by Wendy Vella
Daisy chains and worn tie-dye and at times had been emotional, was long gone, and there was no way in hell she wanted that Willow to resurface.
CHAPTER SIX
Willow slept surprisingly well, even though she’d gone to sleep in turmoil with the imprint of Buster Griffin’s lips on hers. After pulling on her slippers, she stoked the fire back to life, then made oatmeal and coffee. Wandering to the window, she could see a glimmer of the lake as the mist slowly cleared. Unlike New York, she felt like the only person for miles around. There she woke to the blare of horns and city noise and loved it, and she was surprised that she seemed to like this too. The beautiful sight before her had her fingers itching to reach for her pad again, but she didn’t have time for that now.
When she finished washing her breakfast things, she took the bandage off her burn. It looked red and puffy, and she decided to visit the pharmacy and get some antibiotic ointment while she was in town. She took a shower before dressing in her black suit with a black-and-white striped silk shirt. At ten she pulled on her overcoat and the new gloves she’d purchased at The Roar yesterday, picked up her briefcase and went out to the car.
She had to wait for a motor home to pass before pulling out of the driveway and then headed back into Lake Howling. As she drove, she reminded herself that last night she’d shared a simple kiss with Buster, and there was no need to get all bent out of shape about it. After all, people kissed all the time. But they didn’t often kiss the people they’d dreamed of kissing for two years, a voice inside her head added.
Finding a parking spot wasn’t easy, as there were vehicles and people everywhere, but she found one after two passes up and down the street. Lake Howling was buzzing with visitors. Many were wearing colorful, hand-knitted sweaters that made her look twice at their faces, but she recognized no one and was able to breathe easier. It was still days until the carnival, but it was obvious the celebrations had already begun. She had to get out of town, in case her family arrived.
She smiled and said “good morning” several times before she reached The Hoot. As she looked through the window that faced the street, her heart sank. It was busy, surely too busy to get a few minutes alone with its owner.
Pushing the door open, she enjoyed the sudden hit of coffee to her senses. The tables were full and people were standing about, seemingly happy enough to wait and talk beside the counter as their coffee was being made. Realizing making a time to talk with Buster wouldn’t be possible as he was too busy, she decided to get a coffee to go for herself and come back later after the rush had died down. Approaching the counter, she smiled at Newman. Of Buster there was no sign.
“Willow.” Newman gave her a nod. His handsome face was flushed, and he looked harassed.
“Where’s Buster?”
“Out back. The two people who were supposed to help him today called in sick, which is no coincidence since they’re boyfriend and girlfriend, and His Grumpiness is pretty annoyed about it. Especially since it’s busy. He called me in a panic…well, as panicked as he can get.”
“Can’t your friends help?” Willow said, thinking about Jake, Ethan, Annabelle, and Branna.
“Jake and Annabelle are working, Branna left early to do some shopping in Brook, and pretty much everyone else is tied up with the carnival. He’s stuck with me, and let me tell you, I can run the money side of things, and put a muffin or two in a bag if necessary, but the coffee orders are backing up, and my smile is slipping.”
“Who’s doing the coffee?” Willow looked at the gleaming machine behind him.
“That monster.” Newman shuddered. “Buster learned how it worked in New York and brought one home, but only he and Connor Tucker can drive it.”
“And the orders are backing up, and the customers will start getting antsy?”
Newman nodded, his eyes suddenly calculating as they studied her. “You know how to work one?”
She nodded.
“Do I have to beg on his behalf?”
“I have to admit it would be nice,” she teased him, which surprised her, as she couldn’t remember the last time she’d teased anyone. “I’d rather the begging came from him, but we both know he’d rather lose an arm before he did something like that.”
“Already you know him so well.”
“So, how about I make some orders up, which will annoy him because then he’ll owe me big, and then it’s a win-win for everyone?”
