Second Chance Charmer

by Brighton Walsh

  He smiled over the rim of his wine glass. “I better rectify that soon, then. Name the day, Willowtree, and I’ll cook you a three-course meal.”

  “Will one of those courses be these sandwiches?” She held up the sandwich in question, her brow cocked.

  “I see the skepticism written all over your beautiful face, sweetness. You wound me.”

  She laughed, a tinkling sound that filled up the intimate space. “Sorry, I don’t mean to tease. It’s just hard.”

  He raised a brow, because, yeah, he was definitely hard. Had been even though it’d been less than half an hour since he’d come inside her.

  She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I have no doubt you’re hard. Honestly, are you ever not?”

  “When you’re around? No.”

  “What I meant was it’s hard picturing you, wearing an apron and flittin’ around the kitchen.”

  “I do not flit. I stomp around like a manly man.” Finn finished off his sandwich as Willow laughed. “And if you want to know about the apron, you’ll just have to accept my invitation.”

  The statement was innocent enough, but it hung between them, weighted. By the look on Willow’s face, she realized exactly what he was asking. Her inviting him here was an olive branch. That she’d share this with him again after what’d happened last time meant more than he could articulate. He just hoped it was a step toward what he wanted with her: permanence and public declarations.

  “I…” Willow averted her eyes as she took a sip of wine, and his heart dropped. She wasn’t going to accept, and Finn would have to decide if he was okay with that. If he could live with taking whatever small bit she could give, whenever she could give it.

  The answer, of course, was an unequivocal yes. Without doubt, he’d take whatever she was willing to give him.

  “Okay.” Her soft voice filtered into the space between them, and Finn jerked his head up, snapping his eyes to hers. She was already staring at him, looking gorgeous as hell, even more stunning now that she’d basically said yes. Yes, to him. Yes, to them.

  Unable to hold back anymore, he shoved everything between them aside, slid his hand around her neck, and brought her face to his, claiming her mouth in a kiss.

  “I won’t let you down,” he said when they finally pulled apart. He meant more than just the meal—he only hoped she realized it.

  She trailed her hand down from his neck to his chest, tracing the rough sketch of a map and the coordinates that just happened to be this exact location. “Will you tell me about these?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything?” She dropped her fingers to the willow tree on his side. “It’s weird, feeling like I still know you so well but having this gaping hole in time where I know nothing.”

  His chest ached, regret over costing them so much time nearly consuming him. “I know what you mean.”

  “Question for a question?” she asked, reminding him of a time long ago when she’d sat in his beat-up truck and said the same thing.

  “You first.” He shifted to lean back against a stack of pillows and lifted his arm, hoping she’d settle in to his side.

  She didn’t disappoint. Once she’d snuggled in, she traced one of the twisted roots over his hip bone. “There are more roots here than when you left. So many more.”

  He’d been waiting for this, had wondered how long it’d take her to ask about it. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “That’s not a question.”

  She pinched his side and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Tell me about it?”

  Reaching up, he brushed the hair back from her face, stroked his fingertip down the slope of her nose, around the outline of her lips. “That first year…” He swallowed, averted his gaze, and guided her head to rest on his chest again. Thinking it’d be easier if she wasn’t staring at him with those beseeching eyes. “On your nineteenth birthday, I was in a bad place. I fuckin’ missed you. Every day, but especially that day. I passed a tattoo parlor on my way home, and I didn’t even think—just pulled in. Hoped like hell they had an opening. I got the first root added that night. The others happened every year on your birthday.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then she whispered, “Why?”

  Would it be too much to tell her it was the only thing he’d had of her when he’d been gone? That he’d craved that connection, even when he’d been the one to sever it? Probably.

  “Uh, uh. My turn, sweetness.”

  She huffed, pinching his side again. “Well, come on, then.”

