I’m cranky. Heartburn and headache made an appearance and decided to stay all night. Heartburn was the consequence of overeating pasta, and the headache was from the regret of possibly agreeing to move to Blue Beech.
I swing the front door open, and my temples throb at the sight of the world’s biggest asshole standing on the porch with white roses in his hand like he’s picking me up for prom.
“Nuh-uh, not today, Satan!” I yell before slamming the door in his face and locking it.
Someone must’ve spotted me at La Vista last night and told him I was in town.
Brett bangs on the other side. “Willow! At least talk to me!”
“Fuck you!” I yell back. “Go give those to one of the fifty women you fucked behind my back.”
“I have a key,” he warns. “Don’t you make me use it!”
“I have a baseball bat. Don’t you make me use it!”
He knocks a few more times. “I’ll be back. Don’t think I won’t. Every fucking day until I break you down.”
“That’s what they make restraining orders for!”
He knocks again. “I’ll be back.”
And then silence. Not surprising. Brett is one of the laziest men I know. He doesn’t like to work for anything, but he’ll try to sweet-talk me like he did every time I took him back in the past. Dealing with him is the last thing on my to-do list. Actually, not even on the list. He’s lazy but also irritating when he’s not getting his way. I’m guessing the woman he was cheating on me with got a glimpse of the real him and bailed. That means, he’s ready to run back to me.
Maybe I do need to get out of California, get some fresh air, and clear my head. I lean back against the front door as frustration builds in my head. I’m mentally cursing myself when I head back to my room.
I snatch my phone from the nightstand, nearly ripping it from my charger, and hit Dallas’s name, praying to God I don’t regret this tomorrow.
Me: Blue Beech. A trial run. That’s me compromising.
My phone beeps seconds later.
Dallas: Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.
I exit from his name and hit Stella’s.
Me: Hello, new neighbor!
Stella: YES! Team Stella for the win! You’re staying with me, BTW.
Me: Not happening, BTW.
Stella: Why? Don’t tell me you’re crashing at Dallas’s? How romantic.
Me: Are you nuts? I’m renting a place.
Staying with Dallas is not an option.
What would he tell his daughter? That I’m homeless and then—surprise!—I’m carrying your sibling?
Chapter Ten
Dallas
“But … but Auntie Lauren lets me have it,” Maven whines.
I snatch the coffee cup from my six-year-old, who is under the impression she’s a grown-up, and replace it with an organic apple juice box. “I’ll be having a conversation with Auntie Lauren.”
My sister’s idea of a well-balanced diet is iced coffee, margaritas, and deli sandwiches from the hospital’s vending machine.
She sits down at the table with a un-caffeinated frown at the same time I place a bowl of strawberry oatmeal in front of her. I promised Lucy that Maven would be taken care of, and that means making her eat balanced meals.
My days have gone from traveling the world with Hollywood’s elite to packing nutritious lunches, attending dance recitals, and reading the same bedtime stories for months on end.
But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Time is valuable. Hug your children. Kiss your wife. Make life your bitch because you never know when it’s going to turn on you.
I grab my phone and sit down next to Maven.
“What are you doing?” she asks before taking a bite of her oatmeal.
“Texting your aunt.”
“Tattletale,” she mutters with a frown.
Me: Mom and Dad paid for four years of nursing school, and you don’t know that kids shouldn’t have coffee? Your license needs to be revoked.
My phone beeps a few minutes later.
Lauren: Relax, old man. Unbeknownst to your caffeine-fiend spawn, I give her decaf. She wants to be my mini me, which I approve of.
My family has been the key to my survival. Lauren stepped up to be a mother figure to Maven when Lucy passed.
Me: That’s scary. Is the apartment underneath you still vacant?
The struggling musician who lived underneath her got evicted last month for playing music all day and night. She threw a party in celebration when he left.
Lauren: Depends on why you’re asking. If it’s for a dude in a band, then no.
Me: Give me your landlord’s number.
Lauren: WHY?
Jesus, they might be my backbones, but they are damn nosy.
Me: I need to find a place for Willow.
Lauren: Holy shit! She’s moving here? The apartment is open. I can’t wait to have a front row seat to your guys’ drama!
Me: Send me the damn number.
I grab Maven’s backpack, and she gets into my truck at the same time Lauren sends me the number. I wait until I drop Maven off at my parents’ before calling Lauren’s landlord, Fred. He gives me the good news that the apartment is vacant but is unwilling to put a hold on it for me, so I drive to his office and pay the security deposit.
The apartment comes fully furnished, but I decide to take a peek at it before Willow moves in. I’ll do anything in my power to make sure she’s comfortable here.
It’s a damn good thing I did.
“I need help,” I tell Hudson when he answers my call.
“With what?” he asks.
“Getting Willow’s apartment together. I’ll also need some input from Stella.”
He takes a deep breath, almost sounding surprised. “So, you’re really doing this, huh? Moving Willow here?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“No, I thought she wouldn’t. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Chapter Eleven
Willow
Lauren pops the trunk and steps out of her over-the-top pink Mustang when I walk out of the airport. The car is hideous yet has a certain appeal to her.
