Under The Willows (Jackson Bay #1)

by Ciara Shayee

Piper giggles, shaking her head like she expected nothing else. “Still into your hot food, huh? I swear I learned to love spice through you. Mom and Dad bitch about tikka masala being too hot.”

  Now that, I knew already. I laugh, sitting on an upturned, empty beer barrel. “Did they tell you about the night my meal accidentally got switched with your dad’s and he ended up with my phal?”

  “Oh my God…no!” Amusement has Piper cracking up. “Tell me everything! How much did he eat before he realized?”

  “Only a little,” I admit, unable to stifle my smile at the memory, and her laugh…it’s infectious. I’ve never seen Carson so red—not before or since. “He commented on how it smelled ‘like fire,’ but tried it anyway. As soon as mine was put in front of me, I realized what had happened.”

  Wiping tears from her eyes, Piper sags against the wall as she catches her breath. It’s almost pitch-black, stiflingly hot even at this time of night, and she’s clearly exhausted, but there’s no missing how pretty she is in the low glow of the moonlight sneaking into the alley. It smells like trash and it’s not the nicest of places to hang out for a chat, but if I ignore all that, it’s sort of easy to get lost in Piper’s insanely piercing eyes and contagious cheerfulness.

  “Right,” she sighs. “I better head home. It takes me half an hour on a good day, and Arlo is on a no-nap streak, so I can’t count on getting my head down to save me.” Twisting her hair back into some kind of messy knot, she offers me a tired smile. It’s only then that I notice the smudges under her glassy eyes. She looks shattered. “Thanks for the chat.”

  This isn’t right. I mean, shit. She’s a tiny slip of a girl—no, woman—and only wackos are out at this time of night. I battle with myself for a beat, clearing my throat as she opens the door to the back of Vaughn’s.

  “I’ll give you a ride.” Her eyes widen just enough for me to realize my innuendo. “Home! I’ll give you a ride home.” Raking a hand through my hair, which feels pretty gross even to me after a night slaving away in the hot kitchen, I grimace. “I should head home anyway. Jones and Kelly can finish the clear-down without me supervising.”

  Piper has always been an open book. Her thoughts play out across her face, so I see the moment she accepts this as the most sensible option. The safest, too. I’ll bet Carson has no idea she was planning to walk home at this time of night. I’m doing him, and Piper, a favor. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I felt an indescribable pang at the thought of her leaving. It’s purely because I don’t want her to walk home alone, that’s all. That’s all it is.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out. I was borrowing Dad’s car, but Rosie asked to use it today, and she needs it more than I do.”

  I don’t agree, but it’s not my place to get involved.

  “I’m sure. I just need to grab a couple things from my office and make sure the other two are all right.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll lock up and come meet you out front.”

  I wait for her to head back inside before going back into the restaurant. Music is still blaring from the kitchen speakers when I get there. Jones has a saucepan in his hands as he pretends to play the guitar, and Kelly’s using a hand whisk as a microphone.

  “For fuck’s sake.”

  “KP! Come be frontman,” Kelly demands, lowering her ‘mic.’

  “I’ll pass, but thanks,” I drawl, pointedly glancing at the dishes still on the rack and then at the dry mop and empty bucket across the room. Crossing my arms across my chest, I cock my head. “Am I paying you to do your jobs or act like dicks?”

  “Act like dicks,” Jones and Kelly chime without missing a beat.

  Fuckin’ children I’m employing.

  “You know what? I don’t care. I’m not on openin’ tomorrow.”

  Jones’s smile fades pretty quick, ‘cause…

  “Shit. I’m opening up, aren’t I? Damn.”

  As Kelly taunts him for being a dumbass, I head back out of the kitchen and cross the hall to my office. There are a few files I want to take home to look over, and I need to work out a new schedule now Brayden’s gonna be off for a few weeks with Ashley and the new baby, so I grab those and decide I might as well send my lazy, good-for-nothin’ staff home for the night. It’s just past one now, and Jones can sort out the last few things when he comes to start prep in the morning.

