Chapter 7
Willow
To-Do List
Remind myself to never drink again
Find pants
I shook awake to knife blades of sunlight streaming through the living room windows like an attack.
Trying to avoid their onslaught, I rolled to my side, coming face-to-face with an imposing black nose, and Gus eyed me curiously over his long snout.
“Hey, boy,” I said groggily, and he licked my face at the words, which might have been him showing affection and might have been more of Cruz’s training to check for signs of life.
Wiping the dog slobber from my cheek, I felt the fabric of the couch on my bare legs and realized I wasn’t wearing pants.
Come to think of it, I wasn’t wearing a bra, and a quick inspection of the room found both on the floor next to Gus’s front paws.
“Oh, this is bad.” I squeezed my eyes shut, and Gus gave a quick bark before licking my face again, as if to confirm the badness of the situation.
My head was fuzzy and pounding. I had to pee, and the night before came back to me in pieces.
Cracking an eye open, I pulled the blanket with me, looking for Deacon, but he wasn’t in the living room.
I took a moment to examine the spot where he’d sat the night before—his tall, defined body perched on one end of the couch as if the furniture was built to fit him.
We’d had too much wine and I’d massively overshared.
It was all I could think about as I stumbled toward the bathroom in search of relief and then ibuprofen.
I finally lumbered toward the back door to let out Gus, but even with the door open, he sat patiently for my hungover ass until I remembered the command.
“Go,” I said, motioning out the back door, and he took off like a bolt, circling the yard’s perimeter before getting to business.
The wall was cool against my back, and I leaned against it for a few minutes before deciding that coffee was needed.
The night before was a blur, but hopefully I hadn’t been drunk enough to do something truly regrettable, like sleeping with Deacon.
I started the coffee maker and went in search of my phone where messages waited.
Deacon: Good morning. You make it up this morning?
He’d sent the message at six forty-five that morning, and if he felt anything like me, I had no idea how he’d been able to even look at the glare of the phone so early in the morning.
Willow: Barely.
I glanced over my shoulder at my little pile of clothes in the living room.
Willow: I wasn’t inappropriate last night was I?
Deacon: You talked with our Lyft driver for twenty minutes about his miniature schnauzer, but otherwise no.
Willow: Can I ask why I woke up without pants?
Deacon: You got hot.
Willow: Hot?
Deacon: You told me to close my eyes and then you took off your pants and then informed me you would take off your bra.
My face heated. “No,” I said to the coffee maker, pushing the memory out of my head. “So cringey.”
Willow: Any chance you can forget that happened?
Deacon: No way. But I was a gentleman and looked away.
Willow: I’m sorry I drank so much.
Deacon: I had fun, but when a woman gets me drunk and takes off her pants, it usually ends differently for me.
Willow: I’d wager more of those nights end with you stumbling into a bush and passing out than you getting laid.
Deacon: They’re not mutually exclusive. And where did this saucy attitude come from? What happened to the sweet kid sister?
Willow: I drowned her in wine.
Willow: Drowning. Get it?
I set my phone aside and poured a cup of coffee before walking back to the living room.
The notepad sat on the coffee table, a page filled with Deacon’s messy, blocky handwriting.
Biting my lip, I reached for it, cheeks warming at the things I’d blurted out before crying on his shoulder.
The list was silly. Ridiculous. It wasn’t like I could erase my memories of Spencer and the heartbreak he’d caused.
Some of them were good memories. I looked around my brother’s living room at nothing in particular.
The space was too quiet, too empty, and I gingerly picked up the list and glanced at my buzzing phone with an incoming call from Zoe.
“Can you microwave hot chili peppers?”
“I don’t know,” I said, running a finger down the list. “Did you google it?”
She huffed. “No, why trust weirdos on the internet when I have my science nerd best friend?”
“I’m an unemployed ex-receptionist. I think you’d have better luck with the weirdos.
” I sipped my coffee and allowed the hot, sweet taste to bring me achingly, slowly back to life.
That receptionist job hadn’t been great but it had been something.
I knew I had to start looking for something else for when I returned home.
“And why are you doing anything with chilies? It’s eight in the morning for you. ”
I could picture her waving off my concern. “I haven’t gone to bed yet and I wanted to make salsa. I got these great tomatoes at the farmers market.”
