Rising from the bed, she carefully made her way to the bathroom, where she tried not to glance in the mirror. One glimpse of her face and all her carefully crafted euphoria would no doubt be thrown to the wind. Instead, she turned on the shower and prepared to wash all traces of her illness away, if possible.
Willow emerged from her bedroom, dragging a comb through her wet hair. She felt better already, clean and with her teeth brushed, wearing clothes that smelled like fabric softener. The kitchen came into her line of vision, bananas and a can of soup sitting on the counter. He’d even set out the little soup pot she had in the cabinet. Thoughtful. Yet another thing she liked about Clint.
Grabbing a banana, she pulled back the peel and hesitantly took a bite before letting the events of the past few days return to her mind. Clint’s cake that she dropped in the yard. Completely missing his birthday. And yet there he was, taking care of her. The tears sprang to her eyes, and she brushed one away with the back of her hand while she pulled the can opener from the drawer. She wasn’t even sure she was hungry, but if he could bring her soup, she could make herself give it a try.
Snapping the can opener onto the top of the can, she took a good look at the ingredient list. He hadn’t purchased one of the cheap cans of soup. This one claimed to be all-natural, filled with only high-quality, good-for-her foods. She nearly giggled, imagining him standing in the grocery store staring at the rows of soup and trying to pick the right one.
She heated up a bowl of the soup in the microwave, then raised her spoon and blew on it for a few seconds before lifting it to her lips. It did taste good, surprisingly. Normally when she’d been sick it took her a few days before her appetite revved up again, but springing back would be a good thing. Especially since she had so much work to do.
Closing her eyes, she allowed the mess she’d found in her yard to play like a newsreel in her brain. She’d taken a picture of the mushroom huts and put something cryptic about a disaster on her social media sites. So stupid and impulsive. Being sick meant she hadn’t been checking on the posts, either, so there was no telling what kind of chaos she’d created by that split-second decision.
At least she hadn’t taken a picture of poor Arabelle. She could envision a bunch of little girls Emily’s age logging onto their mom or dad’s phones, pulling up the account and finding a damaged fairy. The destroyed houses were bad enough.
Quickly pulling her hair over her shoulder, she absently braided it as she stepped across to the living room. She could begin damage control, at the very least. Her phone was plugged in at the side of the table, which had to have been Clint’s handiwork. She didn’t remember charging it and it probably would have died while she was sick. Picking it up, she looked at the scary number of notifications that had amassed in her absence.
“We have a lot of work to do, Arabelle,” she whispered, her eyes shifting over to glance at the fairy where she rested on the table. Remaking her wing would take a little time, as would trying to recreate her leg. Letting out a sigh, she scanned the supplies scattered over her table until she spotted the little mailbox on the corner, a little worse for wear but no longer smashed as it had been. The metal looked a little crinkled, but functional. And the little slip of paper folded inside almost called her name.
“Arabelle, what have you been doing while I was asleep?” she asked, smiling at the little fairy while she pulled the paper out of the mailbox with her thumb and forefinger. The fairy remained impassive, guarding her secrets. Willow unfolded the slip of paper, holding the tiny little parchment in the palm of her hand.
Arabelle,
I’m not sure how to fix legs or wings, but I repaired your roof. I hope it makes you feel better.
Flint
Willow’s eyes shot wide open as her fingers trembled. She raised her head until she was looking at the ceiling, which hadn’t changed in appearance. The cabin didn’t need any roof repairs, as far as she knew. Which could only mean …
Pulling the door open, she gazed out at the grass, almost afraid to move. Those huts were beyond repair. She saw them with her own eyes, before she took pathetic photos of them and cried in her bathroom until she made herself sick. Or maybe cried until she actually was sick, since the fever wasn’t imaginary. Either way, they had been destroyed. Absolutely destroyed.
She stepped onto the porch, then glanced down at her feet in the wool socks. Plopping herself on the steps, she pulled off the socks one at a time, stretching her toes before she placed them in the warm grass. She’d grown accustomed to the sensation since that first day she’d gone shoeless, often walking around her yard with her feet bare. As she walked in the direction of that sparse place in the grass, she felt each step as though it was heavy with purpose.
The grass cleared and her little fairy dwelling came into view, now amounting to an ordinary dirty spot in the midst of green. But she saw them. The two tiny mushroom huts, their structure still intact, with new roofs. Not the traditional mushroom roofs that she had used before, but sloped roofs covered in shingles. Tiny, scalloped shingles made from tree bark, placed one atop the other, like a perfectly formed little cottage in the woods.
Willow tried to imagine Clint’s large hands affixing each of those tiny shingles, and the thought made her press both her hands to her chest as she choked on a sob. The repairs were perfection. Absolute perfection. She couldn’t even dream up anything Flint would manage that would be so … Flint-like. Lowering herself to sit beside them, she reached out a hand and ran the tips of her fingers over the bark, admiring the craftsmanship. The shingles perfectly represented everything she had found while living in the cabin. Natural beauty that spoke of God’s handiwork, made even easier to appreciate because of Clint.
