Page 29 of The Problem with Falling
“You can have my cookies in the fridge. Sober up before the party.”
“And then I can go fishing with you?” she asked with hope in her eyes.
“Nope.”
After fishingfor less than an hour, I’d received a text message from Peter asking me where Willow was. He said he’d shown up at the house and there was no answer. I sat in the middle of the lake, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. I’d also wished that Peter wouldn’t text me. The only reason his number wasn’t blocked was because if something happened to his son, Jensen, I’d want to know. Otherwise, I’d tell him to fuck all the way off.
I read his message repeatedly but didn’t reply.
She’s fine, I told myself, looking in the direction of my place.She’s a grown-up.
That was putting it nicely, though. She was hardly an adult when it came to her livelihood, and she lived as if she wasn’t terrified of death. Diving naked off cliffs in the middle of the night. Eating random brownies from strangers. Considering dates with fucking Peter.
Willow was the definition of childlike, just like Grandma. That stressed me out more than anything. It was like havinga toddler who had to touch everything and talk to everyone. I bet Grandma put PaPa through the wringer when they were younger. Whenever I asked if Grandma was a handful for PaPa, he’d smile and shrug. “What can I say? She’s my vibrant rainbow.”
I wasn’t one for much color in my life. I liked my neutrals.
I kept staring at the house.
I’d hardly caught any fish.
She’s fine. She’s good. She’s an independent woman.
“Dammit,” I muttered once before packing things up to head back toward the house to check on the problem child. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fish in peace while wondering if she was okay. Sure, I was an asshole, but I wasn’t a massive asshole. Just a regular ole asshole.
Besides, Grandma would murder me if anything happened to Willow. Then she’d bring me back to life to murder me again.
After docking the boat, I headed inside and called out her name. “Willow. You all right?” I asked, walking through the space. I moved through the house, checked her bedroom, and when I saw she wasn’t in there, a tinge of panic filled the pit of my stomach.
She didn’t go wandering in the woods by herself high, did she?
I wouldn’t put it past the freaking fairy. She was probably hugging trees and talking to frogs. Little Snow White.
Right before I went into a full-blown panic, I glanced down at the floor and saw a trail.
A trail of cookie crumbs.
Following the trail of crumbs, I ended up outside my guest bathroom. I took a breath and knocked. “Willow? You good?” I heard movement, and the anxiety building in my chest began to settle down. Yet she still didn’t respond. “Willow?”
“Yes?” she whispered.
“You good?”
No response.
I stood taller. “Can I come in?”
A long pause before she replied, “Sure.”
As I turned the doorknob, I glanced across the bathroom space and saw Willow sitting in the bathtub with the container of cookies in her hands, a bag of Spicy Nacho Doritos in her lap, and bloodshot eyes.
I almost cracked a smile at the ridiculousness of it all.
She frowned slightly toward me and whispered again, “I actually had five brownies, and I think I’m dying.”
A smile was cracked.
This fucking woman.
