Second Chance Charmer

by Brighton Walsh

  “I heard y’all also debated the merits of tall and lean or big and beefy.” Willow tsked in mock disappointment. “Our first responders are more than pieces of meat, you know.”

  Nola grinned, her eyes sparkling. “If they don’t want us talkin’ about them, why are they always out washin’ the fire trucks without any shirts on?”

  “Excellent point.” Willow set down her messenger bag, dropped her purse in her bottom drawer, and settled behind her desk. So damn thankful Avery had more forethought than she did. All the paperwork she and Nola needed to go over at the meeting sat paper-clipped together on top of her desk. “Congratulations, by the way. I don’t think I’ve had a chance to tell you that since you bought Pete’s old place. I had no idea you were interested in business ownership.”

  Nola shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. “Thanks. An opportunity presented itself, so I snatched it up.”

  “You mentioned wanting to start construction over there this week. We’ve got a bit of paperwork to fill out before y’all get going on that, but I don’t think anything’ll hold y’all up.” Willow pulled the paper clip off the stack and sorted through the papers to find the ones she needed.

  “Actually, my business partners should be here any minute. We’ll probably need to wait for them to go over everything.”

  Willow cocked her head as she stilled her hands. “Business partners?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t afford it by myself, so I wrangled some old friends into buyin’ it with me.”

  Willow tried to remember if that information had been on any of the paperwork that’d crossed her desk. It might’ve been, but the truth was, she hadn’t had a chance to even glance at it, let alone familiarize herself with the ins and outs of Nola’s venture. Her daddy had her running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to take care of Gloria’s unattended work on top of Willow’s already precariously balanced workload. “Oh, I apologize. I must’ve assumed it was just you.”

  Nola shrugged. “Most people do.” She glanced at her phone, typing out a quick text. “That’s them now. They grabbed a coffee at Higher Grounds and are on their way over.”

  Willow took a healthy swallow of her coffee, nearly sighing as the good-as-gold elixir worked its way through her system, thankful for the wake-up. “So, what made y’all want to start up a boutique?” she asked.

  Nola’s brows shot up on her forehead. “A boutique? We’re not startin’ a boutique.” She tossed her head back and laughed, slapping her hand on her thigh. “Lord, the thought of the Thomas boys running a boutique is funny as hell. Can you imagine?”

  Willow’s lips curved at the corners, Nola’s laughter contagious. “Oh, I just thought—” She froze as Nola’s words finally caught up with her.

  It’d been a long time since she’d heard those two words together—those Thomas boys are nothin’ but trouble. Why you runnin’ around with one of ’em, Will?—and she had to remind herself to breathe.

  Just breathe.

  Maybe Nola didn’t mean who Willow’s memory automatically called up. And of course that’d been where her mind had gone—after the dream and then the false sighting, it was no wonder she had Finn Thomas on the brain.

  It’d been so long since he’d left, it was easy to forget Nola and the Thomases had run around together in high school. But that didn’t mean anything. Surely, they weren’t still in contact. Finn hadn’t been back in ten long years, and he sure as hell hadn’t called or sent so much as a letter, despite claiming he’d been desperately in love with her. Certainly it’d been the same for everyone else in town, hadn’t it?

  “Who—” Willow cleared her throat, smoothing a hand over the papers on her desk. Bracing herself for the answer she feared. “Who exactly are you partnering up with?”

  “Oh, you remember—”

  A knock cut off Nola as Avery pushed the door open and poked her head through the crack. “Willow? Miss Nola’s partners are here.” She widened her eyes and mouthed Holy shit, there’s two of them while fanning her face. Then she pushed the door open the rest of the way, allowing the two men to walk into Willow’s office.

  And her whole world stopped spinning. Just froze entirely.

  History in the form of heartbreak strolled right through her door. Willow couldn’t talk—could barely breathe. Her eyes landed first on the man closest to her—the one, she realized, she’d seen walk into Higher Grounds only fifteen minutes earlier. He was tall, dark, and handsome, just as he’d been years ago. Nothing short of drool-worthy, as her assistant and best friend had pointed out.

