by Zoe York
With every word out of his mouth, it was getting harder and harder to bite her tongue. Especially when they both knew what he said was a pile of horseshit. There was no way her assistant and best friend would throw her under the bus. Even if it was the truth. Town hall had been a mess since Richard Haven had gone out of town. A mess he’d left her with, but one for which he’d criticize her endlessly, constantly comparing the somehow lacking job she did to her older sister. Never mind the fact that Perfect Rory had never held a job in public service—or at all, for that matter. That didn’t matter to Daddy. Rory did no wrong, and Willow did nothing but wrong.
She was twenty-seven years old, had been doing this job for five years, and she was fed up with her daddy’s constant nit-picking. She’d done the job better than anyone in the past decade, and yet she was critiqued on her performance on a daily basis.
After a lifetime of it, she should be used to it, but the truth was it still stung.
“Town hall is running fine, Daddy. Nothing to worry about. I’ve got it all under control.”
“Funny you say that, seein’ as how you’re on the phone with me instead of tending to your first appointment.”
The urge to look over her shoulder was strong just to check and make sure he didn’t actually have cameras on her. How else could he be thousands of miles away and still know the ins and outs of her day like some kind of bloodhound?
She pulled open the front doors and stepped inside, sighing into the cool relief of the air conditioning as she hurried toward her office. “I’m headed in there now. I had to run out to my car and grab some paperwork for it.”
He grunted, and she could just see him smoothing his tie over his slightly rounded belly, his lips pulled down in the corners. “I need some information on the little party you’ve got comin’ up.”
The little party to which he was referring was the annual Fourth of July parade—something that took a full year of planning and preparation to pull off. In fact, for the past five years, she’d allowed herself a couple hours of celebration on July fourth, and then on the fifth, she dove straight back into planning the following year’s parade—or little party, according to the town’s mayor.
“All right,” she said, working hard to keep the frustration from seeping into her tone. “What sort of information?”
“Well, I don’t know, now do I? I’m not the one who plans all these frivolous gatherings. I need somethin’ to show at this meeting, is all. Just send me whatever you’ve got, and do it quick. It’s startin’.”
Without waiting for a response from Willow, her father hung up, giving her absolutely no details on what he needed, how much of it he needed, or where to send it. But then again, that was her daddy. Expected other people to do the work for him without giving them heads or tails of what he needed, then berated them for doing a subpar job.
Yeah, she was definitely drinking an entire bottle of wine tonight. Maybe two.
She shuffled her way to her office in her too-high heels she could only hope no one would notice didn’t match. Her messenger bag thumped against her hip as she hurried down the hall, careful not to spill the coffee gripped in one hand. Sliding into her office sixteen minutes late, she darted her eyes around, breathing a sigh of relief when no one waited inside. Finally, the dominoes had stopped crashing into each other.
Avery looked up at her and smiled. “Nola’s already in your office.”
“Dammit.” Willow’s shoulders sagged. Of course she was. Willow wouldn’t have been lucky enough to have her appointment be late too. She blew a wayward strand of hair out of her face. “How long’s she been here?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Dammit.”
Avery waved a dismissive hand and shot Willow a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I brought in a couple glazed croissants from The Sweet Spot and got her all set up with some fresh coffee. Then we discussed the glorious specimens of men on display over at the firehouse, weighing the pros and cons of a runner’s body versus a linebacker’s. She’s fine.”
“You’re a godsend,” Willow said. “An inappropriate godsend, but a godsend nonetheless.”
Avery grinned. “Indeed, I am.”
Willow huffed out a laugh and rolled her eyes as she juggled the items in her hands so she could turn the knob to her office. “Hey, Nola. I’m so, so sorry—”
“No big deal,” Nola cut her off, offering a smile. With the pink ends on her long, platinum blond hair, a nose ring, and more tattoos than Willow could count, she would have fit better in a big city like Nashville than she did in the tiny town of Havenbrook. She no doubt got looks anytime she went out, but it didn’t seem to bother Nola at all. Though, as far as Willow could tell, nothing much did. “Avery hooked me up with some croissants and a coffee.”
