mine.
“If you don't mind coming in that Saturday for an hour or so. They said ten would work well for them.”
“I, um…” I looked down at my notebook.
Krem flipped the pages back on his clipboard. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Traig said.
“Yes,” I said at the same time.
Krem grinned wide enough I wanted to throw my notebook at him. “I’ll leave the information here. If you can’t be here, Willa, I’m sure Traig can handle it.” He set a folder on the table and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Traig picked up the cookie container, studying it like it held answers.
“Two weeks,” I said, opting to discuss the school visit first.
“We’ll need to meet more often.”
“How often?”
“Daily.” He looked up. “If you’re willing.”
Daily meetings. With Traig. For the next two weeks.
Sitting close and pretending we weren’t both thinking about our kiss almost every single day of the week.
His gaze fell on my mouth, and my belly did a flip that had nothing to do with hunger.
“Good,” he said softly. “About that Saturday…”
“I want to be here. I live close by. On Main Street. The one next to the bakery. It’s only a short distance away. Better this than sit in my second-floor apartment, staring out at the river behind the building.”
“I could speak for them if you have other plans.”
“I don’t have plans. Since I only recently moved to the area, I rarely have plans.”
“You’re, um… You don’t have a mate.”
Did he think I’d kiss him if I had a mate?
“No mate. No boyfriend. I haven’t dated anyone since…
” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I was with someone for five years. Derek. He was a lawyer. Kind enough in his own way. I knew his coffee order, his mother’s birthday, and the exact filing system his practice needed. ”
It all spilled out of me. Once started, I couldn’t stop.
“He never had to wonder what I needed because I’d already taken care of it myself.”
My hands were shaking. Why was I telling him this? Why couldn’t I stop talking?
“When we broke up—when he moved—I realized I couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked me what I needed. Not because he was cruel. Because I’d never given him a reason to ask. I was always fine. Always capable.” I forced myself to look up at Traig. “I made myself invisible by being useful.”
Traig’s jaw worked, his tusks catching his upper lip.