Newman laughed and gave her a thumbs-up. “Here’s an apron.” He handed her one, then left her to it as another customer approached him.
Willow took off her coat and jacket before slipping on the apron and looking at the coffee machine. It wasn’t too different from the one in the café she’d worked in after arriving in New York. She’d stayed there on and off for five years, and people used to come in and ask for her to make their coffee. She guessed that meant she was good enough to please Buster Griffin’s standards, and if not, well, that was too bad.
She got through the first orders, running them to the tables when she’d completed them, and she soon had to admit she was enjoying herself. Working in the café had been fun, without the stress associated with real estate.
“Want a coffee?” she asked Newman.
“Yup. Whatever you’ve got is fine. I’m not picky like the Grinch.”
“Why hasn’t he got his Christmas decorations up?” Willow started heating more milk, her gaze going around the walls as she worked.
“The kids do it. It’s a tradition. He goes to the school tomorrow and judges the Christmas tree drawing competition. The winner and two of his or her friends get to decorate The Hoot, and he supplies the treats while they do it.”
Stunned by this revelation, Willow finished the coffee, then handed it to Newman. “He’s a softie, then?”
Newman took a sip, then nodded. “You’re good. And yes, he is, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
Willow went back to her machine as thoughts tumbled around inside her head like a load of single socks in a dryer. There was obviously a lot more to the man than she’d realized, which did nothing to help her get him to sign those papers—but still, she felt a smile at the thought of him judging the Christmas tree drawing competition.
Buster ladled the broccoli and blue cheese soup into a bowl, then added a garnish and some toasted homemade bread before carrying that and two other plates out to the counter. He nearly dropped the whole lot when he saw Willow standing at his coffee machine. He walked on and even managed to smile and nod to the customers, then made for Newman.
“What the fuck?”
“She knows how it works, and the first coffee she made was to go. I had the lady taste it to make sure she wasn’t about to ruin your business, and she gave Willow the thumbs-up and said it was the best she’d had in a while.” Newman gave him a pitying look. “She made me one, and it’s way better than that slop you make, so settle the fuck down and get back in the kitchen.”
Buster’s eyes went to Willow. She’d tied the strings of her apron twice around her waist, and she looked ridiculously sexy in her heeled boots, dress pants and white-and-black striped shirt. Her hair was in that bun again, but the steam had loosened a few curls. He wanted to touch one, just to feel the texture.
“I’m taking it out of your pay if she messes up.”
“You don’t pay me, asshole.”
“Whatever. And make sure you don’t shortchange the customers or me.”
Newman bared his teeth. Shaking his head, Buster went to stand behind Willow and watch her work, just to make sure she did know what she was doing. Her movements were efficient; she had quick hands and did everything with confidence. She was no novice; he could see that right off. Her butt wiggled as she moved, and he felt his blood pressure rise. The woman was far too distracting. Knowing a pro when he saw one, he went back to the kitchen.
She’d surprised him when she opened the door last night. Seeing her in tight black leggings and that lavender sweater that reached mid
-thigh had thrown him off balance. He was used to her in business clothes, not looking soft and approachable, with her hair in a long tail down her spine and those silly fluffy slippers on her feet.
After he’d forced his way into the cabin, he’d found that she was capable of coping against the cold weather. The fire had been roaring, he’d smelled food and then he’d seen that drawing of Billy. So much emotion had poured from that page he could almost feel it. She’d captured the boy’s cheeky smile, and the essence of him had leaped off the paper. She was good, really good, and he knew he was going to convince her to sell the drawing to him so he could frame it and give it to Macy for Christmas.
He pulled a tray from the oven, carried it out front and filled the cabinet with more pies. His eyes went again to Willow, who was delivering coffee to two of his customers. She said something that made the man smile, and the woman laughed. She was a contradiction, for sure. Every idea he’d had about her was changing. She could light a fire, was comfortable around children, and now was working his coffee machine like a pro and even serving customers. What the hell was her story and why did he want to know it?
