Willow

Lauren pops the trunk and steps out of her over-the-top pink Mustang when I walk out of the airport. The car is hideous yet has a certain appeal to her.

“You know, I’m confused,” she says, helping me with my bags and then throwing her hands on her hips in question, as if I can read her mind as to what she’s confused about.

One thing I admire about Lauren is her inability to bullshit. She might just barely be grazing five feet, but she’ll ask you straight up instead of gossiping behind your back.

I slam the trunk shut. “Confused about what?”

She doesn’t answer my question until we’re in the car. “On why you’ll screw my brother but refuse to let him pick you up from the airport.”

It’s a three-hour drive to Blue Beech, and I asked Lauren to pick me up instead of Dallas, so I wouldn’t have to spend hours alone with him, answering questions. I have the impression it might not be much different with his sister.

I fix my glare on her. “Haven’t you ever had a one-night stand?”

“I live in a town with a population of six hundred. Half of the men were married off before their balls dropped. There’s no one to have a one-night stand with.” She pauses to give me a side-eye. “I guess I can’t speak for everyone.”

“Oh, kiss my ass,” I grumble, rubbing my eyes.

Sleep hasn’t been my friend lately, and I had an early flight. I doubt I’ll be able to unwind when I get to Blue Beech either.

“Did he do that, too?” She laughs when I flip her off. “You kinky kids, you.”

“I wish you had never found out,” I grumble.

“Secrets don’t make friends,” she sings out, gearing the car in drive.

“They sure can keep them though.”

She tips her thumb toward my growing belly. “That, my friend, would be a mighty hard secret to keep.”

I made a list of lies when my first pregnancy test came out positive. IVF treatment. Secretly adopted a baby. A one-night stand, and I didn’t get the guy’s name. The last one is technically only a half-lie.

I slump down in my seat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Doing what? Moving to the best place in the world and being surrounded by delightful company? We’re going to be neighbors. That, my dear, will be the highlight of your life.”

“No, I can’t believe I packed up and moved to a town void of takeout sushi but also where I’ll be labeled a widower-chasing tramp. Might as well pin a scarlet letter to my chest and call it a day.”

“You can’t be serious.” She peeks over at me, her amused smile fading into concern. “Willow, no one is going to call you a widower-chaser. I mean, not to your face at least.” She pauses to give me a cheesy grin. “Although it does have a nice ring to it. Willow the Widower-Chaser.”

“That’s it. Turn this pink puss car around.”

I yelp at the sound of the door locking. “Prepare for a three-hour drive filled with prying questions and nineties hip-hop. I hope you’re a Snoop Dogg fan.”

* * *

“Wow, this is a nice place.”

I drop my bag onto the mahogany wood floor and explore my new apartment. It’s an older building with a floor plan similar to Lauren’s, except mine is a two bedroom and has more space. Something like this would cost a kidney in LA. My mom told me I was choosing to live in rich-people poverty when I moved there.

A fresh coat of taupe paint covers the walls, and an exposed brick fireplace is at the front of the living room with a flat screen TV mounted above it. The furniture is new, and decorative touches are scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. A red-and-black-checkered throw is thrown over the back of the couch, and succulents are placed on the end tables to each side of it.

“Thank you for talking to your landlord, putting down the deposit, and getting everything in order on such short notice,” I say to Lauren, pulling my purse up from the floor by the strap. I rummage through it in search of my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Her hand goes up, stopping me. “Put your wallet away. Thank Dallas. This was all him.”

I give the apartment another once-over. “What? How?”

Blame it on the loser I dated for nearly a decade, but my mind can’t wrap around a man doing this for me. I guess Stella wasn’t lying when she said small-town guys were a different breed.

“Ask him. In the meantime, get yourself settled in. I have a double shift in a few hours and need to hit the shower. Text me if you need anything, neighbor.”

I smile. She made a six-hour round trip to pick me up and then has to pull a double. “Have fun. Thank you for the ride. I owe you one.”

“I got you, girl,” is all she says before winking and waving good-bye.

I scoop up my bags and take them into the bedroom when I hear the door shut. Just like the rest of the apartment, the bedroom is spacious. Settling my suitcase on the cream-upholstered king-size bed, I start to unpack.

I let my mom watch Scooby for a few weeks, so I could get settled in and check with the landlord if pets were allowed. Only a few bags came with me on the flight, and I’m having my other stuff and car shipped. I have a baby on the way and am not handing an airline my savings to have a few extra bras.

I drop the shirt I’m hanging up at the sound of the doorbell.

“You forget something?” I ask, opening the door. I stumble back when I don’t see Lauren.

Dallas is standing in front of me, shoulders broad and square, wearing a red-buffalo-plaid flannel that nearly matches the throw on my couch, dark jeans with holes in both knees that hug his legs, and brown boots. My heart races, and I can’t stop myself from running a finger over my lips.

Shit. Pregnancy hormones are making an appearance. They seem to be well acquainted with him.

Dallas has the efficacy to pull off attractiveness with this casual demeanor better than any man wearing an expensive suit. My ex was a hipster wannabe who regularly sported holey jeans, beanies, and flannels. He was a generic version of the real thing—Dallas. He’s no wannabe. He’s this rugged, down-to-earth man who has no idea how wet he makes my panties.

I smooth down my hair and shyly smile. “Hey,” I say in nearly a whisper.

Tension bleeds through the air like an open wound. Our last face-to-face conversation wasn’t exactly pretty.

His thick lips curl up. “If it isn’t Blue Beech’s newest resident.”

“Temporary resident,” I correct, scooting to the side. My back brushes against the wall as I give him enough room to step into the apartment and shut the door.

His scent, a light evergreen that reminds me of a vacation lodge deep in the mountains where you never want to leave, hangs in the air like smoke as he skims the living room. “You getting settled in okay?”

A few inches separate us, and I play with my hands in front of me, nervousness climbing up my spine. We haven’t been alone like this since that night with the small exception of the women’s restroom at the airport, which has the privacy that’s equivalent to one in prison.

“I haven’t had a chance to find a place for everything yet, but the apartment is gorgeous. I can’t believe you did all of this. Thank you.”

He stares over at me, his eyes flashing with victory and satisfaction. “Thank you for moving here.”

I draw in a sharp breath when he edges closer into my space, standing in front of me, as if he’s geared to tell me a secret. Being too close for comfort seems to be his thing, which I find completely unnecessary. This isn’t L.A. The square footage is out of this world, dude.

“You have no idea how much I fucking appreciate it.”

I shrug off his gratitude and laugh. “I needed a getaway for a while anyway. Nothing like a vacation before delivering a baby.”

He chuckles lightly. “Just a vacation, huh?”

I nod.

He runs his boots back and forth over the hardwood floor. “I stopped by to make sure you showed up and weren’t planning on bailing again.”

I hold out my arms. “I’m here, in the flesh, breathing and everything.”

“I also wanted to see what you might be doing tomorrow night.”

Like I have big plans here?

“Most likely, unpacking.”

“Perfect, you’re free. I’m taking Maven to the fair tomorrow. Come with us.”

Is he nuts? He wants me to hang out with not only him, but also his daughter?

“The fair?” I scrunch up my face. “Like vomit-inducing, spinning rides and honky-tonks?”

“No.” He pauses. “I mean, yes to the rides, no to the honky-tonks. You watch too many movies.”

“I work for movie stars. Watching their movies is part of my job.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

“I’ll have to pass.”

“Come on, who doesn’t like the fair?”

“I’ve never been to one.”

His lips tilt into a half-smile, and he opens the front door, patting the inside of it. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Wait!”

“Have a good night, Willow.”

The door slams shut behind him.