  But he wasn’t the one who drew her eyes. He wasn’t the one whose very presence was a magnetic pull Willow couldn’t ignore no matter how hard she tried. No, that belonged entirely to the man who stepped in behind his twin.

  While only minutes before she’d been almost saddened at the thought the spark between them could somehow be gone, she now yearned for that separation. Because it was damn embarrassing sitting in front of the man who’d stomped all over her heart with her nipples noticeable from a fifty-foot distance. She tried to appraise him with cool, detached professionalism, but that was a joke. There was no denying the zing of awareness that always flared in her body at his nearness. And damn it all to hell if it hadn’t lessened any with time.

  Looking like a near mirror image to the man Willow’d seen across the street, Griffin “Finn” Thomas stood in front of her for the first time in a decade, the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the harsh sun from the window at his back. His dark hair was shorter than it’d been when they were younger, cropped close but still carelessly messy. At least a day’s worth of stubble covered his jaw, probably more like two or three. The cotton of his T-shirt stretched over muscles that’d popped up since she’d known him, worn jeans encasing strong legs. Strong, long legs—he’d somehow gotten even taller since she’d last seen him when he’d been just nineteen, and Lord have mercy, had he filled out. Where once he’d been tall, almost rangy, now he was fine-tuned with solid, carved muscles, the kind men worked hard for—either at the gym or at life. And if Willow knew anything at all about Finn, she’d place money on the latter.

  A memory of work-roughened hands sliding up the insides of her thighs, fingers brushing over the brand on her hip, breath hot in her ear, and lips soft against her neck flashed in her mind before she blinked it away. Memories didn’t have any place here—certainly not those kinds of memories.

  “Hey, Willowtree,” Finn said, his voice just as rich and smooth as she remembered.

  His old nickname for her set her on edge, tightening her nipples and her jaw all at once, snapping her composure like a twig. He’d given it to her all those years ago, before they’d become a couple, saying she’d always looked sad like a weeping willow. And then he’d pulled her into his orbit, and her sadness had lifted because for the first time in her entire life, someone had seen her for exactly who she was. Seen her, and apparently concluded the real her wasn’t worth sticking around for.

  Oh, he had some nerve coming back here, strolling into her office like he hadn’t made her fall in love with him only to take her heart, chain it to the hitch of his car, and drag it behind him as he’d peeled out of town, never to be seen or heard from again. Like he hadn’t upended her plans, hadn’t changed the course of her life when he’d so callously bailed on their future. Like he hadn’t disappeared like a ghost without so much as a backward glance.

  In the past ten years, she’d had a lot of time to fantasize about what she’d do if she ever saw Finn Thomas again. What she’d say, how she’d look. What she’d be wearing and how she’d act. In her daydreams, she’d always had on her best outfit—something that minimized her ample booty and maximized her barely there breasts. Her hair was always salon-day perfect, her makeup flawless. Sometimes, she’d give him a piece of her mind, tear him up one side and down the other. Sometimes, she’d be with another man—someone infinitely good-looking who’d dote on her. They’d laugh and joke, lean in for a kis
s as they passed Finn. Sometimes, she’d walk by as if she didn’t recognize him.

  But never, not once in all the scenarios she’d dreamed up over the years, did she sit there looking like hell warmed over, wearing two different colored shoes, no makeup, and dirty hair pulled back into a ponytail, just…staring.

  Silence reigned for far too long, blanketing the room until it nearly smothered her. Only when Avery cleared her throat did Willow manage to pull her head from her ass.

  She clenched her teeth, fisted her hands… Tried to bite back the words that were on the tip of her tongue, because they certainly weren’t professional. And Lord knew she’d already been unprofessional enough for one morning, strolling into an appointment fifteen minutes late, without a clue as to the details of said appointment. Besides that, the words certainly weren’t Willow. She didn’t lose her temper. She didn’t snap. Those qualities belonged solely to her daddy.

