Chapter 6

Willow strode across the field, heading for the restaurant, her long boho skirt grabbing on the wildflowers, blossoms tumbling into her boot when her strides were long enough.

She’d seen an image in her mom’s mind of where the- what had it been called? The shiftsegen- was, where her mom had stashed it, but she didn’t quite dare to head for it. First impressions were important, the ones least likely to be cluttered with her own visions and experiences. Her mom wouldn’t move it, and Willow would know when it was time to handle it. Not now.

The trail she was on sloped downhill, practically spitting her out at the restaurant. She could tell by the cars in the parking lot that Pam, the lunchtime waitress, was already at work, and so was Manny, one of the cooks. They would be deep into setup already. Willow had slowly handed over responsibility after responsibility to her employees in the last three years, until the only thing she did anymore was make the skillet cookies and help with setup. She occasionally baked, bear claws, pies, that kind of thing, but only if they were short-staffed.

The skillet cookies, though, those were all hers. Healthy enough to be breakfast, hearty enough to last all day, she was the only one who knew the recipe.

She slipped into the back door of the restaurant as a high-revving engine sounded on the road out front. The noise made her think of men and motorcycles and horses running wild. She’d never had a date, knew very little of men and motorcycles, or even horses, but she had a TV. She was alive. She knew as much as most people.

Eh, not true. Maybe of motorcycles and horses, but of men? She knew nothing. Less than nothing. No father, only a half-solid angel who’d fathered and ran. No brothers. No uncles. No friends or boyfriends. Willow shook her head, remembering her earlier decision. The angel could show up today with wings on his back and a sign around his neck that said, Angel here, solving all your problems from now on, explaining the mysteries of your life any time you ask, and he still would have to prove it to her, to win her. She was done waiting, done operating on pure faith.

Men had shown interest in her before, here in the restaurant, the only place she ever went besides the feed store and the grocery store. Any time one had, she’d mentally gone through the files in his brain, feeling bad but unable not to do it.

Of course, she’d always found them lacking. Not an angel. Not out to save the world, but rather someone who would prefer to go ice fishing or dirt-bike riding, and so she’d gently rebuked each one of them, to her mother’s relief. Willow did believe most of what her mother believed about her, even if neither knew which parts of it the other was getting wrong.

She decided right then to go out with the next man who showed interest in her. She would NOT rummage through his mind, his thoughts of himself and his being, just so that she could judge him. She would smile and nod and say she would love to, then act like a normal person and let him have a chance, see who his actions said he was. Now that she’d left Serenity once, maybe she could convince someone to take her out to the abandoned amusement park outside of the town limits. She had been dying to go for years, but not by herself.

She tingled with excitement, as her new state of mind brought certain knowing to her. Something big was coming. This was her time. For now, she only needed to put one foot in front of the other. Go about her day. Let whatever was coming, come.

A thought stopped her cold as she walked past the large fridge where they stored flour bags big enough to stack and play on. What if her angel had already come for her and found her lacking? What if the game she played was the wrong one, her judgment all a fallacy?

Willow shook her head. It didn’t feel right, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t so. Nothing had felt completely right since her twenty-fifth birthday, her boring birthday that had passed without incident or mention.

Ah, but things were feeling right again. Ever since she’d made that decision at the crossroads. The one to live. To stop waiting. That had felt right, did feel right. This evening, after the restaurant closed, she would head back out over the town line. Maybe drive all the way to the next city. She’d heard Spring Valley was small, backwards, but what did that matter? She’d never been anywhere, never seen anything. She would look at it with innocent eyes and make her own decisions.

Willow let the thread of her thoughts go as the smell of breakfast muffins and pancake mix greeted her in the warm and familiar kitchen of the Honey Depot. She smiled and greeted the two employees who were already there, then moved through the kitchen to the dining area beyond, aware again in the front room of the restaurant of the sound of that revving engine swelling close, then cutting off. Someone in her parking lot, but she didn’t give it much thought. She had men on the brain. Next man she saw, she would do it. Men liked if you asked them out, right? She would make something happen, prime fate’s pump, starting today.

She smiled at her thoughts and headed for the front door and out of it to check the mailbox, but a man was walking up the steps, his steps sure, his emotions ablaze.

He was a tall man, but rangy. A businessman wearing a dark suit and a hat she didn’t even know the name of because she’d never seen someone wear one before unless it was on the TV. It was like a hat Cary Grant would wear in some black and white film. The man’s silver hair spilled out to his shoulders from both sides of the hat, somehow looking more manly than a buzz-cut would have, his wide silver moustache and dark brows catching her eye. And when he spoke? He might have been old enough to be her father, but that deep voice still caught her female attention, reminding her so quickly of her promise to herself.