“Thank you,” he said as she reached the counter and saw him. She was wearing her glasses again and had a smudge on the lens. He took them off and cleaned them with a corner of his apron, then placed them back on her nose.
“Thank you,” she said in that polite, uptight way she had that didn’t quite work because of her gravelly voice.
“No problem,” Buster said, noticing that her cheeks were now pink. Their attraction clearly was mutual, which he shouldn’t be pleased about, but hell, he was just a simple man, and he was…seriously pleased.
“Thanks for saving my ass, New York.”
“No problem.”
But it was, Buster realized over the next few hours. A big problem because she had him hotter than hell, and every time he saw another side to her, it made matters worse.
The café traffic didn’t let up, and every time he saw her she was working. Her body moving, hands turning knobs, filling cups or frothing milk, she still looked poised and elegant doing it in her city clothes.
He’d have to at least look at the offer now; there was no way out of it, considering what she’d done for him today. After he’d finished the last order, he cleaned his work tables, stacked the dishes and then headed out front to thank Willow and tell her he’d look at her offer. He found Newman asleep on a chair beside the display cases, head resting on the wall behind him, arms folded over his chest.
“No fucking stamina!” Buster said loudly enough to wake him. The fact that he raised two fingers said he was just resting his eyes. “Where’s the coffee queen?” He looked around but couldn’t see her.
“She just left.”
Buster grunted something unintelligible and battled his disappointment.
“The woman’s a machine. After she cleaned the last of the tables and the coffee monster, she swept the floors. I tried to protest, but she insisted.”
“My ass, you tried to protest,” Buster said.
“You owe her a huge thank you, and then an apology for being an asshole. I know we love you for your cantankerousness, but it’s new to her, which is strange as you saw her every day for twelve months back in New York,” Newman said. “I’m not sure how you kept your inner self hidden all that time.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Must be.” Newman yawned loudly. “Once you’re done with the thanks and the apology, you should seriously think about naming your firstborn after her.”
“I thought we’d agreed that you’d name yours Aramis and I’d use Paul.”
“Have a heart, man. That would be just plain cruel.”
“I should be offended right about now, but I don’t have the energy.” Buster went to the door and flipped the sign to CLOSED in case some asshole tried to slip inside when he wasn’t looking.
“Open up!”
Looking at the angry face of Millicent Lawrence through the glass, Buster sighed. He could never turn away the elders of Howling, no matter how much this particular one terrified him.
“Brace yourself, Militant is coming in,” he warned Newman. He heard the chair legs scrape as Newman moved the chair behind the display cases out of sight.
“Ms. Lawrence,” he said as he opened the door. “What can I do for you today?”
“I think that city girl is here to watch you, Buster Griffin, because you’re doing illegal things after dark. You mark my words, boy, I’m going to find out what.”
“Honest to God, Ms. Lawrence, I’m not.” Buster placed his hand over his heart. “Just good, wholesome baking, I promise you.”
Her eyes narrowed and the red spikes of hair on her head quivered. The woman had been tormenting the locals for years with her angry disposition and rigid beliefs. “Don’t use the Lord’s name to strengthen your lies.” With those fateful words, she turned and stomped away.
“That woman’s face could turn milk sour,” Newman said from his hiding place.
“What makes someone that mean?” Buster mused as he watched her stalk away, no doubt off to kick something or someone.
“Away, you three-inch fool.”
Buster snorted as Newman’s words reached him. “Shakespeare?”
“The Taming Of The Shrew,” Newman said. “Forget her, bud. She has nothing better to do with her time than plague people with her crazy accusations.”
“Yeah, I know you’re right, but it annoys the shit out of me just the same. Especially since she has me pegged as this, like, drug lord/criminal type, and I don’t even have an overdue bill. It’s depressing, is what it is.”
“Yeah, you need to leave those suckers until they’re overdue. You’d be a real badass then.”