I glanced longingly at the pillow. Sleep sounded good. “I don’t know on the chilies, but don’t microwave without some research,” I said, giving in and stretching back out on the couch.
“What’s up with you? That selfie of you two last night was cute. Please tell me that man bent you over a bed and showed you God.”
I sipped from my coffee and let my mind wander to Deacon’s strong arms before I pulled myself back.
“No. He’s my brother’s best friend and too old for me.
” Though our ten-year age difference hadn’t seemed significant the night before, when I apparently stripped down with him three feet away.
“I drank way too much last night and made this silly list of moments from my life that I wanted to re-do without Spencer.” I left out Deacon helping me—I didn’t want to add kindling to her fire.
“That girl he said he’d met? Turns out they’re dating now.
I guess I thought he’d wait a while. He’s always been so deliberate. ”
“Oh, Will, I love that! The list. Not the Drip finding someone equally drippy. But it’s like a to-do list, but it’s a re-do list!”
“You can’t get a do-over on memories and experiences.”
“Well, of course you can’t, but you can make new ones. Even better ones.” I heard the telltale sound of the microwave opening and knew she was ignoring my advice. “Even some sexy ones! And did you break our pact and look him up on social media?”
That had been a mistake, and I felt a pang in my chest at the memory of knowing the person I’d thought would be my forever person was with someone else. Instead of answering, I skirted her question. “Did you decide to microwave those chilies?”
“Of course I did.” Beep. Beep. Beep. “What’s on the list?”
I stared at the notepad. “Just dumb stuff. Going camping, first date, breaking a rule. Learning to drive. That one doesn’t even make sense.” I kept reading and my eyes snagged on the messy handwriting, my face heating instantly. “Oh, God,” I muttered.
“What?”
I remembered. I remembered talking to Deacon about orgasms and I wanted to sink into the couch.
“Oh, shit!” Zoe’s panicked tone pulled me momentarily out of my shame sulk.
I sat up immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Microwave doesn’t look good. The pepper might have exploded. I’m fine. I’ll call you later.” She disconnected before I said anything, but my heart still beat fast in my chest from her exclamation.
Deacon: I’m ignoring the drowning joke. You’re better than that.
Deacon: Hey, you got a re-do on your first hangover.
Willow:
Willow: Do you happen to know if you can microwave red chili peppers?
Deacon: IDK. That’s an interesting hangover cure…
Deacon: Asked my roommate, the chef. He said you can, but you shouldn’t. Did you put pants on yet?
Willow: Not yet.
Deacon: You probably don’t want peppers near your downstairs business. Why are you microwaving peppers?
Willow: Friend is. I think she burned them.
Deacon: Marcus said when she opens that microwave the capsaicin is going to be airborne. Your bestie just pepper sprayed herself.
I should have been more concerned about Zoe making her microwave into a pepper spray delivery system, but she hadn’t sent me any emergency messages. With her good luck, she’d probably end up getting help from the hottest and kindest member of the Denver Fire Department.
Deacon: She sounds dangerous but fun.
Willow: I sent her a picture from last night. She thinks you’re cute.
Deacon: I am cute.
I tossed the notebook aside and walked toward my room in search of the shower after letting Gus back inside.
Since Zoe was likely in a lot of pain right now after making the mother of all bad decisions, she was probably the last person I should listen to about this re-do list idea, but she had a point.
I could focus on making new memories. I doubled back to pick up the notebook and walked toward my room.
Willow: Are you okay?
Zoe: Mstkes wer madee.
Willow: Flush your eyes with water and get outside! Call me later!
The notebook pages were chaotic, and I remembered throwing idea after idea at Deacon.
From what I could make out of his handwriting, I’d narrated most of the moments of my life.
Did I stumble onto a good idea in my drunken rant?
If I could re-do ten years of moments in three months, I could really make a fresh start and be in a better place for the next relationship.
Deacon’s handwriting was more like a scrawl, and I looked closely at each item.
Moving my finger over the lines of each word, the shape of all these firsts in one place.
I ripped off the pages in Deacon’s handwriting and started copying them onto a fresh list that included a few new items.
Maybe this could really work?