Page 20 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“A bachelor can’t be tidy?”
“Not in my world.”
“Glad I don’t live in your world.” It’s a little harsh, but her comments feel judgmental.
There goes the little thread of peace we had.
In an unexpected move, Willa hops down, standing directly in front of me. I’ve got a good eight inches on her, and though her expression is penitent, she stands her ground. “I didn’t mean that. Or maybe I didn’t mean it as poorly as it came out. You’re an enigma, Beckett. Between the snow, the car crash, and you, I’m all out of sorts.”
“So, this isn’t your true personality?” I fire back, my comment having zero lead time to process.
She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. My fingers itch to pull it out. And she saysI’mthe enigma. Maybe I agree with her.
“I’d be lying if I said no. Well, at least currently. Before . . .” She shakes her head, her statements trailing off.
Standing so close to her, I notice the pain in her eyes, the murky storms swirling in her irises.
“Did someone hurt you, Willa?” I temper my voice, wanting her to know it’s okay to open up. Because clearly, we’re at this stage now. I roll my eyes at the idiocy of the notion.
To say I’m shocked when she answers, “Not on purpose,” is an understatement.
I hide away my shock, not letting her see I’m affected. I want to know more, ask more about what she means, but she steps back, putting up a wall of defense between us. Seems for every sliver of weakness, a concrete barricade is soon to follow.
“I have a question about your brother.”
“Shoot.”
“Does he have a cabin nestled in the woods to lure in his prey?” There’s not even a crack in her armor, not the tiniest chink. Her tone remains steady, with no traces of sarcasm or humor. It’s exactly the thing we need to slice the tension.
A hearty chuckle releases, and it frees up some of the bad juju in the room. At least for the time being.
“No cabin. But he lives in the basement of my parents’ house, which is super creepy if you ask me. Perhaps even more than a cabin.”
She lifts her hands in the air, raising and lowering them in rhythm. “Definitely a toss-up. Does he also decorate for the holiday?” She gags, almost choking on the words coming from her mouth.
“You think this is bad? His place is way worse. And he’s got more square footage. He’s been known to put uptwotrees.”
It was only once, but Willa doesn’t need to know that.
“Those poor trees. Having to live inside, drying up from the heat, the heavy ornaments on their branches . . . such disrespect.”
“Says you. Plenty of people disagree.” The room is stifling, the heat almost suffocating. I push from the counter, suddenly parched. “You want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Eggnog?”
Willa’s face pales. “Ew, gross. It’s a little late for caffeine, unless you’ve got some herbal tea.”
“Let me check. Sometimes my sister leaves a few bags here.” I search the pantry, pulling out a box of assorted flavors. Handing it to Willa, I encourage, “Check the expiration date. Autumn hasn’t crashed here in a while.”
She takes the box from my hands, examining the bottom. “Looks good. I’ll have this one.” She pulls out a lemon packet and sets the box on the counter. “How is it after midnight, and I’m not the least bit tired?”
“You did nap, and your body’s probably running on adrenaline. Plus, I’m here, entertaining you.”
“You are entertaining,” she confirms, much to my pleasure.
While the brownies bake, I boil water for her and pop open a beer for myself. She turns her nose up at the flavor: Winter Warmer Holiday Ale.
She’s all in on this hating Christmas thing.
After cooking, we let the brownies cool for ten minutes. I start on the dishes while Willa disappears from the kitchen. Shereturns in a pair of black-rimmed glasses. The frames are a bit oversized, but they only enhance her beauty.
