Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Willa ached.
She’d only been back to work for a few days, though, so it was bound to get better.
On the kitchen table, she had a pile of binders and printed case studies.
Agricultural market projections. AI integration models.
Supply chain forecasts. The proposed merger between the country’s largest precision agriculture company and a machine-learning firm out of Palo Alto had already generated enough paperwork to bury a small army of attorneys.
The contract her mother had signed two days ago sat on top of the stack, the heavy cream paper creased where Willa had opened it for the hundredth time.
The deal was officially underway.
She should feel triumphant. Instead, she missed Decker, Birdie, her dad, Finlay, and the inn. She kept checking the Splashagram page to see what everyone in Calamity was up to.
I’m missing out on so much.
But she had a plan. One more year, and she was free to do whatever she wanted.
She stood at the window, gazing out at the city. Twenty floors up, it hummed with its usual relentless energy—sirens in the distance, a helicopter thudding somewhere overhead, and the late-night traffic on the West Side Highway streaking past in ribbons of white and red.
This view was coveted in New York City. Through her floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see the sweep of water stretching north toward the George Washington Bridge. On a clear day, she could see the cliffs of New Jersey glowing gold in the late afternoon sun.
Yes, it was lovely, but she missed the Tetons, the wide-open spaces, the bright blue sky.
Well, she’d better get back to work. Once seated, she reached for the cocktail glass in front of her and took another sip.
She’d tried to dip the rim in sugar, but it hadn’t stuck. And the flavor just wasn’t the same as Wild Billy’s Barbie cocktail.
Not terrible.
Just…not right.
On the kitchen counter, the chocolate quilted suede Chanel 25—her mother’s “splurge” welcome back gift—sat unused. It was given with a particular gleam that Willa interpreted as, I knew you’d make the right decision.
The bag cost twelve thousand dollars—more than most people in Calamity made in a quarter, which Willa now understood was exactly why her mom prized it.
Her gaze drifted back to the binders. Rows of sticky notes marked sections she still needed to review before tomorrow morning’s strategy call. She hadn’t yet dived in. Hadn’t fired the starting gun.
Her phone buzzed on the table. Any other time, she could ignore it. She was the queen of concentration.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the Splashagram notification was far more interesting than her colorful sticky notes. When she opened the page, she found a dozen posts about the town’s preparations for Saturday’s pie-throwing competition.
The first showed Molly standing outside the Christmas tree farm’s roadside stand, holding up a tray of cream pies like a trophy.
The next one was from Coco’s Chocolates—three teenagers laughing as they attempted to crimp crusts that didn’t look anything like Decker’s sunflowers.
Another photo showed Finlay in the Wild Rose kitchen with Norma and two of the plumbers, wineglasses raised, while a dozen pie crusts cooled on the counter behind them.
There were so many photos.
The museum staff showing cans of whipped cream.
Calamity Joe’s team lined up out front, everyone holding two pies.
A group of teenagers from the youth program posing proudly beside a long folding table covered in flour and dough.
Every photo carried the same caption.
Pie-Throwing Competition Prep.
Calamity shows up.
All the smiling faces coaxed one of her own. She could almost smell the buttery crust and hear the music drifting across the town square, the low murmur of conversation, the clatter of pie tins stacked on wooden tables.
The clutch of longing in her chest made it hard to focus.
God, she missed it.
She missed her dad.
She missed the quiet creak of the old floors in the inn. The smell of coffee drifting into her room in the morning. The excited faces of guests who had a dozen questions about what to do while they were in town.
She missed Birdie.
Oh, God, Birdie.
Those moments in the bathroom, combing tangles out of her wet hair, glittering droplets of water spilling down her back. Or snuggling in bed after reading books. Her giggles when Willa let a sheet flutter down over her.
And Decker—
Willa cut that thought off quickly and set the phone down beside the frozen cocktail.
She pressed the heel of her hand briefly against her forehead, trying to find her concentration.
Time to dive in. Let’s go.
But before she did, she typed one last message.
Willa: Miss you, Dad.
“Good morning.” Willa stepped out of the elevator and smiled at the receptionist.
She had on her power suit and Jimmy Choo heels. Let’s go.
Despite an awful night’s sleep, she managed to wake up early, finish reviewing notes, and guzzle two cups of coffee.