“Good morning, Miss, I was hoping you could help me.”

Miss? Who called a woman Miss, anymore? Willow stopped on her way down the stairs as he stopped on his way up, rummaging in his business satchel using one hand, but seeming unable to look away from her.

Willow fluttered a hand to her breast, trying to catch her suddenly racing heart. Something about him was wrong and right at the same time, and she couldn’t quite tell what it was. She didn’t need to block him, because his energy was up and he was blocking her, something she hadn’t known was possible. His block was like an invisible wall between the two of them. His emotions and thoughts leaked around the sides of the wall, because that’s what energy did, travel, but it was so far away from her she couldn’t catch anything before it dissipated. “Yes?” she asked politely, on autopilot, her brown eyes held spellbound by his hazel ones, as he fumbled with his bag.

He smiled at her, and some of his block shifted. She felt a yearning from him, and an absolute confliction that threatened to tear him in half. She’d been starting to wonder if he could possibly be her ‘angel’, the one who was supposed to come for her, but he was so much older than she’d thought, and what angel was conflicted about anything? No, he couldn’t be. He was definitely something special, though. Something different than… than what? She didn’t know.

He finally pulled the folder he wanted out of his bag and held it in one hand, while he held out the other to her. “My name is Soroush Blakely, and I am looking for someone important to me.”

His every word was a lie, and she did not know how to react, because even though he was lying, he held no ill intent toward her or toward whoever he was looking for. In fact, he meant to protect the one he sought. That emotion was so strong it pulsed straight at her, straight through his own block.

She nodded expectantly, using the moment to study him, to pull in more thoughts and feelings, anything she could get that was attached to the thought about who he was searching for. Which was quite a lot. Side roads and in roads and loop de loops swirled behind the emotion and she grabbed a few. She was given this empathic ability for a reason and she had to stop shunning it and trying not to use it. Refusing to use her ability made as much sense as being able to sing a sweet soprano, but instead refusing to speak at all.

After only a second of digging through his thoughts, she knew his name was not Soroush Blakely, and he did not know why he had chosen it for whatever scam he was running. His cover story was supposed to be that he was a private investigator doing work for the woman’s mother, who happened to also be a close friend of his. His plan was to flash a fake badge and a picture and find out if anyone here knew where she might be staying, but he was having doubts.

She very clearly caught that he didn’t want to lie to Willow, because he thought she was beautiful and worthy of a gentleman’s truth.

Willow rocked back on her heels at that thought, seeing him see her catch it. He frowned and his hand slipped, showing her the picture in the folder he held. A dirty blonde beauty with a sharp expression, seen from far away. Willow recognized the woman, but her mind couldn’t place from where.

She wanted to see more, but Soroush hastily shoved the folder back into his bag. “Forgive me,” he said. “I don’t mean to stare, but you’re just so…” He faltered and Willow blushed. He spoke again. “Have we met before?”

“No,” she said quickly. She would have remembered him. Another emotion snuck into her consciousness. Sorrow. Regret. He wanted to apologize for something. He wanted to make something right.

He nodded like he knew it, then smiled sheepishly, as if to say he was about to do something stupid, and would she please forgive him in advance. “I feel like we ought to know each other. I mean, what I’m trying to say is would you do me the extreme pleasure of letting me take you out sometime? Tonight even? You look fascinating, with your fresh fashion and your timeless smile. I would like to get to know you.”

Willow almost gasped. No one had ever said anything quite so complicated and complimentary to her before. She loved her clothing, always took great care to pick the flowy, flowery skirts and the simple peasant blouses, which she sometimes paired with work boots and a bohemian hat. Capris that were supposed to hit mid calf on most women stopped at her ankles, but that was never a problem with a skirt like it was with pants. Her mother tended towards jeans she would roll up at the bottom, but Willow never dressed in anything but a sun skirt. The one she was currently wearing was tan and white, with swirly dark butterflies alighting on shadow flowers at the bottom. One of her favorites, she usually paired it with a black shirt and a bright, chunky necklace, sometimes teal, sometimes silver. She looked down. Teal today.

Before she could think about it, she agreed. “Yes. But not tonight. I never date on weekdays.” What was she talking about? She never dated at all. Where had that even come from? Was she trying to give herself time to reconsider her decision?

“Friday at five? I could pick you up here.”

She nodded. His smile and his emotions merged and she didn’t try to read any more than that from him. She’d said yes, and nothing else mattered, till Friday.

“Wonderful.” His tone was pleased, his voice, masculine and drawling. “I’ll pick you up here and take you to any restaurant you want to go to.”

Only as Soroush turned to leave did she realize he’d abandoned his questions about the woman in the picture completely, like not only did his date with her supersede them, but now they were obsolete.