by Becky Wade
Vickie twisted her lips skeptically. “I don’t think it’s likely that Foster’s left a string of dead and missing women behind him. That’s the type of thing people tend to notice. And Foster’s a very public man.”
Willow stomped hard on her brake pedal the next morning as she was leaving Bradfordwood for the inn.
The entirety of Bradfordwood’s massive front gate had been covered in zigzags of toilet paper.
Why would anyone . . .
Ah, of course. She knew why. And she knew who.
Another of her ground rules, broken.
Her jaw sagged as she considered Corbin’s handiwork. The gate was ten feet tall and composed of decorative wrought iron. He must’ve arrived here very early, because it had to have taken a long time to weave the strands of toilet paper through the bars in such a snug pattern. The pattern was so snug, she couldn’t see through it to the road.
What was that red square? She narrowed her eyes. A piece of paper?
She hopped from her car, then plucked the red square, which was indeed a piece of paper, from where it had been tied to the toilet paper.
Willow,
I couldn’t get to your house, so I toilet-papered your gate. You know why.
—Corbin
P.S. I’ll come back later and clean it up.
A giggle bubbled from her. He was an inveterate rule breaker, which didn’t suit her at all because she was a rule follower. But he did have nerve. A whole lot of nerve. She’d give him that.
After climbing back into her car, she sent him a text message. I see you’ve vandalized my property. Am I going to have to file a restraining order against you now?
Corbin replied: Heck no. I only wanted to make you laugh.
Willow was browning sausage at the inn Friday morning when she caught sight of Corbin walking toward the back door. Her heart executed the same type of expand-and-tingle thing it had done each time she’d caught sight of him from a distance back when they’d been together.
Shoot. The expand-and-tingle was an ominous sign.
She unlocked the back door, and he entered wearing a black tracksuit and white baseball cap, carrying a square box. He smelled like pine trees in winter and looked like temptation.
“No crazy stalker fans around?” he asked.
“You’re the only one so far this morning.”
He laughed. “Based on the cars in the lot, it seems to me like you still have plenty of guests, even after cancelling the reservations that were made following that college guy’s tweet.”
“Yes. Luckily, a lot of our guests made their travel plans far in advance. The inn won’t be quite as full as usual between now and Thanksgiving, but my mom has assured me that she doesn’t mind.”
“Just like I knew she wouldn’t.” Looking self-satisfied, he pulled a stunning breakfast cake from the box. “The lady at The Griddle told me this is their most popular item. It’s cranberry nut something or other. I was hoping your guests might like it.”
“Thank you. I’m sure they will.”
“You’re actually going to accept something from me without a fight?” he asked teasingly.
“I almost never turn down breakfast pastries.” Shiny glaze cascaded down the sides of the tall cake, which made the carrot muffins she’d purchased earlier look like poor relations in comparison.
She used a wooden spoon to break apart the sausage.
“What can I do to help?” Corbin asked.
She put him to work washing fruit. They’d fallen into a breakfast prep routine in the days leading up to her run-in with Todd, back when Corbin had spent much of his time at the inn. He hadn’t returned for breakfast duty since, which made her wonder why he’d come today. She didn’t think he’d come because he was worried about crazy stalker fans.
Buttery light from the window above the sink illuminated his forearms and the deft hands that had once been responsible for firing bullet-like passes. Those hands were currently washing blueberries and peaches and apples under a stream of glittering water.
He still had many of the same quirks he’d had before. He frequently couldn’t find his keys. He had a sweet tooth for chocolate. He was wary of cats. He hated depressing movies, music, or TV, but liked depressing books. And he was doing chores for her that she suspected he hired other people to do for him at his own house. He used to wash her dishes for her when he visited her in LA.
“To what do I owe the pl—” She cut herself off.
“You were going to say pleasure of my company.”
“Yes, but then I thought better of it. Let me amend my question. To what do I owe your company this morning?”
“I missed you.”
“You just saw me yesterday afternoon at our Operation Find Josephine meeting,” she said firmly.
“That was sixteen hours ago.”
She scooped the sausage over the cubed bread that waited in the casserole dish. “The real reason you’re here is . . . ?”
“It occurred to me after our conversation on Monday that you never said whether or not you forgive me.” He glanced across his shoulder at her.
“Mmm.” She’d been thinking that she’d effectively sidestepped being trapped into a corner where she’d be forced to forgive. To be honest, she enjoyed her unforgiveness. She snuggled up with it the way she would a comforter whenever she was feeling down.
“So?” he asked. “Do you forgive me?”
She bit her lip, tilted her head, and whisked eggs with milk and seasonings as if whisking eggs was the most important thing in her universe. She poured the egg mixture over the bread and sausage, then sprinkled cut mushrooms and cheese on top while mentally replaying all the ways Corbin had hurt her four years before.
At length, when her silence had become her answer, and the fruit had all been washed, he shut off the faucet and faced her. “I listened to the audio version of the Bible this year.”
“And?”