  A silhouette in the doorway scares the shit out of me before I can make it to the kitchen.

  “Motherfucker!” I spit, realizing a second later that I recognize the pinky-red hair catching the little light spilling in from the streetlights.

  “Sorry! The door was unlocked…” Piper murmurs, stepping closer so her guilty smile is illuminated by the neon lights on the wall. “Judging by that face, I’m guessing the door wasn’t meant to be unlocked,” she continues with a giggle.

  “No,” I grumble, raising my voice enough that I know Jones and Kelly will hear me. “The fuckin’ door wasn’t meant to be left unlocked!”

  They fall silent for a beat before Kelly starts laughing and Jones joins us out in the hall. “Sorry, KP, that’s my bad. Oh, hey, Piper. How ya doin’?”

  “I’m good, thanks. How’s the new place treating you?”

  Not for the first time, I’m jealous of how Piper seems to find it easy slotting into any social situation. More so in the last few years, I find it hard to be around people. Piper…she shines. Even tired, as she obviously is, her face radiates her enthusiasm and focus as she listens to Jones ranting about the water heater at his new place—which broke the first week he moved in—and the awesome paint job he did on his bedroom—which he didn’t actually do. That would be yours truly.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re a regular David Bailey,” I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck as Piper focuses those steel gray peepers on me and smiles so big and wide she flashes her teeth. She obviously gets the joke. Jones, however, does not.

  Frowning, he cocks his head like a confused puppy. “Who’s David Bailey?”

  “Never you mind, young padawan,” Piper coos, patting his cheek.

  “All right,” I sigh. “Let’s get goin’.”

  Looking between us with an increasingly shit-eating grin, Jones waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, I see how it is.”

  My glower is enough to convince him not to go there with me tonight. He schools his expression, wishing us a good night.

  Peering down at Piper, I can’t help but be in awe. She looks shattered, but she’s still smiling as Jones pulls her in for a one-armed hug. “See ya, Jones.” Leaning into the kitchen, she calls out a “hi, bye” to Kelly before facing me. “Okay, I’m good to go whenever you are.”

  Nodding, I raise an eyebrow at Jones. He chuckles and turns to rejoin Kelly. “I get it, I get it. I’ll make sure everythin’ gets done, KP. Don’t get your Calvins in a wad.”

  “Fuckin’ jokester. No tips for you this week.”

  My furrowed brows pull tighter as he snorts, not even bothering to look back at me.

  “Night, Mr. Executive Chef, Sir. Sweet dreams!”

  “I get no damn respect around here.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’re a soft touch, Mr. Executive Chef, Sir,” Piper teases as we head for the door, copying my staff’s annoying nickname for me. It started when Bethany got me new chef whites for Christmas one year and had them monogrammed with ‘Executive Chef,’ which Jones occasionally shortens to ‘EC.’

  I lock up behind us, knowing Jones is staying with Kelly in her apartment above the restaurant. They think they’re so stealthy, but if they really didn’t want me to figure them out, Jones shouldn’t waltz in for his shift with an overnight bag, and they really shouldn’t fool themselves into thinking the sound of the grill drowns out their flirty whispering.

  “I’m no soft touch, I’ll have you know.” And that would have been more convincing if I hadn’t whined it like a toddler. Fuck. “I’m a hardass boss, all mean and shit.”


  Piper snorts, following the beep and flashing lights when I hit the button on my fob to unlock the Jeep. It’s still hot as Hades out here, so before I even think about moving, I have the A/C running. Piper’s sigh of relief as she leans forward to within an inch of the vents makes me grin.

  “I’m a bit out of practice with this heat,” she admits, shooting me a sheepish smile. “I was in England for nine summers and it was never this hot, I swear.”

  “Maybe coming back in the height of summer wasn’t easing yourself in all that gently.”

  Laughing, she sits back in her seat to buckle up. “You’re right, I didn’t think that through, did I?” With a quiet sigh, she explains, “Once I made the decision to move back, I just couldn’t wait.”

