Willow Haven didn’t have bad days. It wasn’t in her planner, so it just didn’t happen, plain and simple. Her life was one of order and routine—she’d already gone off track once, and she didn’t have even the slightest inclination to do it again. Which meant she woke up at the same time each day, whether or not she needed to go into work. She did a yoga sequence, sat down and enjoyed a cup of coffee and the morning paper, and then got ready for her day.
What she did not do was sleep through her alarm—thanks to a completely inappropriate dream she didn’t want to think about, starring a completely inappropriate man she definitely didn’t want to think about—and wake up too late to be able take a shower or even put on makeup. She glanced at the clock on the wall as the second hand ticked past the big twelve at the top. 9:04. Even if she could blink her way to her office and transport instantaneously, she’d still be late for her nine o’clock appointment. Which was absolutely unheard of. Willow had never missed an appointment—had never even been later than fifteen minutes early to one, if you wanted to get right down to it.
“Dammit,” she hissed as she flew around the house, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach at the prospect of disappointing the people waiting for her. Not to mention, this was going to upend her whole day, send the line of dominoes tumbling over. She could feel it.
She grabbed her favorite black heels, hopping on one foot as she slipped each shoe on, plucked her travel mug full of liquid sanity from under the machine once the stream had cut off, and snatched her messenger bag off the hook by the front door. Town hall wasn’t far—definitely close enough to walk. But not in Mississippi in late May. Mother Nature held all the beauty in the world, but she didn’t have air conditioning. Willow’s Prius did.
Thankfully, the path from her home to town hall was clear, so she made it there in record time without having to go more than five miles over the speed limit. Lord knew if any of her daddy’s cop buddies had seen her speeding, they’d have thought she’d been body snatched.
Grabbing her bag and her coffee, she stepped from her car. It was already busy in the town square, though that was to be expected considering it was—
Willow froze with her travel mug halfway to her mouth, her eyes glued to the man across the street as he strolled into the coffee shop, casual as you please, leaving her to gape in his wake. She stared at the space he’d just been. Blinked. Stared some more. She’d only managed a brief glimpse of his face before he’d disappeared inside. But he’d looked so much like the man from her dream—so much like the man she’d once known better than herself—that a mountain range had formed in her stomach, its jagged edges cutting through her insides.
A truck pulled up to the single stoplight on Main Street, blocking Willow’s view of the coffee shop and breaking her trance. She shook her head and muttered to herself under her breath, “Get your head on straight, girl.”
She had to have seen incorrectly, no doubt a product of her dream playing tricks on her mind and her frazzled morning throwing her off. There was no other explanation. For one thing, Finn Thomas hadn’t set foot in Havenbrook in ten long years, and she didn’t anticipate he’d suddenly gotten a craving for the coffee at Higher Grounds. Second—and this one was harder to admit, even to herself—she hadn’t felt that zing of awareness she’d always had while in Finn’s presence. And despite the fact that he’d broken her heart and then hadn’t even had the courtesy to stick around and watch while she’d attempted to get over him, she sort of hated the idea that maybe that spark was gone.
Her phone rang from inside her bag, tearing her from thoughts better left beneath the heaps of baggage she’d stuffed them under years ago. After a quick glance at her screen, she blew out a heavy sigh. Her father’s name flashed, and she pushed aside the wave of exhaustion that swept over her just seeing it there. With her daddy at a conference and his assistant, Gloria, on maternity leave, making sure town hall ran smoothly fell solely on her shoulders. It’d been damn exhausting.
The kicker was it would’ve been a much easier job if only her daddy had faith she could actually do it.
Shuffling the items in her hands, she swiped across the face of her phone to accept the call. She plastered on a bright smile, hoping it would carry through the line. “Mornin’, Daddy.”
“Will,” he snapped. He always snapped. And he always called her Will, never mind the fact that Willow wasn’t the boy her daddy’d assumed she’d be, or that she didn’t particularly like the nickname. At least, not coming from him. Not when she knew the story behind it.