  But, truthfully, after the spectacular start to her day, there was really no holding back anything. Not when her worst memory greeted her as if nothing had happened to cause that painful ache in her chest. “You’ve got some nerve showing up in my office after all this time, asshole.”

  Finn Thomas could’ve spent every day of the past ten years preparing for this reunion, and it still would’ve knocked him on his proverbial ass. From the day all those years ago when he’d walked into the animal shelter they’d both worked at as teens and saw Willow Haven standing there, something had sparked between them. She’d been everything good and pure in his dismal life—sunshine and light, happiness and home-cooked meals, porch swings and a dip in the lake on a hot summer afternoon. It was a wonder she’d ever given him the time of day, never mind actually letting him get close enough to taste all that heaven.

  But he’d gone ahead and fucked it up, hadn’t he? He’d blown it all to hell when he’d left all those years ago. Forget the reasons he’d bailed—they didn’t mean shit, not in the grand scheme of things. They could’ve been the noblest of reasons, and it would’ve meant fuck-all if Willow hadn’t benefitted from it—if his leaving hadn’t made her happy, made her life better in some way.

  Truth was, though, his reasons hadn’t been noble at all. Not really. He’d run, plain and simple. When faced with reality—with what it’d mean to him and her if he stayed—he’d turned tail and gotten the hell out of dodge. Not stopping until he was all the way in California, as far away from Havenbrook, Mississippi as he could get.

  He’d have been lying to himself if he said he’d thought his and Willow’s first introduction after this long would’ve gone any smoother than the reality. Honestly, he was damn lucky she’d only tossed that handful of words in his direction instead of the coffee currently clutched in her hand. And she wanted to, too. Wanted to toss that hot liquid right in his face. It was written all over hers. Probably wouldn’t have second thoughts about it, either. Not with how she white-knuckled the travel mug, her restraint evident in every rigid inch of her body.

  And even though it made him every bit the asshole she’d called him, he couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over that body. From taking in each detail of her, starved for her when he’d been denied her presence for so long. Where she’d once had a fresh-faced innocence about her, a bombshell now sat in front of him. She’d done some growing up in the time he’d been gone, her curves filling out so much his fingers begged for a test drive. No longer were they the ones he’d once had memorized with his hands. And his tongue.

  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail exposing her long, slender neck, her cheeks flushed and alive, her eyes bright with…okay, yeah, that was definitely fury lighting those green irises. Couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Her words rang in his ears, the first ones he’d heard from her lips in far too long. And he couldn’t even find fault in them.

  “Always did have a mouth on you, didn’t ya, Willowtree? Least, around me you did.” His lips kicked up on the side, unable to keep the taunt to himself. Christ, he was a jackass.

  His gut twisted when she narrowed her eyes, clenching her fists against her desktop. But then she took a deep breath, and he could practically see her armor clinking into place, piece by piece. Something he’d forgotten she’d even done—how could he have forgotten something like that? He’d thankfully never been on the receiving end of it, though. No, she’d put up that shield for one person and one person only—her father.

  Finn had watched it more times than he could count, each instance she’d felt the need to do it, to cover up the real Willow in deference to what her daddy expected her to be, making Finn hate him a little more. Which had been a damn hard feat, considering Finn held the devil himself in higher regard than Richard Haven.

  Finn watched as a false calm settled over Willow. It no doubt fooled Nola and his brother—would have probably fooled most. But not Finn. He could still see the anger humming beneath her surface. He’d always been able to read her, as long as he could remember. Looked like no amount of time had changed that.

  And it seemed she knew it, too, if the narrowing of her eyes was any indication, the tick of her jaw as she clenched her teeth. No, she definitely wasn’t greeting him with open arms—not that he’d expected any different.

  “Drew,” she said, nodding to his brother. Of all the things to get worked up about, her saying his brother’s name before his should not have been one of them, and yet there they were. “Griffin.” She spat his full name like it was a piece of gristle and she couldn’t stand the feel of it in her mouth. “If y’all’ll give me just a minute, I’ll get the correct paperwork drawn up so we can get this done as quickly as possible.” Her so you can get out the hell of my sight just as quick went unsaid, but Finn didn’t have any problem reading between those lines.

