Page 6 of Love so Hot

My stomach drops. "Oh no..."

"Yeah, 'oh no' is right," he growls. "It's all over the papers now. Earth Defenders' rep gets schooled by pipeline exec." He slams his fist on the counter, making me jump. "This whole peaceful protest thing? It's not gonna cut it, Willow. We're just spinning our wheels while they steamroll right over us."

I try to put a comforting hand on his arm, but he jerks away like I've burned him. Stung, I pull back, wrapping my arms around myself instead.

"River, come on," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "We've barely started. You can't know it won't work?—"

"Can't I?" he interrupts, eyes flashing. "Wake up, Willow. They're not playing fair, so why should we?"

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this isn't really about me. River's lashing out because he's hurting. Still, I can't let this negativity spread. We've worked too hard.

"Listen," I say, injecting as much calm into my voice as I can muster. "Remember the meditation protest tonight? That could be a game-changer. You're still coming, right?"

River scoffs, pushing away from the counter. "I don't know. Maybe. I need to cool off."

As he storms towards the door, I call after him, "River, wait?—"

But he's already gone, the bell chiming angrily in his wake. His parting words hang in the air: "Do yourself a favor and grow up, Willow. This isn't some hippie fantasy camp."

I stand there, mouth agape, feeling like I've been slapped. The scent of flowers suddenly seems cloying, and I blink back the sting of tears.

Well, that could have gone better.

As I'm still reeling from River's harsh exit, a soft rustling behind me catches my attention. I turn to see Maggie Sullivan emerging from the back room, her silver hair adorned with a crown of tiny forget-me-nots. She's wearing one of her signature flowing skirts, this one a patchwork of earthy greens and browns that reminds me of a forest floor. Her warm brown eyes are filled with concern as she takes in my dejected posture.

"Oh, honey," she says, her voice as soothing as a warm cup of chamomile tea. "I couldn't help but overhear. Are you alright?"

I force a smile, but it feels about as convincing as a plastic flower. "I'm fine, Mrs. S. I'm so sorry about all that noise. River was just... upset."

Mrs. Sullivan's brow furrows, and she places a gentle hand on my arm. "Willow, dear, I know River is your colleague at Earth Defenders, but the way he speaks to you... it's not right. You shouldn't have to endure that kind of treatment."

I feel a rush of defensiveness on River's behalf, even as a part of me knows she's not entirely wrong. "He's just under a lot of stress," I explain, fidgeting with a nearby bouquet. "The fight against the pipeline, it's taking a toll on all of us. River... he just feels things so intensely.”

As the words leave my mouth, I realize how weak they sound. But admitting Mrs. Sullivan might be right feels like a betrayal to River, to our cause. I'm caught between my loyalty and the uncomfortable truth settling in my stomach like a stone.

Mrs. Sullivan's eyes soften, a mixture of understanding and worry swimming in their warm brown depths. She gently guides me to a pair of mismatched chairs tucked in a cozy corner of the shop, surrounded by hanging ferns and the sweet scent of jasmine.

"Sit with me a moment, dear," she says, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "I want to share something with you."

I sink into the well-worn cushion, curiosity mingling with a touch of apprehension. Mrs. Sullivan takes a deep breath, her fingers absently tracing the pattern on her colorful scarf.

"Willow," she begins, her voice as soft as the petals of the hydrangeas on the nearby shelf, "I've seen that kind of anger before." Her gaze drifts to a time long past, a shadow passing over her usually radiant features.

"Back when I was younger—oh, not much older than you—I married a man with a temper. A tempestuous soul, like your River. He'd yell, slam doors, his words sharp as thorns." She folds her hands in her lap, a silver ring glinting faintly. "And I made excuses for him, just like you're doing now."

I shift uncomfortably, biting the inside of my cheek. The comparison stings—am I really so transparent?

"Things got worse after we married," Mrs. Sullivan continues, the weight of her memories pressing down like the heavy summer air of Greenwood Hollow. "He didn't just shakethe walls with his shouting; eventually, he... well, he started shaking me too." Her eyes meet mine, filled with a sorrow rooted in experience. "One night, I had to flee with nothing but the clothes on my back."

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. My heart aches for her, for the young woman she once was, running from a life turned nightmare.

"Mrs. S., I—" I swallow hard, my throat tight. "Thank you for telling me. But River, he's all bark, no bite. And besides, he hardly even knows I exist outside of our Earth Defender rallies."

"Still," she says, her tone firm as the stems of the roses she prunes so lovingly, "I don't want you to ever feel trapped, like I did. You deserve someone who brings peace, not turmoil."

I manage a sad smile, glancing out the window at the Sinclair Shipping office across the street, the very antithesis of the tranquility we both crave. "Nice guys are like four-leaf clovers, aren't they? Supposedly out there, but darn if they're not impossible to find."

Her laughter is a warm breeze as she squeezes my hand. "Oh, sweetheart, keep looking. They're more common than you think."

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