Too soon for her, at least. The mildest of flirtatious banter seemed to set up her guard. Her wariness of him caused all the hairs on his body to rise, which in turn made him wary himself, signaling he needed to be careful of her.
And when she came close enough to touch, it made him think he needed to be careful for himself.
“But all the women you date are nice,” Sophie said now. “I’ll give you that.”
The designer wasn’t like any of the other women he’d dated, that was the problem. Those women knew him, or clearly sensed the kind of man he was from the get-go. Fun and games.
But Willow…
What are you saying, Cooper? That you might be a little bad?
She’d asked the question as if she was half-afraid of the answer, with a little lilt to her voice that had made him hard because obviously the other half of her wanted him to be more than bad…with her.
Yeah. Mutual attraction wasn’t the issue. The issue—
“By the way,” his sister said, interrupting his thoughts, “we have to have our parents’ anniversary party at your place.”
His head turned, his gaze shot to hers. “What?”
“The place I picked out for the party had a flood. They canceled on us, but I got the deposit back.”
Cooper glanced around. “Soph, we can’t possibly have it here.” The guest list numbered at over one hundred.
“Not here, here. At your pub. There.”
Shit. While it was proving to be as successful as Cooper had hoped, each week bringing in more than the one before, his dad hated the place. Not the least of which, he supposed, was that the name epitomized everything he thought wrong with his younger son. Fun & Games.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It won’t seem like celebrating to Dad if we hold it there.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Sophie admitted. “I called around. And anyway, it gives Dad a chance to change his mind about it.”
About you, was what she meant. It was sweet of her to think so, but Cooper knew the black sheep wouldn’t change its coat color in their father’s eyes.
“Really, Soph, it’s a bad idea. There’s still that stuff I’ve been meaning to take care of before something important like that party.” He rubbed his neck again. “Among other things, I need to come up with an idea to improve the ugly concrete floor and I want to find a way to create a real host/hostess station at the entry.” There’d be time, he’d thought, but the place had taken off in popularity and he hadn’t had an extra minute lately.
“Could the designer—Willow—handle some of that?”
He stared at his sister. Was this the reprieve he needed? He didn’t want to fire Willow, he could see she hoped to add the job to her portfolio, but getting her out of his personal space would surely cause this…this fascination with her to ebb. Give him some sanity back, so he didn’t think of her every time he slid onto the sheets on the bed she’d merely glanced at.
Crazy.
“Maybe that could work,” he told his sister slowly. He could still get her to recover Grandpa’s chair and maybe even choose one of the colors for the living room walls for him, but her efforts could be concentrated at his workplace.
Where he had a manager.
And lots of employees and patrons on hand.
Safety in numbers. Yeah. Good. Excellent, even. A plan.
Except once Sophie left, and his belly was filled with her food, and his best friends were gathered at his table to play poker, he didn’t feel excellent, or even optimistic.
He felt effing moody, and he just wasn’t a moody kind of man.
“Ante up,” Hart told him. His knuckles thumped the surface in front of Cooper’s stacks of chips. “Wake up, man. Get your head in the game.”
“It’s the woman,” Shane said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers laced over his belly.
Cooper shot him a look. “Shane—”
“It’s as clear as that black cloud hovering over your head, Coop. This designer has somehow grabbed your interest and you want to do something about that.”
Do her, he thought, but he didn’t screw around with women, play with their feelings when they were looking for something more complex, like a real relationship. A commitment. Those women he avoided.
“Geez, Cooper,” Shane continued in his wise-Jedi tone of voice. “I can see you’re getting ahead of yourself. Why don’t you get to know the woman a little more? Start with that before you begin planning your exit strategy.”
Exit strategy? He never concocted one of those because no female he took out or took to bed had an invitation to enter, really, into his life. It was always just fun and games, didn’t Shane and all the other guys at the table—who were looking at him with amused curiosity—understand that?
