Page 44 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“Pan-seared steak with rosemary.”
“Oh, damn. Was it as mouthwatering as the pictures?”
“It was better,” Willa pipes in, finding her voice. To Shania, she says, “The first book in the series will always be my favorite. When AJ figures out it was the bus driver . . . even I didn’t see that coming.”
Shania lights up. “That’s my favorite part of that book. I had no clue it was her!”
“Why’s your tree dark?” my sister wonders.
“Yeah, and your outside lights are off, too,” Shania adds, walking toward the switch. “Oh, the switch is off. Weird.” She flicks it, bathing the room in the glow from outside. But does she stop there? Oh no. She walks to the tree and turns that on, too. “Ah, much better.”
Before I can react, Willa pushes her chair out, rushing off to the bathroom with an “Excuse me.”
Once the door’s closed, Autumn jokes, “Hope it wasn’t the meal.”
If she only knew.
13
willa
Panic infiltratesand a sick feeling eclipses me. Slamming the door shut a little harder than necessary, I lean against it, sliding to the floor. I kick my legs out in front of me, breathing heavy.
“Do not vomit. Do not vomit.” I repeat the affirmation over and over out loud, willing the contents of the delicious dinner to stay inside where they belong.
I begin counting, controlling my breathing, clawing out from the wave of destruction attempting to wash me out to sea. Everything blurs for a moment, and when the dust settles, I determine it’s embarrassment driving these emotions.
Not fear.
Not anxiety.
Pure humiliation.
I can’t let Beckett’s sister and niece see me like this. Oh my god, if she only knew my identity.
I about tossed my cookies when she recognized my sweatshirt. And then she professed her love for the books.Mybooks. Now I’m glad I didn’t tell her. And I respect Beckett for keeping the secret as well.
A knock comes on the door. “Willa? They’re gone. I turned offthe lights as soon as they left the driveway. It’s safe to come out now.”
What did I do in life to deserve this man? He’s rescued me—literally, saved me from being stranded—he’s fed me way more delicious meals than I’m used to eating in a month, and he doesn’t demand to know my business. Oh, and he’s super accommodating about my hatred of his favorite holiday. Who does that?
“Why are you so kind to me? I’ve done nothing to show you I deserve your kindness.”
“It’s who I am. You don’t owe me anything, and I’ll still be kind to you.”
I believe that to be true. In the short time I’ve known him, he’s proven it several times.
One might even say a plethora.
I laugh at my joke, the action cathartic.
“Can I come in?” he asks from the other side of the door.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I came out?”
“Are you ready?”
“Not really.”
