Page 23 of Penalties and Proposals

“I don’t have long to talk, but I wanted to call,” I start. “I can’t come tonight.”

“Oh,” she responds, her voice sounding oddly deflated considering how we’d left things at Maple Fest. “I wanted to get you prepared for some photos this week. Compare calendars and set some times in stone.”

“I can always come by later,” I say before interrupting myself. I think I have an even better idea. “Hey, you know what?I have this thing I need to do tonight for my agent. It’s dinner with some locals. Their kid is a fan, and I’m going alone.”

Willa’s quiet for a second before she responds. “Are you asking me to join you?”

Something in her voice sounds hopeful, or maybe it’s just my ears playing tricks on me. “If you’re free and game to do it.”

“I think it sounds very … interesting. Should I bring my camera?”

“Not this time,” I say quickly, my voice clipped. Realizing how harsh I may have come across, I backpedal. “What I mean is, that since Charlie is a child, I don’t want to use this as part of any press about me. It’s not fair to them and their family, you know?”

“I get it,” she says, her voice breathy in my ear. “What time should I be ready?”

“I’ll be outside your hotel at six o’clock.”

There is something about a woman who walks down hotel steps one at a time with her head held high and a smile on her face. Okay, maybe not so much about any woman, but definitely about this woman in particular. Willa has her long, dark hair pulled up into a high bun on top of her head, but stray pieces hang loose around her face, framing her features. The long brown coat she’s wearing swishes around her legs like a flowing dress.

When she hits the pavement, I hop out of the back of the black SUV and hold the door open for her to get in.

“This is fancy,” she says, taking my hand as I help her inside.

“Travis wanted to make sure I had a driver nearby for tonight. Remember, he booked it thinking I was going alone.”

Slamming the door, we both buckle ourselves in as our SUV pulls away from the curb. Turning so I can angle myself to face Willa, I have an apology on the tip of my tongue, but the sun is setting and the light frames her from behind, adding an ethereal glow around her silhouette. My heart bangs in my chest with such force, I panic for a moment, thinking I could be having a heart attack. I really need to lay off the caffeine.

Unaware of my own private internal issues, she reaches out and puts her hand on my knee. “First, before we do anything, I need to say I’m sorry.”

“That’s my job,” I say, fighting the smirk that threatens to expose itself. “I’m the jerk who is always apologizing.”

“Well, this time, it’s me. I was rude and said some things to you, covering them off as playful, but I was letting off my own steam.” Sighing, she throws herself against the back of the seat. “Noah, I’ve been mad at you over the years. You were an easy target to blame. I’ve known about your work on yourself—it’s been reported, you’ve done interviews—but there was so much going on in my life, you were the bullseye I needed to aim for.”

“I guess being the focus of your anger at least means me being the focus of your … anything?” I say, keeping my tone light.

“What it was, was unfair. To you and to me. Holding in anger like that is cancerous.” She turns, cocking her head to one side as she takes me in. “When you told me you had no idea that your team had tried to blacklist me, I knew the moment you said it you were being honest.”

“Because I have nothing to lose?” I ask, the answer clear to me.

“Exactly. You came clean, told me about your rehab, but I’ve been …” She stops, chewing her bottom lip as she thinks of the next words to say. I hope she struggles to find them because those lips are really pretty and that bottom one in particular has me obsessed. It’s a pale tint of red, and pouty, and I’d like to—

“I’ve been remiss in seeing it.” She turns away and looks out the window. “The year we met was the year my father was dying.”

A pit forms in my stomach. “Oh, Willa, I’m so sorry.”

She turns to me again, a smile on her lips, only a sad one. “Don’t be. I mean, thank you, but he was sick. When he passed away, he left my mother still paying a mortgage on not only her home, but their business which is attached to it. An antique shop.”

“And you ended up being a photographer?”

“Ah …” She giggles. “I’m not good with antiques. I worked in the store one day. Once. I dropped a priceless vase and my mother fired me on the spot.”

My turn to bite my lip, but I’m trying not to laugh. Too late, I’m busted.

“No, go ahead, laugh. Mom still does. Well, now she does. I ended up in the photography club after that so I had something to do, and the rest is career history.”

“Is the antiques shop still going?”

Willa shakes her head, then shrugs. “Yes, no … maybe? It’s on the bank’s radar. My mom is behind on her payments. It’s the same sad story a lot of people have, and we’re trying to get her out of it.” She sighs, flexing her hands and looking at her perfectly painted nails as she speaks. I fight the urge to run my fingertip over one of the delicate colored nails just to feel its smoothness and have more proximity to her.

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