“You know, I’m confused,” she says, helping me with my bags and then throwing her hands on her hips in question, as if I can read her mind as to what she’s confused about.
One thing I admire about Lauren is her inability to bullshit. She might just barely be grazing five feet, but she’ll ask you straight up instead of gossiping behind your back.
I slam the trunk shut. “Confused about what?”
She doesn’t answer my question until we’re in the car. “On why you’ll screw my brother but refuse to let him pick you up from the airport.”
It’s a three-hour drive to Blue Beech, and I asked Lauren to pick me up instead of Dallas, so I wouldn’t have to spend hours alone with him, answering questions. I have the impression it might not be much different with his sister.
I fix my glare on her. “Haven’t you ever had a one-night stand?”
“I live in a town with a population of six hundred. Half of the men were married off before their balls dropped. There’s no one to have a one-night stand with.” She pauses to give me a side-eye. “I guess I can’t speak for everyone.”
“Oh, kiss my ass,” I grumble, rubbing my eyes.
Sleep hasn’t been my friend lately, and I had an early flight. I doubt I’ll be able to unwind when I get to Blue Beech either.
“Did he do that, too?” She laughs when I flip her off. “You kinky kids, you.”
“I wish you had never found out,” I grumble.
“Secrets don’t make friends,” she sings out, gearing the car in drive.
“They sure can keep them though.”
She tips her thumb toward my growing belly. “That, my friend, would be a mighty hard secret to keep.”
I made a list of lies when my first pregnancy test came out positive. IVF treatme
nt. Secretly adopted a baby. A one-night stand, and I didn’t get the guy’s name. The last one is technically only a half-lie.
I slump down in my seat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Doing what? Moving to the best place in the world and being surrounded by delightful company? We’re going to be neighbors. That, my dear, will be the highlight of your life.”
“No, I can’t believe I packed up and moved to a town void of takeout sushi but also where I’ll be labeled a widower-chasing tramp. Might as well pin a scarlet letter to my chest and call it a day.”
“You can’t be serious.” She peeks over at me, her amused smile fading into concern. “Willow, no one is going to call you a widower-chaser. I mean, not to your face at least.” She pauses to give me a cheesy grin. “Although it does have a nice ring to it. Willow the Widower-Chaser.”
“That’s it. Turn this pink puss car around.”
I yelp at the sound of the door locking. “Prepare for a three-hour drive filled with prying questions and nineties hip-hop. I hope you’re a Snoop Dogg fan.”
“Wow, this is a nice place.”
I drop my bag onto the mahogany wood floor and explore my new apartment. It’s an older building with a floor plan similar to Lauren’s, except mine is a two bedroom and has more space. Something like this would cost a kidney in LA. My mom told me I was choosing to live in rich-people poverty when I moved there.
A fresh coat of taupe paint covers the walls, and an exposed brick fireplace is at the front of the living room with a flat screen TV mounted above it. The furniture is new, and decorative touches are scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. A red-and-black-checkered throw is thrown over the back of the couch, and succulents are placed on the end tables to each side of it.
“Thank you for talking to your landlord, putting down the deposit, and getting everything in order on such short notice,” I say to Lauren, pulling my purse up from the floor by the strap. I rummage through it in search of my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
Her hand goes up, stopping me. “Put your wallet away. Thank Dallas. This was all him.”
I give the apartment another once-over. “What? How?”
Blame it on the loser I dated for nearly a decade, but my mind can’t wrap around a man doing this for me. I guess Stella wasn’t lying when she said small-town guys were a different breed.
“Ask him. In the meantime, get yourself settled in. I have a double shift in a few hours and need to hit the shower. Text me if you need anything, neighbor.”
I smile. She made a six-hour round trip to pick me up and then has to pull a double. “Have fun. Thank you for the ride. I owe you one.”
“I got you, girl,” is all she says before winking and waving good-bye.
I scoop up my bags and take them into the bedroom when I hear the door shut. Just like the rest of the apartment, the bedroom is spacious. Settling my suitcase on the cream-upholstered king-size bed, I start to unpack.
I let my mom watch Scooby for a few weeks, so I could get settled in and check with the landlord if pets were allowed. Only a few bags came with me on the flight, and I’m having my other stuff and car shipped. I have a baby on the way and am not handing an airline my savings to have a few extra bras.
I drop the shirt I’m hanging up at the sound of the doorbell.
“You forget something?” I ask, opening the door. I stumble back when I don’t see Lauren.
Dallas is standing in front of me, shoulders broad and square, wearing a red-buffalo-plaid flannel that nearly matches the throw on my couch, dark jeans with holes in both knees that hug his legs, and brown boots. My heart races, and I can’t stop myself from running a finger over my lips.
Shit. Pregnancy hormones are making an appearance. They seem to be well acquainted with him.
