Page 45 of New Hope, Old Grudges

No one knew what the third W meant. Willow Watson was my name, two made sense. Three didn’t.

You wouldn’t know the meaning of the third unless you went to high school with me.

Weirdo Willow Watson.

The name that defined my high school years also defined my adulthood.

But for the third time, I was redefining it.

I just wasn’t sure what it meant yet.

TWO WEEKS LATER

I was avoiding Brody.

Which was going pretty well since he had a demanding job, it was the busiest time of year for New Hope, and I was screening all calls, spending pretty much all of my free time in the forge or sketching. Inspiration had hit me these past few weeks.

Inspiration that had nothing to do with the steamy night I’d had with Brody Adams.

Nothing at all.

My new pieces were hard edges, smooth and hammered metal meeting as if in conflict. Gold and silver clashing angrily in pendants that became fluid.

Wide rings that were both delicate and tough at the same time. I’d set some of the crystals from my mother’s store in them. Burnt copper stones—a great color to work with. It was just a coincidence that they were the color of Brody’s eyes.

It was also a coincidence that the first time I stepped foot in my father’s forge, I was wearing Brody’s jacket, the one I had yet to return. And that I wore every time I’d been in there since.

I was getting coffee. Just getting coffee. Minding my own business. I needed the coffee because I’d been working nonstop, barely sleeping.

Plus, my mother had informed me that the chocolate muffins here would make me sell my soul to Hades.

I was in a chocolate mood and had planned on getting extra for my mother. Things had been getting better between us. Not that they were ever bad from her perspective. But now I was letting her in. Letting her be my mom. My friend.

It felt nice.

With my brother, it’d take a little longer. We’d had more dinners, brunches since the ill-fated Thanksgiving dinner. He was still cool toward me, but most of his grudge had melted away. He wasn’t able to hold on to bad feelings; he was his mother’s son.

Life was, in general, looking up. Of course, I was still broke, forgoing working in mom’s store because I was too busy making jewelry. Plus, the chances of Brody finding me there were just too high.

I was still living in my childhood bedroom, still the owner of a brand that had once been a big deal before it came crashing down, but I had hope.

The Christmas music playing in the coffee shop made me feel cheerful. I’d always loved the holidays. Loved cuddling up with my father while watching all of our favorite movies:The Holiday, Love Actually, The Family Stone. Myfamily was a sucker for anything with romance. We played records all month long, I baked with my mom. The town went all out with decorations. Snow covered everything.

I hadn’t had a white Christmas in years. Had worked through the holidays, never once engaging in a tradition when I was away from my family.

It hurt, it fucking killed to be facing the holiday at home without my father, but I figured he’d be happy I was here.

I was so deep in my own head that I didn’t notice him until he was there. Likeright there.Grabbingme by the hips and yanking me forward.

“What are you—”

I didn’t get to finish, didn’t get to drink Brody in in his uniform, with his scruff of stubble resembling more of a beard. No, I only got a flash of that before his lips crashed against mine, his hands sliding down. To my ass.

He plastered me to his body and plundered my mouth. In the middle of the coffee shop. The very busy coffee shop.

We hadn’t spoken in weeks. I still hated him. Didn’t I?

Except I carried his note around with me wherever I went. I wore his jacket out in the forge. I dreamed of him inside me. Of him teasing me as we sat on his sofa.

---