Barbara shuffles over to us from behind the counter, her warm smile just like Goldie’s. “Good to see you, boys. Coffee?”
Chief says yes, but I ask for water. I look around Barbara and see Dean in the window. We exchange nods as he looks back down to his work.
A curse comes from the kitchen, and I know without question that it’s Willa. I can’t help the smile on my face, because I’m willing to bet she’s cussing at my appearance. I have never had this effect on anyone, and I absolutely love it.
The thing is, she doesn’t realize the effect she has on me.
When Barbara takes my order, I make certain to order the Patty Melt, then add guacamole and a fried egg just to rile Willa up.
Sure enough, Barbara sticks the order in the window and Willa is the one to grab it. Her hair is up in its customary ponytail, bangs hanging just a little too far into her pretty blue eyes, and her cheeks flush as she reads the ticket. The woman must be terrible at poker. She growls—it’s impossible not to hear it—and when she unleashes her glare out of the window, I’m right there to catch it.
I smile and wave.
I didn’t think it would be possible, but her cheeks get even brighter as her eyes widen. She’s been caught, and she looks embarrassed.
Yeah, she’s cute as hell.
My order comes exactly as I requested, and I’m almost disappointed she didn’t stomp around to drop it in front of me. But Itake a bite, and I swear, this woman’s cooking skills are beyond this diner. She belongs in some kind of fancy restaurant, with little cook minions running around and muttering “Yes, Chef” to her every whim. It’s obvious.
When I’m certain she’s not paying attention to me, I say to Barbara, “I heard Willa studied at the Culinary Institute of America.”
Barbara’s face lights up. “Oh, yes! She did. Came back after just a few months, but we’d all love to see her go back. Get out of this town and really spread her wings, you know?”
“She’s fine,” Tom grumbles.
Barbara waves Tom off. “Ignore him. My daughter is too brilliant to be stifled by this town, aren’t you, Willa?” She directs that last part through the open window right as the woman in question slides an order toward her.
Willa raises her eyebrows. “I like it here, Mom.”
“You do not,” Barbara responds.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.” Barbara frowns at Willa before turning back to me. “What are your plans while you’re here, Reid?"
There’s no mistaking the shift in her tone, and it’s one I’ve learned to identify well over the years: the Interested Mother of a Single Daughter. I adjust my seat and swallow the bite of Patty Melt that has no right tasting as good as it does.
“Just here to do my job, ma’am.”
She blushes and waves a rag at me. “Don’t call me ma’am—makes me feel old.” Then she leans in closer. “Didn’t you have a good time with Goldie at the art walk?”
And there it is. Make no mistake about it: For as much as Willa—and apparently Barbara—wants it to happen, Goldie had no more interest in me than I did in her. It was obvious. But small town or not, I know enough about families to realize that if Goldie’s not saying anything to her mom, neither will I. I offer upa noncommittal grunt, then kick my uncle’s leg to get his attention.
Chief Mac isn’t about to come to my rescue. He does the exact opposite. “Nothing wrong with a few dates while you’re here, Reid,” he says merrily. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll end up staying.”
I glare at him and make a mental note to take him off my Christmas list. “Right,” I drawl, then shove another bite of food in my mouth.
“Oh, wouldn’t that be exciting?” Barbara grabs the water pitcher to offer us all refills. “Having you here permanently will be wonderful.”
I don’t miss the way Willa’s attention perks up. I also don’t miss the way her shoulders droop infinitesimally when I say, “Just here for three months, ma’am.”
Chapter 7
Willa
I’M PREPARED FOR my usual, incredibly humiliating yet completely unavoidable reaction to Reid when I get home: a horrified squeak that emanates from the depths of embarrassment hell, followed by a stumbling dash inside my cottage. But for once, he’s not lounging in the Adirondack in his backyard, strumming a guitar like some hot fantasy come to life. I slow to a stop and stare at the empty chair, trying desperately to ignore the feeling that’s in my chest. A feeling I’d rather not name, thank you very much.
Get over yourself, Willa.He’s not interested in me, despite the way I’ve caught him looking. He’s confused.Iconfuse him. That has to be what’s happening. It’s the only reason a man would willingly ignore the signs that Goldie is giving him. Maybe he thinks I’ll turn into some weird stalker? For all the sense that makes.