“And it’s pretty clear that Jesus commands His people to forgive.” He arched a brow at her challengingly.
Her biggest mistake, the man who’d caused her endless guilt and repentance, was lecturing her about the teachings of Jesus? “You’ve become a Bible expert, have you?” She deposited the egg casserole in the oven and set the timer.
“Nope. I didn’t understand a lot of what I heard. But the whole forgiveness part? That I got.”
He wasn’t going to let her wiggle out of forgiving him, and really, she shouldn’t be surprised. If Corbin Stewart wanted something, he went after it.
“Forgive me?” He tested a persuasive grin on her.
She shook her head.
“For. Give. Me.” He stalked toward her, still grinning.
She squealed and dodged out of the way, putting the kitchen table between them.
“Forgive me,” he growled as he feinted one way, then darted around the table.
She ran. The ties of her white apron flew out behind her as she dashed to the urn that held utensils. She grabbed the nearest one and found herself brandishing a spatula at him. “Come no closer!”
He approached relentlessly. “Or you’ll flip me like a pancake?”
She laughed.
He took hold of the spatula and moved it slowly, very slowly, to the side. He was in her space now, and his face had turned just a little bit predatory. If he tried to steal a kiss from her, Willow was afraid that she might like it. A lot.
He came even closer.
“Fine!” she rushed to say. “I forgive you!”
His progress halted. He looked bemused. “You do?”
“Yes.”
He set his hands on his lean hips. “Good.”
She slotted the spatula back where it belonged and made her way to the industrial coffeemaker in an effort to put a few yards between them.
Corbin brought out a chopping board and began slicing the fruit he’d washed. “I’ve been thinking about the reason you gave for your inability to forgive me back in the day.”
Fa
bulous. A conversation about their past sex life before 8:00 a.m. Was it too early to visit www.PotteryBarn.com?
“When we were together,” he said, “I thought that the physical side of our relationship was . . . amazing. Can you explain why you felt that it was wrong?”
“If you listened to the Bible this year, you must have heard the verses about sexual purity, right?”
“Right.”
“That’s why I thought that it was wrong.”
“But we both consented to it. We both enjoyed it. We didn’t hurt anyone by it. So I’m still not clear on why it was harmful.”
She took a deep breath, set the coffeemaker to brew, and angled toward him. “Our sex life harmed me because I felt conflicted and guilty the whole time we were together. I tried to explain that to you a few times, but trying to explain a faith position to someone who doesn’t have faith is difficult. I had a hard time holding you to my standards, and I had a hard time maintaining my own standards when I was with you.”
He watched her.
“The fact that we were intimate connected me to you more than two people who aren’t married should be connected,” she said. “Which made me feel insecure and uneasy, which I hated feeling, and which set me up to respond the way I did when things started to fall apart.” It was painful to be this candid, yet the time had come to draw a line in the sand and explain why she was determined to stand on one side and why he had to remain on the other. “Can you understand that?”
“I’m trying. Even if I don’t understand it fully, I can respect it.” He lifted and resettled his ball cap. “I’m realizing that I’m going to have to unlearn a lot of things I thought I knew.”
“How was it that you became a Christian?” She’d been trying to imagine how the Corbin she’d known, who’d considered himself godly enough because he’d gone to church a handful of times as a kid, had been saved.
As they worked, he told her about the dark time after his shoulder injury, the hopelessness, and the chaplain who’d visited him at his lowest point.
“And how’s it been going since then?” she asked.
“I’m not sure that I feel as different as I should. Sometimes the whole thing just seems . . . farfetched. It’s hard for me to believe that I can trust this higher power that I can’t see.”
“God is farfetched,” she said. “He’s extreme.”
“And abstract.”
“Give Him time,” Willow said. “The more you get to know Him, the more trustworthy He’ll prove himself to be.”
Corbin dried his hands on a dish towel and faced her. “If He’s the one who caused you to break up with me, then I’m not sure I want to trust Him.”
“You definitely do want to trust Him.”
“I don’t know, Willow. Life without you hasn’t been easy for me.”
As she filled a pitcher with juice, she could feel the heat of his full attention on her.
“I want one more chance with you,” he said.
He’d spoken plainly. Without apology.
Her heart stuttered. Sweet, heavy longing tugged at her. Their awareness of each other had become a big, muscular presence in recent days. She’d sensed his interest in her sharpening and his initial bitterness toward her disintegrating. He’d invited a houseful of people to his home for dinner just so she’d agree to come. But this?
She steeled herself to look at him. “Our relationship has been over for a long time, Corbin.”
“It doesn’t have to be over.”
“It does.”
“Okay, then how about just one date?” He gestured to the cake. “How can you say no to the guy who brought you a cranberry nut cake?”
“Easily. That’s how. If it had been a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream cake, then the outcome might have been different.”
“Are you free tomorrow night?”
“I’m booked.”
“Sunday night?”
“Booked.”
“Have you noticed lately how wealthy I am, Willow?”
“No, but I’ve noticed how arrogant you are.”