  She’s been home for nearly three weeks now, but this is the first time I’ve really had the opportunity—or inclination—to ask what brought her back. I mean, by all accounts, she’s had a great time in England. School, friends, boyfriends. Or at least one, anyway.

  Carson and Bethany are under the misguided impression that I can’t take care of myself and require feeding regularly, just like a pet they might look in on when their neighbors go on vacation or something, so everything I know about Piper’s time in England, I know from them. They’d often pass the time I spent with them lamenting the distance between them and their daughter, and later, their grandsons. That’s how I have a rough idea of how the last nine years have gone down for her.

  I mean, I won’t lie, I didn’t always listen as much as I could have. There’s only so many times I can hear ‘I wish she were closer’ and ‘why did she have to move away?’ before I can’t help but tune out.

  But I do know the boys’ have Piper’s surname, and there aren’t any parents I know who’d stay on one continent if their kids were moving to another. There’s a story there.

  That said, I’ve never been one to pry. God knows I hate it when other people try to get into my head.

  The streets are, as I suspected, mostly deserted. As I drive in the direction of Carson and Bethany’s house, my eyes dart over to Piper. She’s staring out of the window, her head against the headrest, and the curve of her smile just visible.

  I wonder what’s making her smile like that.

  “So it wasn’t the weather that called you home,” I start, immediately cringing. I’ve never been one for idle chit-chat, and it shows. Silence is my unwanted but familiar friend these days. Making conversation for the sake of it is definitely not my thing.

  “Was it the sandy beaches? The nightlife?”

  “I’m a single mom to three little boys. Clubbing isn’t exactly on my list of priorities,” she points out wryly, rolling her head to face me. I feel the gentle puff of air on the side of my face and neck as she sighs. “There were some nice beaches near where we lived, but we went to a place called Camber Sands a few times. It was a bit further away, but the beaches were gorgeous.”

  Pulling up at a stoplight, I turn away from the drunk girls staggering across the crosswalk in time to see Piper’s nostalgic smile. “Finn loved the dunes. I’ve got videos of him climbing up just to roll right back down. I’ll show you sometime.”

  My stomach twists, a pang of something indescribable hitting me square in the chest. Reaching up to rub the ache, I refocus on the road. The light turns green, but it’s not the road ahead I’m seeing.

  Sandy dunes, sun-kissed smiles, and seagulls shrieking overhead. Sticky-fingered tickle fights and melodic giggles as we skid and slide through the sand…

  The rock in the pit of my stomach doesn’t shift as we continue our journey. I can feel Piper’s eyes on me but I refuse to meet them until we roll to a stop outside her parents’ house. She wears an ever-so-slight frown, her eyes tired but alight with curiosity.

  Always so curious, this one.

  “I guess I’ll see you Saturday,” I finally say when she makes no move to get out of the car.

  “Saturday?”

  My lips twitch up on one side. “At brunch?”

  “Right, brunch.” She blows out a big breath. “Thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s no problem.” Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I know I’m coming off like a rude, impatient motherfucker, but I can’t help it. I’m itching for the solitude of my own thoughts and an escape from her probing gaze. It’s like ants are crawling under my skin.

  After an awkward pause, she reaches for the handle and climbs out of the Jeep. “So, bye, then.”

  Before she can close the door, I call her name, biting my tongue immediately after. “Don’t walk home alone. Which days do you work late?”

  She looks confused—either at my words, my gruff tone, or both—but murmurs the answer anyway. “Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

  I work both of those, generally.

  “Come to Burger Co. when you’re done. I’ll bring you home.”

  “Kellan, you don’t need to—”

  “Please, don’t argue, just…” Rolling my neck side to side, I wait for it to click. There we go. “I don’t want to even imagine Carson’s reaction if he finds out I know you’re planning to walk home at stupid o’clock.” Cocking my head, I ask a question I already know the answer to. “He thinks you’re getting a cab, right?”

  The slight flush of pink on her cheeks says everything. “It’s possible. Rosie has to travel around the next couple of weeks, but I can walk to and from work easily enough, it just takes a hot sec. I can’t expect you to drive me around every time I have a late shift.”