Having four girls after a decades-long line of only boys had done nothing but piss off the old man. The Havens were known for producing virulent males, but it’d only taken one to break the streak. A false reading on an ultrasound meant Willow’s older sister had come home in a blue outfit, to a blue nursery, and had worn only blue the first month of her life. And Rory James had morphed into Aurora Jane on her birth certificate.
When Willow had come along three years later, Momma and Daddy had decided not to find out the gender at all, considering the last time had been a complete shitshow—her words, not her momma’s. But her momma had carried Willow low, had craved nothing but salty foods, and her heart rate had been slow. So, based solely on a bunch of old wives’ tales, Willow’s father had been certain she’d be a boy.
When she’d come out lacking one very important appendage, foresight on her momma’s part meant she’d had an appropriate outfit in which to bring Willow home. Her nursery had still been painted blue, but this time, there’d been bits of pink everywhere. And Will Grant—her father’s choice of name—had been changed to Willow Grace. But Daddy had always insisted on calling her Will. To remind her she’d failed him even while taking her first breath? Maybe. Probably.
And thus began what she liked to think of as the biggest practical joke her father had ever been on the receiving end of, all courtesy of the big man upstairs. Her daddy was a good old boy and completely old-fashioned from his bull-head all the way down to his stubborn feet. He was a man’s man—whatever the hell that meant. Thought a woman’s place was barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Didn’t think a woman could do a “man’s job”—and certainly couldn’t do it as well.
Which put him in quite a pickle, seeing as their town was their namesake, and at least one person from each generation of Havens had served as the mayor of Havenbrook. Being plagued with four daughters—each one more headstrong than the previous—for a man who was perpetually stuck in 1950, thinking women belonged only to the men in their lives, was laughable.
Karma, if you asked Willow.
All she knew was it was exhausting having that man for a father. Having him for a boss? It was a wonder she’d managed to keep her sanity intact.
She blew away the stray hairs hanging in her eyes, working hard to keep the smile in place. “Yes, sir?”
“Why aren’t you in the office yet? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe the work day starts at nine o’clock, not whenever you get around to it.”
Of course, he’d called on the solitary day out of the hundreds she’d worked for him when she hadn’t been in the office early. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense to Willow’s failures. And he took the opportunity to call her out on every single one of them any chance he got. But because she knew he was anxious being away from the town and his job, stuck at a conference he didn’t want to go to, she bit her lip and forced herself to swallow any back talk. Buying herself some time so she didn’t bite his head off, she glanced down and kicked a stray rock away, hating how the weight of his disapproval made her feel all of seven years old.
The sun shone bright in the sky, illuminating her favorite shoes far better than the lighting in her house did. Which was how she realized she wasn’t wearing her pair of black heels, as she’d intended, but rather one black and one navy. That’d teach her for buying multiples of the same style of shoes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled.
“’Scuse me, young lady? You might be a grown woman, but you know I don’t tolerate no back-sassin’.”
She dropped her head back on her shoulders, exhaling a long breath, and closed her eyes. Later tonight, after she’d downed an entire bottle of wine, she was going to laugh about this day. She hoped.
“Sorry, Daddy, that wasn’t meant for you.” She shut her car door and hustled toward the front steps of town hall, trying to make up for the time her father had cost her. “Now, what can I do for you? You should be enjoyin’ that conference instead of worrying yourself with calling here.”
“I wish I wouldn’t have to call you, but you haven’t given me much reason to trust you can take care of Havenbrook on your own, now have you?”
No, not much. Only five years of her life, not to mention restoring a failing downtown while she was at it. But none of that mattered in her daddy’s eyes. Mostly because—as far as Willow could tell—she simply wasn’t her older sister. Or born with a penis. And, unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about either one of those.
“No need to fuss,” she said. “We’re doing all right here, even without the mayor.”
He snorted in that arrogant way that set Willow’s teeth on edge. “Avery said it’s a mess there, just a mess.”
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.”