“None of you know anything about anything,” he muttered, sounding cranky and moody and like he hadn’t yet graduated kindergarten. Christ, she was making him crazy and all those other things too. He had to figure out some way back to sanity.
“It’s like a hand of poker,” Shane said, as if mind reading actually was something he could do. Or maybe Cooper was truly telegraphing everything today, because Sophie had seemed to guess his thoughts as well.
He took in a long breath. “What are you saying, Shane?”
“You’ve got to ante up to play, dude. Start simple, stupid. Convince her to go out with you.”
Chapter Four
Willow hooked her heels on the rungs of the stool beside the island in Rachel’s sunny kitchen. The scent of fresh oranges being quartered filled the room and she breathed it in, seeking the center she so often found in her almost-mom’s presence. The older woman looked contented and ageless, in a pair of dark jeans and a T-shirt topped by an apron.
Willow recognized it as the one she’d gifted her for Christmas, cream canvas with a saying printed in black on the bib front. Many people have eaten in this kitchen and gone on to live happy, normal lives. Though a joke, in Willow’s mind, something more.
Something true.
“What are you thinking about back there?” Rachel asked, glancing her way. In her forties, she wore her hair in a no-nonsense ponytail, but it had a bounce that matched her optimistic personality.
“Have you heard from Antoine or Lizzie lately?” The two kids—now long grown—whom her almost-mom had fostered first. Twins, and older than Willow, they’d left for college a few months before she’d gone into the system.
“Doing well,” Rachel said, scooping up orange pieces and dumping them into a plastic bowl. “Lizzie’s pregnant again—she says for the last time—and Antoine thinks he’s finally found the love of his life. Someone named Peter.”
“Oh?” The twins lived two hundred miles away, near to each other, and had found careers in college administration. “But I thought Rick was the love of his life.”
“That was last month’s life,” Rachel said with a laugh, crossing to put the bowl in the fridge. “But this time he’s talking marriage.”
“After only—what?—a couple weeks of dating?”
Rachel slid her a look. “Not everyone has patience when they truly believe the right one has come along.”
Pulse jumping, Willow folded her right hand over her left, even though both were below the counter’s height, hidden from her almost-mom. “When’s Lizzie due?”
They chatted about the particulars of Rachel’s first foster daughter’s latest pregnancy for a couple of minutes, and Willow finally relaxed, enjoying observing the other woman moving about the space as she tidied and prepped raw vegetables. Then she turned a laptop so Willow could see the recipe on the screen.
“What do you think?” she asked. “I’m going to surprise T.J. with something new.”
T.J., Rachel’s husband and father of their three children, worked at one of the up-and-coming local wineries in distribution and sales. Easy-going, happy dad, and devoted husband, Willow couldn’t have handpicked anyone better for the most special person she knew.
&
nbsp; “Do you have oregano?” she asked, running her gaze over the list of ingredients. “You’re always out of oregano.”
In answer, the older woman pulled open a nearby cupboard and snatched up a small bottle. “Ta-da!”
Willow squinted. “That’s not oregano. That says orange pepper seasoning.”
“Oh.” Rachel examined the label and then her shoulders slumped. “Damn. I don’t have time for a grocery store run before the kids start returning from school.”
“I bet you have a bottle of Italian seasoning. It will have oregano and some other stuff that will be just fine for the stuffed shells.”
As the older woman turned back to the spices, Willow shifted the laptop away. “Or I can make the run for you.”
“No need. Italian seasoning, as predicted.” With a flourish, Rachel displayed the new bottle. “And I don’t want you to go anywhere. It feels too good to have you nearby.”
Many people have eaten in this kitchen and gone on to live happy, normal lives.
That was the truth of it. With her father long missing and her biological mother unable to care for her, at twelve Willow had gone into the foster care system and had been lucky enough to come under the wing of Rachel, a young social worker.
For the first time, Willow had seen what a happy, normal life could look like. For the first time, she’d felt important to someone. She’d learned, ultimately, that love, marriage, family could be found and she’d vowed to have all those, one day, herself.