  Pressing my foot down just a fraction, the engine revs loud enough she won’t push it; her parents, sisters, and sons are asleep inside, after all.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Come by when you’re done, please. I’ll be expecting you.” To lighten the moment, I try out a small smile. “You can be our taste tester for the new menu if you get done in time.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll see you just after eleven.”

  With a light tap of her hand on the side of the Jeep, she quietly closes the door and jogs up the porch steps to her parents’ door. The porch with its mums in hand-painted pots and a brightly colored plaque announcing that the Fitzgeralds live here is a stark contrast to the way some of the other homes alongside it scream wealth.

  As Piper opens the front door, she casts a quick look over her shoulder. I see the shadowed curve of her smile and manage one of my own when she offers a quick wave before ducking inside.

  Alone with my thoughts, I head home. It’s a short drive, ten minutes max, but it’s enough to feel the familiar ache of dread settling into my bones. By the time I pull up outside, I’ve forgotten all about Piper’s confused eyes as I insisted on driving her home, the way her perfume lingers in my car, and how I didn’t actually want to leave her.

  The motion sensor switches on the lights that illuminate the edges of the path, but I know the way like the back of my hand. I trudge up the wooden steps and fumble my keys before getting the right one in the hole. Once I’m inside, I can breathe, but each inhale weighs heavily on my chest.

  The lavender air freshener on the console table ran out years ago, but the phantom scent infiltrates my nostrils anyway; much like the sounds of laughter in the kitchen at the end of the hall and infuriatingly cheerful children’s music from the living room to my right.

  It’s all fake, all in my head.

  My feet follow the sounds regardless.

  Flipping the kitchen light on, it takes me a moment to focus. A moment for the dancing silhouette to disappear and the dishes I let stack up take her place. For the booster seat at the island to empty and the chime of “honey, you’re home” to leave my ears.

  Loneliness lands like a lead balloon in my chest, but this is my life now.

  Silent, lonely, and empty.

  Six

  Kellan

  Like every other morning, I’m up, dressed, and showered before the sun is completely over the ho
rizon.

  As I dunk a Twix in my coffee on the back porch, my eyes leap the fence at the foot of the yard to trail over the rolling waves, following them right up to the shore where they end in foamy spray. The sound of the ocean calms me, it always has.

  When I can’t procrastinate anymore—when my mug and candy wrapper are empty—I sigh, heading inside with a clack of the screen door. The pastel pink gift bag on the counter immediately catches my eye.

  It’s a girl!

  I remember a time when the island was covered in pink everything, from glittery bags to wrapped gifts to cards. It was like a candy floss factory threw up over my kitchen. Women squealing, pink balloons, more baby paraphernalia than I’d ever know what to do with…

  Rubbing my chest, I rifle through the bag for the card my sister-in-law helped me pick out when she and Lucas visited with my nephew, Matty, last week. Sabrina said she didn’t trust my judgement. To be fair, I don’t blame her. The frilly, flowery pink card she chose is nothing like what I would have gone for.

  The blank interior makes me pause.

  What do I write?

  Faint memories of reading cards exactly like this one give me things like congratulations on your healthy baby girl!

  But they don’t always stay healthy.

  My mind remains void of inspiration, so I put the card back down and go find the gifts I bought instead. Once the crate of beer I got for Brayden and the hamper of girly shit for Ashley is in the trunk, I can’t avoid the other task any longer. I finally settle for writing congratulations and signing my name at the bottom.

  Just as I toss the pen back in the cup on the counter, my cell pings.

  Hey man. We’re all good here. Come over whenever you’re ready – Brayden

  Shooting a quick text back to say I’ll be there in an hour, it takes all my energy to suck in a deep breath, tuck the card into the gift bag with the ‘essentials’ Sabrina also picked out, and carry it out to the car to join the stuff for the new baby’s parents. I’ve got to stop off at the restaurant before I do anything else, so that’s where I head first.