  There was really no question what he wanted to ask. The same thing he’d been desperate to know since he’d found out she’d moved back to Havenbrook after college. “Why’re you back here, Willowtree? Why didn’t you go to Nashville and do what we planned? Are you as happy here as you would’ve been there?”

  “You think if you shove three questions together real fast it’ll only count as one?”

  “Umm…I was sorta hopin’ it’d work like that, yeah.”

  “Cheater.” She didn’t put any heat into the insult, though. “I’m here because it’s my home, and leavin’—much as I yearned for it then—felt…wrong. And, yes, I’m happy. For the most part. I have good days and bad days, same as anyone, I suppose. But I really do love what I do—or I do when I’m not doin’ the work of three people. Revitalizing the square…” She shook her head against his chest, her deep breath brushing across his skin. “Seeing it come to life because of what I did? It’s like a living, breathing canvas.”

  He waited for her to answer why she’d hadn’t gone to Nashville like they’d planned, but when she didn’t, he nudged her. “And?”

  “And…it’s your turn for a question.” She turned on her side and propped herself up on her elbow, using her other hand to trace the numbers over his heart. “Coordinates?”

  He swallowed, watching her as she stared at his skin. True, he’d only added to her tree on her birthday, but every other tattoo he had on him was a tribute to her in some way. The map and coordinates reminding him where his home was. The compass because she was his true north. “Yeah.”

  “Of what?” She looked up at him then, her lip caught between her teeth.

  Reaching out, he tugged her lip free, brushed his thumb across it. “This. Here.”

  “Here?” She furrowed her brow. “The tree house?”

  “The one and only.”

  Her mouth dropped open, her eyes full of something he couldn’t quite name. “Finn—”

  “My turn. Tell me about Nashville.”

  She looked like she wanted to argue, wanted to press, but then she shrugged, dropping her gaze. “Nothing to tell. You left. I withdrew my admission and went to MSU instead.”

  “Because?”

  “Because…what I thought I wanted wasn’t the same without you there too.”

  Damn, this hurt. Getting all this out in the open was good for them, but he couldn’t deny the way his stomach clenched over all the time they’d lost. All because of the decisions he’d made—decisions he hadn’t been given much choice over, but his all the same.

  “I’m sorry, Willowtree.” He cupped her neck, needing to feel her any way he could. “Even though it won’t give us back the time we lost, I want you to know I’m sorry. And not a day went by when I didn’t think about you. About coming back to you.”

  She stared at him for a moment then opened her mouth, no doubt to ask why the hell he didn’t. Before she could do so, he pulled her toward him. Pressed his lips to hers and waited for her to melt into him. Hoping with everything he had that her doing so meant maybe, just maybe, forgiveness would come eventually.

  After round two where Finn had taken Willow nice and slow, trying to show her in every kiss, every roll of his hips how much he still loved her, he walked her to her house, their fingers linked between them. It’d been a long damn time since he’d done something as simple as holding hands—in fact, the last time had probably been with Willow.

&
nbsp; Considering how much they’d shared in the tree house, it was no wonder they walked the path in silence until they got to her front porch, the soft glow of the outside light illuminating her face.

  “Thank you,” she said, her finger hooked in his belt loop. “For tonight.”

  “Anytime.” He curled his fingers around her nape, brushing his thumb along her jaw as he pulled her in for a kiss. Their lips met with a spark, that always-evident chemistry between them coming to life as he slid his tongue along hers, pulled her body tight against him.

  Jesus, how could he be ready to go again? This girl drove him absolutely fucking crazy in the best possible ways.

  Panting, she broke away and dropped her forehead to his chest, her hands resting on either side, his shirt clutched in her fists. Well, one thing was for certain—she was just as affected as he was.

  “You should go inside before I take you right here on the porch for anyone to see.” He ran his hands down the length of her back as her laugh puffed against his T-shirt.

  “I know I should be scandalized by that, but is it bad that I’m actually considering it?”