Dallas has the efficacy to pull off attractiveness with this casual demeanor better than any man wearing an expensive suit. My ex was a hipster wannabe who regularly sported holey jeans, beanies, and flannels. He was a generic version of the real thing—Dallas. He’s no wannabe. He’s this rugged, down-to-earth man who has no idea how wet he makes my panties.
I smooth down my hair and shyly smile. “Hey,” I say in nearly a whisper.
Tension bleeds through the air like an open wound. Our last face-to-face conversation wasn’t exactly pretty.
His thick lips curl up. “If it isn’t Blue Beech’s newest resident.”
“Temporary resident,” I correct, scooting to the side. My back brushes against the wall as I give him enough room to step into the apartment and shut the door.
His scent, a light evergreen that reminds me of a vacation lodge deep in the mountains where you never want to leave, hangs in the air like smoke as he skims the living room. “You getting settled in okay?”
A few inches separate us, and I play with my hands in front of me, nervousness climbing up my spine. We haven’t been alone like this since that night with the small exception of the women’s restroom at the airport, which has the privacy that’s equivalent to one in prison.
“I haven’t had a chance to find a place for everything yet, but the apartment is gorgeous. I can’t believe you did all of this. Thank you.”
He stares over at me, his eyes flashing with victory and satisfaction. “Thank you for moving here.”
I draw in a sharp breath when he edges closer into my space, standing in front of me, as if he’s geared to tell me a secret. Being too close for comfort seems to be his thing, which I find completely unnecessary. This isn’t L.A. The square footage is out of this world, dude.
“You have no idea how much I fucking appreciate it.”
I shrug off his gratitude and laugh. “I needed a getaway for a while anyway. Nothing like a vacation before delivering a baby.”
He chuckles lightly. “Just a vacation, huh?”
I nod.
He runs his boots back and forth over the hardwood floor. “I stopped by to make sure you showed up and weren’t planning on bailing again.”
I hold out my arms. “I’m here, in the flesh, breathing and everything.”
“I also wanted to see what you might be doing tomorrow night.”
Like I have big plans here?
“Most likely, unpacking.”
“Perfect, you’re free. I’m taking Maven to the fair tomorrow. Come with us.”
Is he nuts? He wants me to hang out with not only him, but also his daughter?
“The fair?” I scrunch up my face. “Like vomit-inducing, spinning rides and honky-tonks?”
“No.” He pauses. “I mean, yes to the rides, no to the honky-tonks. You watch too many movies.”
“I work for movie stars. Watching their movies is part of my job.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll have to pass.”
“Come on, who doesn’t like the fair?”
“I’ve never been to one.”
His lips tilt into a half-smile, and he opens the front door, patting the inside of it. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Wait!”
“Have a good night, Willow.”
The door slams shut behind him.
Chapter Twelve
Willow
Three Months Ago
“Want to dance?”
Dallas and I both flinch at my question.
Did those words leave my mouth?
This whiskey shit is messing with my insanity. I shouldn’t want to dance with Dallas. I definitely shouldn’t be feeling this weird pull between us after only a few hours of drinking together.
Lauren stopped by our table earlier to give me a ride back to Stella’s, but I wasn’t ready to end my time with Dallas. Turned out, neither was he. He offered to walk me back to Hudson’s on his way home. Surprisingly, Lauren didn’t find it weird and took off.
The place is close to empty, except for the few lone rangers at the end of the bar, and the band left with their armful of groupies. The music has been d
owngraded to static-infused country songs coming from an old jukebox in the corner of the room.
He stares at me with hooded eyes, and I wave my hand in the air as rejection slaps me in my stupid, drunken face.
“Forget it,” I rush out, beating him to the punch. “Of course you don’t.” This will mortify me when my senses come back in the morning.
He holds his fist to his mouth and lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not really up for dancing.”
He jumps up from his stool, and I avert my eyes to the tabletop.
This is where he bails. Do they have Uber around here?
His tall frame towers over me, and I jump when his strong hand grabs my chin to tilt it up.
Our gaze meets, latching on to each other’s in a strong hold, and he lowers his voice. “But I will for you.”
His fingertips smooth over my chin as he waits for my answer, and my brain goes fuzzy. Every person and every noise disappears around us.
“Never mind,” I stutter out, not sure if my words are even audible. “It’s okay. I’m a terrible dancer anyway.”
His hand disappears, and he bends down, so his lips are at my ear. “Get up, Willow.”
I shudder at the feel of his breath against my skin, goose bumps popping up my neck.
“You’ve been answering my Tinder questions and listening to me be a miserable bastard all night. I owe you a dance.”
“Are … are you sure?”
“Positive. Hell, I need it as much as you.”
I take his hand and slide off my barstool. “Lead the way.”
His grip is tight. Secure. I keep my eyes downcast, so I don’t see the expressions on people’s faces when they see him dancing with someone who’s not her.
Judgmental eyes won’t ruin my night.
My heart races when his hand leaves mine, and he swoops his arm around my back, looping it around my waist. His hand settles on the arch right above my ass, and he starts moving us to the beat of the music.
Just One Night Page 6