  As soon as Willow left the room, it was clear Drew hadn’t had a problem picking up the not so subtle tension either, his eyebrows hitting his hairline as he looked at the now closed door to Willow’s office.

  Nola let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Damn, Finn. Can’t believe you made sweet Willow Haven cuss. I’m not entirely certain, but I don’t think she’s forgiven you quite yet.”

  “You don’t think?” he asked, scratching his chin. “Went better than I expected, to be honest.”

  “What the hell did you expect?” Nola cocked an eyebrow. “A kick to the nuts?”

  He shrugged. That very scenario might have crossed his mind a time or two.

  “Maybe it was a front,” Drew said, settling in the chair to the right of Nola. “She’s probably out there now planning a welcome home party for you.”

  Finn didn’t bother responding as he glanced around Willow’s office, just lifted a certain finger in his brother’s direction, letting it drop once Drew rumbled out a laugh.

  Willow’s office was devoid of anything personal—no art on the walls, no vase of flowers on the side table, no framed photo of her with friends or her sisters on her desk…nothing. To anyone else, it probably looked like she preferred to keep it professional, sleek. No clutter, no mess. But Finn knew better. Knew her deepest fears and her greatest insecurities—or he had at one time. And he’d bet his left nut she kept her office sparkling and pristine, lacking any personal touches, so her father couldn’t use it as a weapon against her while she tried to perform this job under his command. So he couldn’t turn it into some kind of weakness on her behalf, as he’d been known to do a time or twenty.

  Jesus, what had made her come back here? Not just here to Havenbrook, but here to town hall, to an office twenty feet away from her daddy. To a career working for a man she’d constantly butted heads with. A man who’d made it his mission to make her feel less-than. One who never, ever saw her worth.

  Nola cleared her throat, drawing his attention. She stared at him with expectation, eyebrows raised.

  “What’s up, Xena?” he asked, settling in the chair on her other side.

  “Look, I don’t know all the details of whatever went on between y’all”—
Over Nola’s head, Finn met Drew’s eyes and exchanged a look loaded with gravity. No, she didn’t. Not many did—“but this is my life here. I don’t want y’all’s history messin’ with things. It’s already gonna be hard as hell runnin’ this by myself after y’all leave, ’specially in this town filled with good ol’ boys. The business—”

  “Is ours too,” Drew cut in.

  “No, I know that.” She divided a look between him and Drew. “Of course I do. Keepin’ in touch while y’all’ve been gone is one thing, but for y’all to come back and do this with me… Well, I appreciate it, ’cause you both know I didn’t have the capital by myself.”

  Nola’s proposition for them to go into business together couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. Finn had been itching to do more for a while, and though it’d been logical to move toward ownership of the bar he managed in California, it hadn’t felt right. Not like this did. “You know we were happy to—goin’ back to diapers, we’ve been a team,” Finn said. “Always had your back. Always will.”

  She elbowed him—her version of a hug. “Same goes. But that doesn’t change that y’all’ll be leavin’ soon, and I have to stay here, you know? Just…” She sighed and shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. “Just go along to get along, okay? Don’t make waves for me where you ain’t droppin’ your anchor.”

  With a nod, Finn agreed, because he couldn’t do much else. He and Drew had flown back to Havenbrook with plans to stay only long enough to help settle things with the new space. Nola, Drew, and Finn had purchased it together in a 20-40-40 split respectively, going into a partnership with Nola when she’d presented them with an offer too good to pass up. Of course he loved that he and Drew were able to help out one of their oldest and closest friends, but this bar in this town meant so much more than that. After all, it wasn’t every day he got to stick it to someone he despised. First bar in a town Richard Haven had spent his life working tooth and nail to keep pure? The poetic justice was too good to resist, especially considering his and the mayor’s history.