“I’m famous.”
“You were famous.”
“I’m handsome.”
“Meh.”
“I’m athletic.”
“You have a separated shoulder.”
“Which I got saving you. I’m destined for the Hall of Fame.”
“That remains to be determined.”
He looked at her like she was a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. “I’m devoted to you,” he said.
And just like that, tenderness cracked open within her like a truffle spilling molten caramel.
“I’m getting closer, aren’t I?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not that close. The answer’s still no.”
Halloween arrived the following day in satisfyingly spooky fashion. Misty, overcast weather clung close to the earth, broken only by the ethereal orange and russet of the autumn leaves still stubbornly attached to their branches.
Every year Nora held a Halloween Spooktacular at Merryweather Historical Village. Local moms and dads brought their kids to the village to trick-or-treat at each of the structures situated around the village’s central green. It took all of the village’s employees plus several volunteers to make the event happen.
Willow arrived for volunteer duty wearing a pale blue Cinderella-esque gown, long white gloves, and upswept hair.
Britt showed up as Amelia Earhart, complete with old-fashioned aviator goggles.
For approximately the tenth year in a row, Nora dressed as Hermione from Harry Potter.
John, who was a former Navy SEAL, covered his face with camouflage paint. He donned fatigues, lace-up military boots, and a field cap. His uniform ended up thrilling the heart of every preteen boy and adult woman present.
Zander wore a T-shirt, a hoodie with the hood up, and a plastic sword stuck into his leather belt. Since none of the kids could guess his identity, he eventually taped a sheet of paper to his chest that read Percy Jackson.
For three enjoyable hours, Willow handed out mini Butterfingers on the porch of the village building known as Doc Hubert’s office. The whole time she tried not to picture how cute the housewares she’d bought during last night’s online shopping binge would look in Corbin’s barnhouse.
Corbin saw Willow before she saw him.
Warm pleasure washed over every inch of him as he watched her lock the inn’s back door and make her way along the path to the parking lot. Spots of afternoon sun fought through the cover of trees to dot her hair and the shoulders of her red coat.
Little Red Riding Hood looped one hand around her purse strap. Afraid of pickpockets in the area? Her head was bent down slightly, as if concentrating on the path before her. Hoping to avoid stepping on cracks in the dirt?
When she finally caught sight of him, her steps slowed almost to a halt before she continued forward. He stayed right where he was, leaning against his Navigator, one ankle crossed over the other.
“You didn’t look up until you were halfway here,” he said when she’d drawn near enough to hear. “You should be more aware of your surroundings when you leave the inn.”
“In case a man is lying in wait for me?” She gave him a meaningful look.
“In case Todd Hill is lying in wait for you. You haven’t seen him, even from a distance, since the day he attacked you, have you?”
“No, not even from a distance.” The breeze gently mussed her hair.
“Would you tell me if you had seen him?”
She lifted her slim shoulders. “I’m pretty sure that you or the charges I filed or the restraining order did the trick and that Todd Hill is long gone.”
He wished he could be as sure. Corbin had never been able to move past Willow; it was hard for him to accept that Todd would be able to.
“Did you come to talk to me about Todd?” she asked.
“No, I came to blackmail you.”
She smiled, and the power of her smile connected wit
h his torso. Good grief, she was beautiful.
“Blackmail?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How is it that I’m not even shocked?”
He pulled a check from his pocket and handed it to her. “If you will go on one date with me, I will send this check to Benevolence Worldwide.”
She scrutinized the check for a long moment.
He scratched the side of his jaw. He was pretty sure he had her this time. Willow was devoted to Benevolence.
She handed back the check. “I strongly encourage you to send that check to Benevolence—”
“Will do. When can we go out?”
“—but a date with me cannot be bought.”
He stared at her. “I’m asking for one date. In exchange for two hundred thousand dollars.”
“A date with me cannot be bought,” she repeated.
He held the check with both hands, right in the center, signaling to her that he planned to tear it in two. “You sure about that?”
“Corbin.” She seemed caught between humor and indignation. “Benevolence will do wonderful things with that money.”
“They definitely will. But only if you go on a date with me.”
“You’re a mercenary.”
“For you,” he spoke without a trace of guilt, “I absolutely am.”
“My answer’s no.” She walked past him to her Range Rover.
Shoot. Willow’s appearance could fool you into thinking she was made of sugar and spice and everything nice. The truth? She was as stubborn as they came and he couldn’t help but admire her for it. He’d always appreciated a worthy opponent, and that’s exactly what she was.
His determination heightened and heightened as he watched her drive out of sight.
He’d lost a lot lately. He refused to lose this particular fight. He would find a way back into Willow’s heart. She had the power to erase both the grief and the pain he’d gone through this past year. If he had her, he’d have everything he needed. And so would she, because he’d dedicate himself to making her happy. This time around, he wouldn’t let his guard down. He’d never be less than one hundred percent careful with her.
Willow didn’t know it yet, but he was going to win her back.