She would take pictures of this, of course. Rewrite the note from Flint on a tinier parchment. Let all the people who followed her fairies know what simple, sweet, and pure love looked like in action. And then she’d find Clint, throw her arms around him, and never let go.
Chapter 11
She had grown to realize that he was exactly the one who would most suit her. Though they were clearly unalike, he perfectly met all of her wishes. #willowfairies
The front door opened before Clint heard the sound of the bus outside the house, so he jerked his gaze up to see that it was Ruth, not Emily, who stood in his living room. She dropped her purse on the coffee table and plopped down beside him on the couch, leaning against the cushions with a sigh.
“Rough day?” he asked, eyeing her with curiosity.
“Pretty dead, actually, which is why my shift ended a little earlier than normal. I can’t even remember the last time I was out of the café before the bus showed up.”
“Yeah.”
He couldn’t seem to make himself say anything else, and she sat up and studied him, letting her eyes rove from his face to his hands.
“Whatcha doing?” she wondered, mischievous smile on her face.
“Nothing.”
“Liar. What’s in your hand?” She grabbed his fingers, and he reluctantly loosened his fist enough that she managed to pry his hand open. Once his palm was visible, she reached inside and pulled out the ring he’d been holding. Her eyes widened as she held it between her fingers, glancing over at him.
“I know I’ve only known her five months, but it’s not like I need time to make up my mind. And I know that cabin has to be costing her a fortune.”
Ruth smiled and held the miniscule ring up to the light. The diamond wasn’t very significant, but the ring was small enough that it actually made it look a little bigger.
“Clint, if you’re asking because you’re afraid she’ll leave, trust me – she won’t go anyplace where you’re not.”
He shook his head as he took the ring back from her hand. “It’s not that. I’m thirty-three years old, and I know what I want. Waiting doesn’t make much sense.”
Ruth’s eyes filled with tears as she placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sure she won’t be able to contain her
happiness.” Averting her gaze, she pressed her lips together.
“What? You want to say something.”
“It’s just … this doesn’t have anything to do with that fairy, does it?”
He couldn’t keep the frustrated smile from appearing on his face as he wrapped one hand around the back of his neck. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind beating that little dude to the punch for a change.”
Ruth rose to her feet and moved to the window, sweeping the curtains aside to watch for the bus. Clint pushed away from the couch, shoving the ring into his pocket as he stood to join her. “Listen, Ruth—”
“Don’t mind me,” she said, brushing a tear away from her cheek. “I’m super happy for you, really. I couldn’t be happier. It’s just hard not to wonder if I’m ever going to break out of the cycle, you know? Working a job that barely keeps us afloat, shuttling Emily to stay with my mom during the summer while I’m at the café. Begging you to be here for her when she gets off the bus.”
“I’d do anything for Emily, you know that.”
Ruth sighed as she let her hand drop from the curtain. “I know you would, but I wish …” She self-consciously tugged at the bottom of her uniform shirt as she attempted to straighten her clothing.
“Please, say whatever you want to say.”
“I wish someone was willing to do anything for me, the way you are for Willow. It feels like I’m destined to be alone forever.”
He dropped his arm around her shoulders in what he hoped was a brotherly gesture. “Good things take time, you know. And you’re only twenty-four.”
“I’ll be twenty-five next week.”
“Oh, that changes everything. You’re definitely an old maid.”
“Shush,” she ordered him as the bus pulled up in front of the house. “Emily doesn’t need to know about any of this. Except you having the ring. That’s news that needs to be shared with everyone within a fifty-mile radius.”
He narrowed his eyes at her as she stepped away from his arm. “Don’t you go breathing a word about that until I ask her.”
“Lips sealed,” she assured him as Emily burst into the room, her backpack dropping immediately to the floor. His niece said nothing as she moved toward the kitchen looking for snacks, not even acknowledging her mom’s presence. “Is that normal post-bus behavior?”
Shrugging, he looked into the kitchen, where Em was going straight for the chips. “Yep, pretty much.”
“What did your fairies do today?” Clint asked, pulling Willow a little closer to avoid a rock in the path. Despite his best efforts to make sure the storyline Willow had going with her fairies wasn’t somehow directing his own efforts, he couldn’t help being a little nervous that somehow she’d figure him out. Being worried that she might ask why they were visiting the same waterfall they saw on their first date. Or that she’d wonder why he might be acting a little strange.
Wrapping her arm tighter through his, she watched the trail ahead as they walked. “Oh, nothing special. Arabelle was helping some of the other fairies with girl drama. Flint is still on his mission to locate Karin’s brother.”
“Good. I mean, I’m sure he’ll find him. Flint seems like a good guy.”
“The best.” She grinned up at him, then stepped away toward the edge of the trail to bend down and inspect something. He’d grown accustomed to that over the summer. The woman never missed anything with her eagle-eye vision, seeing even the tiniest details in the scenery around her. She never touched anything, though. Sometimes she pulled out her sketch book and tried to recreate what she saw, and other times she snapped a photo to look at when she got home.
“What did you see?” he asked, waiting for her to rejoin him on the trail.
“Some kind of hard-shelled little roly-poly bug.”