“I heard y’all also debated the merits of tall and lean or big and beefy.” Willow tsked in mock disappointment. “Our first responders are more than pieces of meat, you know.”
Nola grinned, her eyes sparkling. “If they don’t want us talkin’ about them, why are they always out washin’ the fire trucks without any shirts on?”
“Excellent point.” Willow set down her messenger bag, dropped her purse in her bottom drawer, and settled behind her desk. So damn thankful Avery had more forethought than she did. All the paperwork she and Nola needed to go over at the meeting sat paper-clipped together on top of her desk. “Congratulations, by the way. I don’t think I’ve had a chance to tell you that since you bought Pete’s old place. I had no idea you were interested in business ownership.”
Nola shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. “Thanks. An opportunity presented itself, so I snatched it up.”
“You mentioned wanting to start construction over there this week. We’ve got a bit of paperwork to fill out before y’all get going on that, but I don’t think anything’ll hold y’all up.” Willow pulled the paper clip off the stack and sorted through the papers to find the ones she needed.
“Actually, my business partners should be here any minute. We’ll probably need to wait for them to go over everything.”
Willow cocked her head as she stilled her hands. “Business partners?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t afford it by myself, so I wrangled some old friends into buyin’ it with me.”
Willow tried to remember if that information had been on any of the paperwork that’d crossed her desk. It might’ve been, but the truth was, she hadn’t had a chance to even glance at it, let alone familiarize herself with the ins and outs of Nola’s venture. Her daddy had her running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to take care of Gloria’s unattended work on top of Willow’s already precariously balanced workload. “Oh, I apologize. I must’ve assumed it was just you.”
Nola shrugged. “Most people do.” She glanced at her phone, typing out a quick text. “That’s them now. They grabbed a coffee at Higher Grounds and are on their way over.”
Willow took a healthy swallow of her coffee, nearly sighing as the good-as-gold elixir worked its way through her system, thankful for the wake-up. “So, what made y’all want to start up a boutique?” she asked.
Nola’s brows shot up on her forehead. “A boutique? We’re not startin’ a boutique.” She tossed her head back and laughed, slapping her hand on her thigh. “Lord, the thought of the Thomas boys running a boutique is funny as hell. Can you imagine?”
Willow’s lips curved at the corners, Nola’s laughter contagious. “Oh, I just thought—” She froze as Nola’s words finally caught up with her.
It’d been a long time since she’d heard those two words together—those Thomas boys are nothin’ but trouble. Why you runnin’ around with one of ’em, Will?—and she had to remind herself to breathe.
Just breathe.
Maybe Nola didn’t mean who Willow’s memory automatically called up. And of course that’d been where her mind had gone—after the dream and then the false sighting, it was no wonder she had Finn Thomas on the brain.
It’d been so long since he’d left, it was easy to forget Nola and the Thomases had run around together in high school. But that didn’t mean anything. Surely, they weren’t still in contact. Finn hadn’t been back in ten long years, and he sure as hell hadn’t called or sent so much as a letter, despite claiming he’d been desperately in love with her. Certainly it’d been the same for everyone else in town, hadn’t it?
“Who—” Willow cleared her throat, smoothing a hand over the papers on her desk. Bracing herself for the answer she feared. “Who exactly are you partnering up with?”
“Oh, you remember—”
A knock cut off Nola as Avery pushed the door open and poked her head through the crack. “Willow? Miss Nola’s partners are here.” She widened her eyes and mouthed Holy shit, there’s two of them while fanning her face. Then she pushed the door open the rest of the way, allowing the two men to walk into Willow’s office.
And her whole world stopped spinning. Just froze entirely.