It’s why she’d visited today, to get a dose of what Rachel always offered, a warm and caring eternal normalcy that served to balance her when needed.
Running an assessing gaze over her former charge, Rachel leaned back against the counter near the sink. “What’s new with you?”
Cooper Daggett.
Like that, Willow’s world pitched again, her stomach tightening as an image of the man bloomed in her mind. His lean form, his handsome face. His half-smile as he kindly overlooked her presumption that he’d been asking her out when he’d mentioned a Saturday night barbecue.
Embarrassment washed over her again even as she tried shoving the memory out of her head. The event was the following evening and she wasn’t in any state to attend, not when she went hot just thinking about being close to him again.
“Willow?” Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Are things okay with you and—”
“I have a new client,” she said, to head off the obvious path of the conversation. Her right hand gripped her left. “From the raffle prize I offered at the community fundraiser.”
“Good for you,” Rachel said, smiling. “Participation in that was an excellent idea. The victims’ assistance fund…well, it’s important.”
As they both knew. On a dark and desperate night, she’d been met by Rachel who had passed over a backpack filled with age-appropriate necessities, as well as a small koala bear, about the size of Willow’s palm, that she’d kept beneath her pillow as she slept for years.
“I hope you get something out of it too,” Rachel added.
Cooper Daggett.
No! He wasn’t hers to get or to even dream about getting. That was all wrong. Disloyal. She twisted her fingers together and tried not to grimace. “The new client has a connection to Hart Sawyer,” she said. “You remember, it’s Hart’s company that will award the big design contract I hope to win.”
“Fabulous.” Rachel beamed. “Maybe the new client will put in a good word for you.”
“Maybe,” Willow said. Or maybe Cooper would tell his friend that the designer wanted to date him, that she couldn’t stop thinking of feeling his breath against her hair again, or of imagining what his mouth might feel like on hers—
God. She couldn’t possibly attend the barbecue the following night. It would mean disaster.
But the idea of not seeing Cooper made her almost as miserable as thinking of how things might go wrong.
“What’s the matter?” Rachel said, a worried note in her voice. “Will, what’s going on?”
Argh. This time together was supposed to regain her equilibrium, not transfer her disquiet to her beloved almost-mom. In the distance, a door opened, slammed, then footsteps clattered on the floor.
“Is that Willow’s car?” a voice cried out. Hattie, Rachel’s daughter, who was the same age as Willow had been when she’d come under the older woman’s protection, rushed into the kitchen.
She barely made it to her feet before she was enveloped in the girl’s skinny arms and tightly squeezed. Willow gave back as good as she got, then held the child away from her.
“Stop growing,” she demanded.
“I’m going to be taller than you,” Hattie crowed. “I can tell.”
“But you’ll always be littler,” Willow said, grinning. “I’m the big sister, no matter what.”
The child skipped away to dump her backpack on the kitchen table then headed for the refrigerator, her chatter never stopping. Willow and Rachel traded fond smiles. This, Willow thought, breathing out a long breath. This is what I’ll have some day.
A sunny kitchen. A child or two filling the spaces between the walls and in her heart. A husband.
Family.
After another moment, Willow tuned into a mother-daughter spat-in-the-making and even had to smile at that.
“You certainly will get started on your homework right away,” Rachel was telling her daughter. “That is if you want to attend your friend Rebecca’s birthday dinner tonight.”
“But Willow’s here,” Hattie protested.
“And she always did her homework first thing,” the older woman said.
Hattie’s gaze swerved to Willow.
“Yep,” she confirmed. “If I had a special event to go to that night.” Though she hadn’t had any girlfriends with birthday dinners. Instead, she’d been very withdrawn, especially at first, with the exception of hanging out with Brad, who had lived right next door.
The child made a face. “You always take her side,” she said, glancing at her mother.
“Yep. We’re a team.”
Rachel sent Willow a speaking look. Thank you. But now she noted the tired lines around her almost-mom’s eyes and it was her turn to express concern. “Are you okay, Rach?”
