Page 76 of The Serendipity

“At least twice.”

She grins up at me, but as our eyes meet, the smile slowly fades into a softer, more serious expression. Tender.

“You seem to have a way with babies,” she says, her voice a little shaky.

I shake my head, not letting my gaze leave hers for a moment. “This is the first.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not many babies in my world. But I rather like this one. Though if he or she had teeth, I might feel differently.” The baby is gnawing at its own hand, and I’m grateful my finger is protected in its fist, though I’m not safe from drool.

“Willa! Oh, thank heavens,” Angie appears, having flung the sliding door right off its track. “I thought Jeff lost Baba.”

“Baba?” Willa says.

“The baby you’re holding, silly. Bring her inside.”

Willa and I exchange a look as we move toward the house, stepping awkwardly since the baby is still in her arms but not releasing my hands.

“I hope that’s a nickname,” Willa whispers, leaning close to the baby and nuzzling her cheek. “Because you’re going to have a long, hard road ahead of you if not.”

Inside, Angie manages to disentangle us both from the baby—whose name really better not be Baba—and then disappears back outside.

The kitchen looks newly renovated and still smells of fresh paint. We’re totally alone. But now that I realize how loud it was in the backyard, the quiet is refreshing.

“She was supposed to pay me, but …” Willa hesitates, glancing toward the sliding door, which Angie must have gotten back on its track. Willa looks just as eager to go back outside as I feel. “Let’s just go.”

I hate the idea of Willa not getting paid. But when she grabs my hand, I’m the one forgetting. Because I like the feel of her palm sliding into mine. Her skin is warm and soft, and though this smacks of desperation to get out of here for fear of running into whomever she doesn’t want to see from her past, for me, it’s something else entirely.

To the point where I almost feel a little guilty enjoying it so much when Willa is clearly panicked about whomever she doesn’t want to see.

We’re almost to the front door when it swings open. The couple entering is looking at each other, not us, but I immediately recognize them from the grocery store.

Clearly, Willa’s ex and his fiancée are the ones she was hoping to avoid.

Willa yanks me to the left. We stumble through a door, and she quickly slams it behind us. We’re in a dim and very cramped half-bathroom. I know this because my hip is jammed right up against the pedestal sink. Willa is still holding my hand—crushing it in hers, really—and she takes her other and slaps it over my mouth.

“Shh,” she whispers.

I wasn’t going to say anything, but I don’t argue or pull away. We’re pressed together, almost as close as we were the night we were trying to escape the opossum. And just like that night, the air between us feels weighty and electric, like something is building, a storm gaining strength.

Voices pass outside the door, and without thinking, I reach behind me and flip the lock. Just in time, too, as the door handle rattles. Then there’s a knock.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice calls.

“Occupied!” Willa calls in a high falsetto that makes me snort.

Her eyes go right to mine, and she grins as the voices move away. There’s a loud, happy scream that sounds like Angie before there’s a thud like the sliding glass door shutting and then quiet.

A beat passes. Then two. Willa relaxes and starts to drop her hand away from my mouth.

I’m not sure what possesses me because I’ve never been …possessed. I grab Willa’s wrist, keeping her hand in place against my lips.

I don’t know what I’m doing. But that doesn’t stop me from doing it.

My breath is suddenly trapped behind my ribs. If I have any breath at all. And I’m not sure I do.

Willa’s eyes aresoblue. I don’t think I’ve seen a sky that compares. Even as her pupils expand, ink bleeding over a page until there’s only the smallest ring of navy at the edge.

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