History in the form of heartbreak strolled right through her door. Willow couldn’t talk—could barely breathe. Her eyes landed first on the man closest to her—the one, she realized, she’d seen walk into Higher Grounds only fifteen minutes earlier. He was tall, dark, and handsome, just as he’d been years ago. Nothing short of drool-worthy, as her assistant and best friend had pointed out.
But he wasn’t the one who drew her eyes. He wasn’t the one whose very presence was a magnetic pull Willow couldn’t ignore no matter how hard she tried. No, that belonged entirely to the man who stepped in behind his twin.
While only minutes before she’d been almost saddened at the thought the spark between them could somehow be gone, she now yearned for that separation. Because it was damn embarrassing sitting in front of the man who’d stomped all over her heart with her nipples noticeable from a fifty-foot distance. She tried to appraise him with cool, detached professionalism, but that was a joke. There was no denying the zing of awareness that always flared in her body at his nearness. And damn it all to hell if it hadn’t lessened any with time.
Looking like a near mirror image to the man Willow’d seen across the street, Griffin “Finn” Thomas stood in front of her for the first time in a decade, the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the harsh sun from the window at his back. His dark hair was shorter than it’d been when they were younger, cropped close but still carelessly messy. At least a day’s worth of stubble covered his jaw, probably more like two or three. The cotton of his T-shirt stretched over muscles that’d popped up since she’d known him, worn jeans encasing strong legs. Strong, long legs—he’d somehow gotten even taller since she’d last seen him when he’d been just nineteen, and Lord have mercy, had he filled out. Where once he’d been tall, almost rangy, now he was fine-tuned with solid, carved muscles, the kind men worked hard for—either at the gym or at life. And if Willow knew anything at all about Finn, she’d place money on the latter.
A memory of work-roughened hands sliding up the insides of her thighs, fingers brushing over the brand on her hip, breath hot in her ear, and lips soft against her neck flashed in her mind before she blinked it away. Memories didn’t have any place here—certainly not those kinds of memories.
“Hey, Willowtree,” Finn said, his voice just as rich and smooth as she remembered.
His old nickname for her set her on edge, tightening her nipples and her jaw all at once, snapping her composure like a twig. He’d given it to her all those years ago, before they’d become a couple, saying she’d always looked sad like a weeping willow. And then he’d pulled her into his orbit, and her sadness had lifted because for the first time in her entire life, someone had seen her for exactly who she was. Seen her, and apparently concluded the real her wasn’t worth sticking around for.
Oh, he had some nerve coming back here, strolling into her office like he hadn’t made her fall in love with him only to take her heart, chain it to the hitch of his car, and drag it behind him as he’d peeled out of town, never to be seen or heard from again. Like he hadn’t upended her plans, hadn’t changed the course of her life when he’d so callously bailed on their future. Like he hadn’t disappeared like a ghost without so much as a backward glance.
In the past ten years, she’d had a lot of time to fantasize about what she’d do if she ever saw Finn Thomas again. What she’d say, how she’d look. What she’d be wearing and how she’d act. In her daydreams, she’d always had on her best outfit—something that minimized her ample booty and maximized her barely there breasts. Her hair was always salon-day perfect, her makeup flawless. Sometimes, she’d give him a piece of her mind, tear him up one side and down the other. Sometimes, she’d be with another man—someone infinitely good-looking who’d dote on her. They’d laugh and joke, lean in for a kiss as they passed Finn. Sometimes, she’d walk by as if she didn’t recognize him.
But never, not once in all the scenarios she’d dreamed up over the years, did she sit there looking like hell warmed over, wearing two different colored shoes, no makeup, and dirty hair pulled back into a ponytail, just…staring.
Silence reigned for far too long, blanketing the room until it nearly smothered her. Only when Avery cleared her throat did Willow manage to pull her head from her ass.
She clenched her teeth, fisted her hands… Tried to bite back the words that were on the tip of her tongue, because they certainly weren’t professional. And Lord knew she’d already been unprofessional enough for one morning, strolling into an appointment fifteen minutes late, without a clue as to the details of said appointment. Besides that, the words certainly weren’t Willow. She didn’t lose her temper. She didn’t snap. Those qualities belonged solely to her daddy.
