Page 25 of Imperfect Arrangement
I groan. “Oh my God, Nana. Gross.”
* * *
I unlockthe door to my apartment, and the silence practically smacks me in the face. It’s the kind of quiet I once craved after living with Nana and Mom my whole life. But lately, it feels less like peace and more like…well, I don’t want to saylonelyout loud, but there it is.
Captain Lick lets out a dramatic sigh from his dog carrier, reminding me I’ve been standing in the doorway like a total weirdo.
“Sorry, bud. I know you just want to crash.” I unzip his bag the second we step inside, and he trots straight to the bedroom, not even sparing me a glance. I trail behind him, watching as he curls up in his bed and blinks at me once, then shuts his eyes as if to say,Good night, human.
“Oh, Cap. I envy your life sometimes.” I sit on the edge of the bed, and he cracks one eye open, giving me thatYou want to talk now? Have you seen the time, lady?look. “You’re one spoiled dog, you know that? Everyone loves you. If you don’t realize how adored you are, that’s a real tragedy.”
He doesn’t even open his eyes this time, just tweaks an ear. Yeah, he’s over this conversation. I pet him once more before heading to the bathroom for a shower.
As the water streams down, the scent of my orange shampoo and bodywash fills the air, but my mind’s drifting to places it shouldn’t be.
Like Raymond Teager. His voice, so damn affectionate when he asked about Quill, keeps playing in my head. If I worry about my dog not knowing how much he’s loved, how hard would it be on Raymond when Quill chose to speak to me instead of him?
Stop empathizing with the enemy, Willow,I scold myself.
If Joanne were here, she’d have a field day laughing at me.
Business Rule #1: Do not feel sorry for your opponent.
I step out, wrapping myself in a pastel green towel with Whispering Willow’s logo embroidered on it, after making sure the bathroom door is locked and I’m out of sight of Captain Lick.
I made the mistake of drying him with one of these when he was a puppy, and now he thinks it’s his personal property. This trait, as cute as it seems, became a full-blown disaster when he ripped a towel off a guest’s head while she was reading on her balcony. One minute she’s relaxing, fresh from the shower, and the next my dog’s perched on her head, tugging the towel like it was a tug-of-war game. Nana still brings that up whenever she needs a laugh, but I had to comp the guest’s entire stay and replace all the towels with lavender ones. So now I’m left with a lifetime supply of these green towels, which can only be used when my dog is not around.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the embroidered logo of the inn on the green fabric—a weeping willow tree inside a circle. And above it, right on my chest, a tattoo of the same design—my first.
Sometimes I wonder what Mom was thinking when she named me Willow, a tree that practically screams grief. Not that I’d ever ask her about it. I already know she carries enough guilt about my childhood. No point in adding more.
But damn if it doesn’t feel fitting right now. My life feels like it’s been stuck in a downward spiral, and all I want is one sign—just one—that things are going to start looking up.
I’m still lost in thought when my phone buzzes, sending a shiver throughout me that has nothing to do with the cold. My heart does this annoying little skip, and for a second I let myself hope, before wrapping myself in a bathrobe and heading for the bed and grabbing my phone.
And now I have a full-blown blender in my chest running at full speed.
It’s Parker, my lawyer.
I texted him earlier, asking about our chances against Gio and Raymond, hoping for some good news.
Parker: Hi, Willow. I spoke to a few colleagues and my mentor. Unfortunately, even with your grandfather’s doctor’s letters, your case isn’t strong. Like I said before, your best option is to talk it out with your cousin or the buyer.
Well, that hope didn’t last long. My stomach drops, and I flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like maybe it’ll give me some answers.
Then, my phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number: Hi, Willow. This is Quill. I had the best day, and I love my new nails.
A smile sneaks onto my face, despite the day I’ve had.
Me: Hey, Quill! I’m glad you had fun. I love my nails too.
I press send, and then it hits me—isn’t Quill too young to be texting?
Me: Aren’t you a little young to be texting me perfectly spelled sentences?
Three little bubbles appear, and my stomach does a weird flutter as I wait for the reply.
