Page 145 of Back to Willow

“Nah, go and sit down for a bit.”

Begrudgingly, I obey and snuggle up with Dylan on the couch. After a few minutes, he calls us to sit down by the table, presenting us with a generous platter of roasted lamb and potatoes, plus a pot of rice and a bowl of salad.

“This was all for yourself?” I ask, shocked.

He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Yeah, I–I don’t like cooking too often, even though I’m pretty good at it. So, I tend to do it in big quantities, hoping for it to usually last me a day or two.”

“That’s clever,” I comment. “Especially when you have a demanding, hungry kid and little time to cook or bake,” I joke.

Dylan sticks his tongue out, and I fake glare at him, nodding for him to start eating his food. Throughout the entirety of lunch, Arthur keeps the conversation light-hearted and constantly interacts with Dylan. It has a huge calming effect on me.

After the meal, Dylan begs for a movie, and Arthur gives in right away.

Truth is, I don’t want to go home either. At least, not yet.

I know I’m avoiding the inevitable, but after the stress from earlier this morning, I need to set my head straight before I can face whatever is heading my way. And if I so much as look at Liam, I’ll break down.

That’s why we stay and watch the cartoon movies that are playing on the TV. We get engrossed in it, and time flies by. I only realise I’ve been here for too long when the light inside dims into an orange hue. The sun is setting.

Dylan has fallen asleep on my lap long ago, and Arthur sits down on a leather recliner, right next to us.

“Arthur?” I whisper. “I think it’s time I head home.”

He nods, standing and gently scooping Dylan up in his arms, allowing me to get up.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers back.

Just when we start to walk, my phone rings, and I hastily pick it up, trying not to wake Dylan.

“Where are you?” Liam pants on the other side of the call.

“I—” I freeze. Of course, he was going to call. What do I do now? Because I don’t know if I have the guts to hear what he has to say to me.

“I’m so fucking worried; why aren’t you home? I’ve been knocking and calling for hours, and you’re not here.”

Worried?

“I–we’re fine.” I settle on those words as my eyes blur.

“Come back home, please,” he pleads. “We need to talk about this.”

“I can’t,” I admit in a shaky voice. “Not today,please.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “But please come back home. It’s getting late, and I’m worried. I’ll leave.”

Why is he being so kind? Is he not mad?

“Thank you,” I stutter.

“I’ll wait, Willow. I’ll wait.”

“I–”

“Text me when you get home so I’m not worried.”

“O-of course,” I mumble.

He hangs up, and I sigh in relief.

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