The firm was already moving at full speed. Assistants hurried past, carrying laptops and thick binders. A junior associate stood near the printer, frantically stapling briefing packets. Down the hall, someone’s voice carried through a half-open office door, outlining a regulatory timeline.
Willa adjusted the leather folio tucked under her arm and continued toward her mother’s office, the heels of her shoes clicking against the polished wood floor. Her hair was pulled into a sleek knot. Her makeup was immaculate.
Anyone looking at her would see exactly what she was: Elizabeth Barrett’s daughter.
Future partner.
She’d edited the opening section until the narrative ran clean and sharp, every argument stacked neatly atop the next. By the time she’d finished at three in the morning, she’d known it was good.
I’m everything my mom groomed me to be.
But instead of feeling proud, she felt disgusted with herself.
Whatever. One more case, and I’m out of here.
Her mother was already behind her desk, scanning emails on her tablet with a cup of coffee beside her. She glanced up when Willa stepped inside. “Good. You’re early.”
“I wanted you to see this before the meeting.” Willa laid the folio on the desk and opened it to the executive summary she’d prepared. “Make sure it’s all good.”
Her mom flipped through the pages, scanning with the quick efficiency of someone who’d spent a career reviewing deal documents.
Willa stood quietly while she read, her gaze drifting around the room.
It was a corner office, of course, with two full walls of windows looking across Madison, Fifth, Central Park, all the way to the Hudson.
Behind her mother’s desk stretched a wall of shelves filled with framed plaques, deal tombstones, and awards from every major legal publication in the country.
Top Women in Law. Corporate Deal of the Year.
Industry Leadership Award. Crystal blocks engraved with the names of mergers that had reshaped entire industries.
It was a museum of victories. Willa had seen it countless times, but this morning, she noticed what was missing.
There were no family photographs.
Not one.
No pictures of Willa and Kendall as children. No vacations, birthdays, or Christmas mornings.
Just deals.
The only things her mom valued.
And it struck with painful clarity that her mom had never enjoyed those private moments with her daughters, the trips or dinners. She’d only done it to reward them. To string them along.
If you do this thing I ask, I’ll give you one tiny piece of my time.
But never my heart. No, Elizabeth Barrett never gave love or affection.
What had Richard said when he left her? I want a wife who loves me. Not rewards me.
Oof. The meaning hadn’t fully hit until that moment.
“What’s Richard doing these days?” Willa asked, her voice cracking the quiet of the office.
“Hm?” Distracted, her mom glanced up. “Richard? Why would you ask about him?”
“Just curious. Do you ever talk to him?”
Her mom’s expression of disdain was almost comical. She’d spent twenty years with that man, raised a child with him, and with a flick of her hand, she’d discarded him.
But then, it wasn’t funny at all, was it? Because Willa was one of her mom’s pawns.
If she stayed, she’d be making the same bargain with her mother she always had—If I perform, you’ll pretend to care about me.
And the cost?
The life I truly want.
She felt the shift like a twig snapping.
“You know, I tried everything.” All the versions of herself flipped like a deck of cards in her mind.
“Track, swimming, cheerleading. I even joined the climbing club, which is hilarious because I’m terrified of heights.
But I was trying to find a version of me you’d like.
The funny thing is, I’ve known all along exactly who I am. ”
Her mom kept her eyes on the document, but the tightness in her shoulders told Willa she was listening.
“I know who I am, Mom. I love the inn. I love Calamity. Everything I am is exactly what you ran from. And so, I’ve spent my entire life trying to be someone you respect.
Someone you love. But it’s never going to happen.
You’re never going to like me or even love me.
” The weight dropped off her shoulders. “God, Mom, I don’t have to do this anymore. ”
Her spirits soared on a heady sense of freedom.
She didn’t have to wait a year, a month, or even a day to live the life she wanted.
I can have it right now.
The only thing worse than living the wrong life…
…was doing it for one more day.
Her mom closed the folio. “This is excellent.” She slid it back across the desk. “We’ll lead with this.” Her gaze lowered, and a crease formed between her eyebrows. “Button your shirt.” She gestured toward Willa’s white silk shirt. “You want the board focused on the projections, not your cleavage.”
Willa looked down. It couldn’t be more modest. Then she looked back at her mother. “Mom?”