  He groaned, fisting her tank top at the small of her back and tugging her against him. Letting her feel how hard he was for her. “That’s just cruel, woman. Don’t tease a man in this state.”

  She laughed, a tinkling sound, and looked up at him just as the front door swung open. Mac stood on the other side, mouth hanging open, eyes pinging back and forth between her sister and him.

  “What the hell?”

  Finn’s lips quirked up at the corner. “Hey, Mac. Havin’ a good night?”

  “I… Um…” She narrowed her eyes before settling them on Willow and giving her what could only be interpreted as a “we’ll talk later” look. Then she walked away, leaving the door wide open.

  So much for the whole against-the-house scenario.

  “Seems y’all have some talkin’ to do, so I’ll leave you to it.” He pulled Willow close, pressing a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. Against them, he whispered, “’Night, Willowtree. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He walked backward, their fingers clasped between them until he couldn’t hold on any longer, and then he turned and strolled toward his truck near the front of the property. Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. Hell, if he had it his way, she’d invite him into her home, into her room, into her bed. He’d spend the night with her, wake her up in the middle of the night with his lips on her, spend an hour inside her, then wake for the day with her in his arms. Pure heaven. Something they’d never had the luxury of doing, but something he wanted to experience almost as much as he wanted his next breath.

  Someday. Someday, she’d trust him with that. Maybe. Hopefully. Especially after what they’d talked about tonight. Someday—maybe even sooner rather than later—they’d get to be a couple like that. He could stay at her place, or she could stay at his. They’d wake up, head down to the square, and grab breakfast at the diner. Everyone would look, of course. But she and Finn wouldn’t care. Hell, he’d be damn glad for all the gawking, because it’d mean Willow was his girl for the entire town to see.

  So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until he nearly tripped over Willow’s daddy. Dick stood off to the side, rage written all over his face. And, shit, wasn’t this just history repeating itself? The last time Finn had made this trek, Dick had stopped him then too. Face as pissed as it was now, spitting fire and threats.

  Difference was, Finn was no longer that scared, nineteen-year-old kid with a sick momma and not a whole lot of hope for the future. Now? Now, he had that hope in spades.

  “Evenin’, Dick. What can I do for you?”

  “What can you do for me? You can tell me what the hell you’re doin’ on my property before I call the sheriff to haul your ass off for trespassin’.”

  Finn cocked his head. A voice whispered that he shouldn’t taunt the man, shouldn’t rub what he’d been doing in his face. But pride was a bitch sometimes, and the satisfaction of pissing him off was too good to pass up. “Been a while, but I think you’ll probably remember if you try hard enough.”

  Dick delivered the reaction Finn had wanted, his face reddening, hands curled into fists at his sides. Finn could practically see the smoke emanating from the older man’s ears, and he couldn’t say he was even a bit sorry about it. While Finn wouldn’t go back and change the events that’d led to him leaving—because without them, his momma may not…probably wouldn’t…have been with them now—but he couldn’t help hating Dick for tearing him and Willow apart. For not even allowing him to tell her goodbye.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to here,” Dick said, “but you best finish what you came for and leave. Before I make you. You remember how that goes, don’t you, boy?”

  Boy? Finn hadn’t been a boy in a long damn time—since well before he’d left in the first place. He laughed, a loud booming sound in the otherwise quiet night. “Guess you haven’t heard the news.”

  “What news?”

  Oh, this was going to make his whole year. Watching Dick’s face as Finn delivered the information that would ruin his precious little town—at least, in his eyes. “We’re stayin’.”

  “You’re what?”

  “C’mon now, Dick, I know you heard me. Despite you trying your damnedest to run us out with all that red tape nonsense and bullshit regulations, we’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re making Havenbrook home again.”

  “You…you can’t do that.”

  “Can and will. Drew and I are making one last trip to California to get packed up and bring Momma back with us.”

  “No one here wants your kind in Havenbrook.” He spat the words like they were weapons.