But, truthfully, after the spectacular start to her day, there was really no holding back anything. Not when her worst memory greeted her as if nothing had happened to cause that painful ache in her chest. “You’ve got some nerve showing up in my office after all this time, asshole.”
Finn Thomas could’ve spent every day of the past ten years preparing for this reunion, and it still would’ve knocked him on his proverbial ass. From the day all those years ago when he’d walked into the animal shelter they’d both worked at as teens and saw Willow Haven standing there, something had sparked between them. She’d been everything good and pure in his dismal life—sunshine and light, happiness and home-cooked meals, porch swings and a dip in the lake on a hot summer afternoon. It was a wonder she’d ever given him the time of day, never mind actually letting him get close enough to taste all that heaven.
But he’d gone ahead and fucked it up, hadn’t he? He’d blown it all to hell when he’d left all those years ago. Forget the reasons he’d bailed—they didn’t mean shit, not in the grand scheme of things. They could’ve been the noblest of reasons, and it would’ve meant fuck-all if Willow hadn’t benefitted from it—if his leaving hadn’t made her happy, made her life better in some way.
Truth was, though, his reasons hadn’t been noble at all. Not really. He’d run, plain and simple. When faced with reality—with what it’d mean to him and her if he stayed—he’d turned tail and gotten the hell out of dodge. Not stopping until he was all the way in California, as far away from Havenbrook, Mississippi as he could get.
He’d have been lying to himself if he said he’d thought his and Willow’s first introduction after this long would’ve gone any smoother than the reality. Honestly, he was damn lucky she’d only tossed that handful of words in his direction instead of the coffee currently clutched in her hand. And she wanted to, too. Wanted to toss that hot liquid right in his face. It was written all over hers. Probably wouldn’t have second thoughts about it, either. Not with how she white-knuckled the travel mug, her restraint evident in every rigid inch of her body.
And even though it made him every bit the asshole she’d called him, he couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over that body. From taking in each detail of her, starved for her when he’d been denied her presence for so long. Whe
re she’d once had a fresh-faced innocence about her, a bombshell now sat in front of him. She’d done some growing up in the time he’d been gone, her curves filling out so much his fingers begged for a test drive. No longer were they the ones he’d once had memorized with his hands. And his tongue.
Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail exposing her long, slender neck, her cheeks flushed and alive, her eyes bright with…okay, yeah, that was definitely fury lighting those green irises. Couldn’t say he blamed her.
Her words rang in his ears, the first ones he’d heard from her lips in far too long. And he couldn’t even find fault in them.
“Always did have a mouth on you, didn’t ya, Willowtree? Least, around me you did.” His lips kicked up on the side, unable to keep the taunt to himself. Christ, he was a jackass.
His gut twisted when she narrowed her eyes, clenching her fists against her desktop. But then she took a deep breath, and he could practically see her armor clinking into place, piece by piece. Something he’d forgotten she’d even done—how could he have forgotten something like that? He’d thankfully never been on the receiving end of it, though. No, she’d put up that shield for one person and one person only—her father.
Finn had watched it more times than he could count, each instance she’d felt the need to do it, to cover up the real Willow in deference to what her daddy expected her to be, making Finn hate him a little more. Which had been a damn hard feat, considering Finn held the devil himself in higher regard than Richard Haven.
Finn watched as a false calm settled over Willow. It no doubt fooled Nola and his brother—would have probably fooled most. But not Finn. He could still see the anger humming beneath her surface. He’d always been able to read her, as long as he could remember. Looked like no amount of time had changed that.
And it seemed she knew it, too, if the narrowing of her eyes was any indication, the tick of her jaw as she clenched her teeth. No, she definitely wasn’t greeting him with open arms—not that he’d expected any different.