“Oh, sure,” Rachel said, pointing to Hattie’s backpack with an imperious finger, even as she poured the girl some juice and passed her a couple of cookies on a napkin as the child sat down at the table. “I had a couple of late-night call-outs this week. But I’m off the schedule for the next few days.”
In her position as a social worker for the county, she was sometimes on call to handle emergencies that came in after regular office hours. Once upon a time, that had been Willow.
“You and T.J. need a break,” she said. “Why don’t…” For a second she hesitated, then she pounced on the perfect solution for all of them. “Why don’t you have a date night tomorrow? I’ll watch the kids.”
“Yay!” Hattie declared, looking up from her paper, pencil, and textbook.
Willow smiled at the girl, her enthusiasm the perfect antidote to the combination of relief and disappointment she felt at the idea of skipping the barbecue. Crossing to the child, she held out her fist for an approving bump. “Pizza, Thai, ramen?” she asked, proposing the top of the family’s take-out roster.
As they discussed possibilities, she realized her almost-mom had gone unusually quiet. She glanced over, and noted Rachel’s gaze fixed on her left hand. “Willow…”
She shoved that hand in the pocket of her jeans. “Hattie’s all for the idea,” she said, ignoring the question in her almost-mom’s eyes.
“Maybe you and Brad should have a date night,” she said quietly.
“Brad’s on a business trip.” Willow now shoved her right hand in her pocket. “And I have nothing on my schedule but a barbecue that I’m happy to miss.” Argh. She pinched her thigh with hidden fingers. Why had she let that slip?
“A barbecue? A party?” Apparently waylaid by the
prospect, Rachel’s face brightened. “You can’t miss that.”
“A last-minute invite.”
“From who?”
“The new client,” Willow admitted.
“Then you have to go,” Rachel declared. “In order to take advantage of this opportunity to grow your business, if not to expand your social circle.”
Willow was still getting settled into Sawyer Beach after living most of her life a few miles away. But… “I’m babysitting for you.”
“We’ve been thinking about giving Hattie a chance as head-wrangler while we go out to dinner,” Rachel said.
Hattie leaped to her feet, fists overhead like a prizefighter. “Yes! Yes! I’ll only charge you fifteen dollars an hour. Well, fifteen for each bratty sib.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “As if, kiddo. But you can negotiate that with Dad—if you get your homework done.”
“Fine.” Hattie threw herself into her chair again. “But Dad’s a softie, just so you know.”
“I know.” Rachel smiled at her daughter then returned her attention to Willow. “See? Now you’re free.”
Free to make a mess of her life. Willow didn’t know why that thought popped into her head, but it was there, a threat that she couldn’t explain. It made no sense, to fear that a simple barbecue might wreak havoc on her careful existence. “I really don’t know any of the other guests,” she said, sounding just like the vulnerable preteen she’d been who’d walked into Rachel’s household feeling uncertain and unanchored.
“But you know your client,” her almost-mom pointed out. “And what did I tell you all those years ago? To make a friend you need to be a friend.”
How could she tell the other woman that being Cooper’s “friend” was nothing close to what she was afraid she wanted from the man?
Until Cooper spotted Willow across Hart’s backyard, the space filled with friends and acquaintances, their hands occupied with drinks or paper plates, he wasn’t sure if he’d wanted her to attend the event or decide she had better things to do.
But then…hell.
Because there she stood, framed by the open sliding glass door, a serving bowl covered with clear plastic cradled in one arm. Her trim body was wrapped in fabric that looked to be Hawaiian-inspired and left most of her shoulders bare, suggested cleavage, and revealed legs from midthigh to short-heeled, strappy sandals. Taking another inspection from her pink-tipped toes to the sunny highlights in her warm brown hair and he had to admit the jolt shooting up his spine and the spike in his body temperature had to mean something.
ANTE UP (7-Stud Club Book 3) Page 5