  Finn stared at the older man, waiting for the shame to come. But it never did. He knew his worth now, knew it didn’t rest solely on where he lived or what part of town he was from, or whether or not his daddy was in the picture. Knew it stemmed only from the kind of man he was. “Once upon a time, that might’ve hurt me, but I’m not a kid anymore, and preying on what you perceive as weaknesses isn’t going to do jack shit. I’m not quite as easy to get rid of as I was back then.”

  “You think giving you fifty-thousand dollars to get the hell out was easy? How much’ll it take this time? Seventy-five? A hundred?”

  Anger mixed with regret swirled in his gut. Dick knew damn well the money hadn’t been why Finn had left—it’d been the threat of what would’ve happened if he’d stayed. If he’d gotten hauled off to jail, there would’ve been no way Drew could’ve taken care of things with their momma. And Dick had known it, had used it to his advantage, like the prick he was.

  Finn had no idea why he’d tried to protect Willow from this man, tried to salvage their relationship. The man was an asshole, and it was about damn time his daughter realized that.

  Finn stepped up until he was toe-to-toe with him, getting some pleasure in the fact that Dick had to tilt his head back to look Finn in the eyes. “You could promise me a million—hell, a billion—and it still wouldn’t do jack. Try to come up with some more bullshit charges for me. See what blackmailing me does. It would make my fucking year to go down that path with you. I’m stayin’, Dick. And there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me.”

  With that, he turned and walked away, his head held higher than it had been so many years ago. But just like all those years ago, his stomach churned. Dick wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t stop until he’d gotten his way, or he had something else to focus his efforts on. Seeing as how Havenbrook was about as hopping as Mayberry, there wasn’t much else for him to focus on. And seeing as Finn wasn’t going anywhere… Well, it was going to be a long rest of his life.

  But one that was worth it a thousand times over if it meant he got to spend that life with Willow.

  BY THE TIME Finn got home, his anger had dissipated some. Not much, but some. Instead of focusing on what a piece of shit human being Dick was, Finn’d thought about what his next steps
needed to be.

  The money, for one thing. The money Dick had paid him off with to “ensure he didn’t have any reason to float back to Havenbrook” needed to be given back. Despite the circumstances surrounding it, Finn couldn’t deny what a lifeline the money had been, a tiny bit of light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.

  It’d been just the three of them for as long as he could remember, their daddy having never been in the picture at all. And Momma had been sick. Fucking cancer. Working four part-time jobs—the only things that’d been available in a small town like Havenbrook—meant no health insurance. No relief from the mounds of bills sure to pile up—the prescriptions and the treatments and the office visits. At nineteen, he and Drew had had to discuss things with their momma a child never should, debating between bankruptcy or her death.

  The shadows on his momma’s face, the resignation in her voice when she’d told them she hadn’t wanted her sickness to follow them even after she was gone still haunted him to this day. He’d hated that that’d been the hand they’d been dealt, that they’d never been able to get a leg up, no matter what they’d done. Even knowing how desperately they needed they money, he’d turned Dick down flat when he’d approached Finn in the first place. Back then, he’d thought that would be that.

  But, of course, Dick always got what he wanted. And he’d wanted Finn gone.

  Finn walked through the empty bar, the workers long since gone for the day. Pride swelled in his chest over what he, Drew, and Nola had accomplished—three troublemakers from the wrong side of the tracks. The opening was close now. Real close.

  The bar top shone, the stone they’d picked out for the front a perfect contrast to the corrugated steel and barn wood throughout the space. Accent walls in that same stone were interspersed throughout the bar—a strategy Rory had come up with and he’d just nodded along to. Industrial lighting hung from the open rafters of the ceiling, a few lantern sconces—and yeah, he now knew what those were—on the walls. It was everything he’d imagined when he hadn’t even known what to dream up. There was no denying Rory knew what the hell she was doing, and she was damn good at it.