“I think she’s still angry because I put that potato in her exhaust and wrote ‘Militant’s Tank’ on the side of the car when I was eleven.”
“The woman can hold a grudge, for sure, but my money's on the fact that you beat up her son when he was beating me up.”
“Yeah,” Buster sighed. “You could be right. You were such a weakling.”
He made them both coffee, then they sat in the chairs around the fire. Newman, like Buster, could be quiet when necessary.
“So, I had this notion that she was, like, this uptight city girl, but after today I have to rework that. How about you?”
“Did I tell you I tried your popcorn the other day? Real good, Newman.” Buster didn’t want to talk about Willow.
“Still perfecting the butter-to-air ratio, but it’s coming along.”
It was lucky Newman was an easygoing guy, because being named after a legend as he was, things could have gone one of two ways for him. He could spend his life angry and fighting everyone who teased him, or laugh it off and even enjoy the notoriety. Luckily he’d chosen the latter.
“So—Willow,” Newman said, refusing to be deflected. “What’s the deal with her?”
“Like I’ve told everyone who asked, which is pretty much everyone, I don’t know anything about her. In fact, after today, and knowing how you can get people to talk, you probably have more dirt on her than I do.”
“She was born and raised in Illinois,” Newman began. “Her parents are still alive, but she didn’t elaborate there, and I got the feeling it was a touchy subject.”
Buster whistled. “I was sure she was born in New York.”
“Nope. She worked her way through college and then got her real estate license.”
“So, not a trust fund baby, either.”
“Nope again, and she wears glasses even when she doesn’t need to because they give her confidence.”
Newman was almost lying down in his chair now, and his eyes were closed. His shoes were off as he warmed the soles of his feet by the fire.
“She didn’t tell you that.”
“That was my guess, but I reckon it’s accurate. The woman may look like she’s got it all together in a professional sense, but I figure she’s a mes
s personally. She seemed uncomfortable at Macy’s with all of us there.”
“Anyone would be. We’re not exactly easygoing.”
“True enough, but I wouldn’t say we’re terrifying, either.”
“Did you see her putting those balls on the tree, Newman?”
“Placing each one carefully, and then re-arranging it several times? I’m sure I saw Ethan wipe away a tear as he watched her.”
“Yeah, it got to me,” Buster admitted.
“She’s one messed-up woman.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil.”
“You asked. I’m just telling you, Aramis.”
And he had, because she intrigued him. It pissed him off that she’d opened up to Newman and not him, yet he knew he wasn’t really an open-up-to kind of guy. Besides, he’d never asked her.
“She’s a looker too, man. You noticed it, and don’t say you didn’t.”
“I noticed it two years ago.”
Newman sighed. “Again I’m relegated to the back of the line. When do I get a shot at this love shit?”
“I don’t believe anyone mentioned love, or even like, for that matter. I merely said that she was attractive.”
“You’re interested, Baker Boy.”
Buster wasn’t sure why his heart had suddenly picked up its pace. He had no answer for that, and he tried not to lie to his friends whenever possible, so he lobbed his half-eaten muffin at Newman. It landed on his chest, so he simply picked it up and started eating.
“You wanna come and help me judge the comp at school tomorrow?”
“Can do, but it’d have to be about one o’clock. I have to work.”
“Who’re you swindling now?” Buster felt the pleasant lull of sleep begin to tug him under. He had cleanup to do, and more baking, but he could take ten minutes.
“I’m an investor, Baker Boy. I don’t swindle, I accrue.”
They both fell silent then, and minutes later the only sound in The Hoot was the gentle snores of two exhausted men.
The pharmacist told Willow she needed to see a doctor for her burn, so she got back in her car and drove down the long driveway to the Yelp Medical Clinic. Shaking her head at the name on the sign, she got out of the car. It was cooler now, so she huddled in her coat as she hurried to the door and inside.