He watched for another minute while she remained in that position, her hair loose and hanging down her back. Even Emily wouldn’t get excited about a bug, unless maybe it was in her hair. In her hair …
She rose next to him, and he widened his eyes as though she might be able to read his mind. Instead, she gave him a goofy grin and continued walking down the trail, reaching for his hand. “Do you remember the first time we came here? I think I talked until I was blue in the face.”
“Yep.”
She laughed, and the sound reminded him of the water tripping over the rocks that they’d hear in just a few minutes. “Yep that you remember, or yep that I talked your ear off?”
“Both.”
“That sounds about right.” Her boot came untied, and she stopped at a large boulder on the side of the trail to sit and tie it again. Clint quickly settled behind her, grabbing her hair in his hands. To his surprise, she didn’t ask what he was doing. Just tilted her head back with a sigh as he began sloppily braiding her hair. She seemed to like it so much, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of that sooner. Somewhere about the middle, he slid the ring onto one of the three strands, then continued braiding until he reached the end.
“Hair tie,” he muttered, holding his hand against her shoulder. Reaching into her pocket, she extracted one and placed it in his palm. Yet another thing he’d learned about her over the summer – she never left home without at least three hair ties in her pocket.
“I’m pretty sure that was about the sweetest thing you’ve ever done, braiding my hair like that. Now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
He smiled as he wrapped the hair tie around the end of her braid, but cleared his throat in an attempt to keep the smile from his voice. “Yeah, or I could have been ensuring all that hair would stop slapping me in the face,” he mock-complained, stepping away from her.
She reached up to feel the back of her head as she started walking, and his breath hitched a little as he wondered whether she’d find the ring. The corner of her mouth tilted up, but it didn’t go any farther.
“Not bad, really,” she stated as she pulled her hand away from her hair, swinging it by her side instead. “I’m impressed at your braiding skill. Is it like building a rope or something?”
“Building a rope?” He scratched his cheek, making a sound like sandpaper against a two-by-four. “Can’t say as I’ve ever made a rope with my bare hands before.”
“You could though, I bet.” She spun around on her heel, facing him on the trail as she walked backwards. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve built with your hands? Come on, spill it.”
“Probably that ladder thing you had me build out of toothpicks and hay for your fairies. Or the time we gathered those tiny pebbles to make that creek bed you—”
“Okay, I get it. Everything I do is weird. Think about how enlightened your life has become since I entered the picture.” Willow’s boot caught on a root, and she started to stumble backwards before Clint grabbed her elbow and steadied her. With a grin, she held onto his arm. “Guess I’m still falling for you, aren’t I?”
Clint didn’t let her go after the little trip, holding her steady while she made a silly joke and stood smiling up at him. She needed to get ahold of herself. Going back to the waterfall was making her feel nostalgic, like something big was about to happen.
She was going to see a waterfall. That was the extent of it. Sure, it was beautiful and breathtaking, but more than that it made her think about the slow and steady way her relationship with Clint had developed. Not like the waterfall itself, rushing over the rocks, but like the water above that point, slowly going along not realizing it would soon be racing over into the unknown.
She’d been just like that water the first time she visited. Walking along next to Clint, chattering away like it was any ordinary meeting. Attracted to him but not knowing the depth of his character, the extent of his loyalty, or the impact meeting him would have on her life. Now as she stood beside him, she didn’t feel like they were so different. Oh, their personalities weren’t similar, or their interests, and definitely not their manner of conversing, but it didn’t matter. They fit together like wings on a fairy. Blades on a lawnmower.
One didn’t work right without the other.
Extracting herself from the gravitational pull he seemed to hold over her, she started walking again, moving toward the waterfall that was now in her line of sight. “This is making me think about the first time we came here,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Call me sappy or sentimental or whatever, it’s probably true anyway.”
“Yeah,” he said from his position behind her.
“Yeah, you’re thinking about it too? Or yeah, I’m sappy and sentimental? You have to expound on your thoughts a little, mister, or I can’t know what you’re really expressing.”
He chuckled as he continued to walk a step behind. “It was more of a vague agreement so I wouldn’t have to say anything else.”
“That figures. Do you remember the day we met? Of course you do. I’m fairly certain you almost passed out on my lawn.” Willow focused on the sound of the water as she walked, then stopped to gaze at the waterfall just in time for an unruly toddler to sprint past, his mom yelling for him to slow down. The little guy raced up the trail only to have to stop behind another couple blocking the way.
“You gave me quite a start that day,” Clint finally answered, placing his hand against her waist.
“Quite a start. I’d say it was a little more serious than that. Besides, I’m the one who should have been hyperventilating and having trouble breathing.”
“Why is that?”
“You nearly mowed me over, didn’t you? A terrifying prospect.”
Shaking his head, he hooked his finger under her chin, forcing her eyes up so she looked at him next to her instead of the rushing water. “Actually, I think I’m the one who was mowed over that day. And you’re right, it was terrifying. But now I know it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She stepped to the edge of the trail to let another couple pass, wrapping her arms around his waist as she did so. “I do believe that might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said to me. Mostly because I know how much it cost you to verbalize it, given your fear of tiny, chatty women.”
Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After Page 17
