Willow narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you think?”
We can have what you’ve always wanted. The farm boy had said that to her. It had to be tempting. “He’s been your rock since you were twelve years old.” Cooper could taste the dirt he stood upon, dry and bitter in his mouth. “And then there was the swoon-worthy offer of a quickie wedding in Las Vegas or Reno. Hard to pass up.”
“You overheard that.”
Eavesdropped, she meant. “The two of you were standing outside my office.”
“Right.” She swallowed. “Can you think of a reason I shouldn’t marry Brad?”
Because I love you and want you for myself, even though I have absolutely zero track record when it comes to commitment. I don’t know how to even be a fucking long-term boyfriend, but sign on with me and let’s see if I can change my black sheep coat before I crush your heart.
“Live and let live, I always say.” Cooper squeezed the hoe handle, causing the blisters forming beneath his gloves to sting. “I don’t tell other people what to do.”
Her pretty mouth pursed. “You think I’m that desperate for a husband, for someone willing to commit to me, that I’d take Brad under the current circumstances.”
“Well, it’s not something I’m offering,” he said, his tone snarky and mean and entirely uncalled for. What a dick move and he could only blame it on this desperate sensation filling his chest.
Her expression said she agreed on the dick move part. “I’m not marrying Brad.”
Relief didn’t calm him. He made some inconclusive noise and poked at the weeds again.
“You promised you’d never lie to me, Cooper.”
He squeezed shut his eyes. “I…”
“And lies of omission count,” she said, her voice quiet. “Meaning you should have told me.”
“About Brad and Ben?” He had a defense. “You know, I considered whether I would have if I saw him with another woman. And in that case I concluded I would have kept my mouth shut, because you two weren’t together. So…” He shrugged.
There was a long silence. “You have a point,” she replied, grudging. “But still.”
“Willow, it wasn’t any of my business.”
“You should have told me because it was my business.”
And he’d thought that too. Because he cared for her, loved her, he should have been honest with her about a lot of things. But here he was, trying to stay nimble, skate the surface, dance around the obstacles. Making light in any and all the ways he could, so nothing got heavy enough to smother him if it went wrong.
Yet still he felt the weight above him, an anvil, a grand piano, the potential of eternal pain if by his lack of emotional depth he hurt her more than he was already hurting himself.
Man, he was fucked.
Even when she left him to his unwanted weeds and unwanted emotions, he loitered in the empty lot until he couldn’t stand his own company and his own stink. There was a miniscule bathroom attached to his office, which included a shower stall. His elbows clunked the sides as he cleaned up, but he emerged to don clean clothes and hit the floor of Fun & Games, ready to clear some tables or restock the bar or polish glasses. Anything to occupy his mind.
He kept to himself, waving off the server when a glass broke and busting out the broom and dustpan himself. He did the hourly restroom restock and wipe up, no one’s favorite task, and followed that by mopping the kitchen area after a nacho cheese spill. That stuff was the devil.
Next came the attempt to remove gum wads covering a stainless steel napkin dispenser left by a jokester he now cursed with lockjaw. Ten minutes in and he gave up and chucked the thing, taking another ten to clean his hands with disinfectant that angrily ate at the weeding blisters left where his fingers met his palms. Somebody might think he was punishing himself.
Then Hart Sawyer came in and Cooper knew exactly what that looked like.
Grabbing his old friend by the elbow, he towed him to a quiet corner. “What can I get you?” he asked, concerned.
Hart barely looked at him, his face leaner than ever, his eyes dull. “I don’t care.”
“Right.” He came back with a beer and cheese fries, jalapeños on the side.
“You know I hate jalapeños,” Hart said, moving the small cup out of the red plastic basket.
“Good news. You’re awake enough to notice them.”
“I’m not tired,” the other man said in a tired voice.
“Okay.”
“But I did go by Harry’s for a coffee. Sophie was sitting at a table with some people I didn’t recognize. And she didn’t get up and say hello. Or fix my drink.”
Cooper’s eyebrows rose. “She didn’t serve you?”
“There was another barista on duty. But I only like the way Sophie makes my order. She knows that.”
“Well.” He’d have to have a talk with his little sister. While it sounded as if she’d been off duty and socializing on her own, if Hart needed something—especially a grumpy and brooding Hart—she should hop to it. For the man whose life had been turned into a barren desert, they all did what they could.
Well, except for Cooper, he admitted to himself, who actually felt uncomfortable in the face of his friend’s unhappiness and avoided it, and the uncomfortable subjects surrounding it, as much as possible.
“Is she mad at me?” Hart asked now.
“Sophie? Nah. Maybe she’s just preoccupied with the upcoming anniversary event for our folks.”
“That’s right. Night after next.”
“Yeah.” He glanced around, picturing the party, the cover band. The effing piña colada song. “Thirty-five years of wedded bliss. Can you imagine?”
Then he heard himself, winced. “Oh, hell, Hart. I’m sorry. Of course you can imagine it.” Looking at his friend’s downturned head, he wondered if he could invent some sudden task and hide until the guy left.
Hide from one of his best friends. Who was suffering.
He inhaled a long breath and tried putting himself in Hart’s shoes. Was there something he could say? “Did I ever tell you…” he began, pausing to second-guess himself.
“Tell me what?”
“About Kim.” The other man’s fiancée. Cooper took another fortifying breath. “About the epic tournament of that card game we invented, Asses on the Barstool, that neither Kim or I wanted to lose.”
Hart looked up, an interest sparking in the dull eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You brought her to the lake that weekend, remember?”
“Yeah.” A smile ghosted over his friend’s mouth. “I wanted you guys to meet her. I wanted you guys to like her.”
After the wedding, Kim had planned to move to Sawyer Beach, where her husband had a slew of homegrown friends whose roots went as deep as those weeds Cooper had been battling all day. “Boone immediately approved of her.”
“Boone approves of everyone.”
They shared a smile.
“I think Mad ran a check on her. At the police department.”
“What?” Hart’s expression went from outrage to laughter. “Of course he ran a check on her.”
“Your intention to marry her was rather sudden.”
“When you know, you know.”
Cooper changed the subject. “We started playing cards and you decided to go to bed early instead.”
“Too much sun and beer in the afternoon.”
“Then everybody went to bed except for Kim and me.”
“She probably thought she couldn’t quit before Mr. Fun and Games or he would think she was a wuss.”
“And I would have thought just that.” He laughed. “We actually talked a lot too, though, about who had taught her how to shuffle—”
“Grandma Jean.”
“—and our personal techniques for counting cards.”
“Cheaters.”
“It’s not cheating. It’s strategy. Brains.” Then he paused, watching his friend drink down some beer and
scarf fried potatoes. “Then she talked about you.”
Hart’s gaze sliced to his. “My handsome visage, I suppose.” His tone held the thinnest humorous veneer. “My incredible sexual prowess, I hope.”
Cooper smirked. “Nope, but we’ll take those for a given.” Then he sobered. “She talked about how complete you are, about your steadiness of vision in how you see the world and live your life. How she wanted to be good enough for you—”
“Of course she was good enough for me!”
“She not only loved you, buddy, but she admired you greatly. Quite a gift.”
Hart’s hands wrapped his mug of beer and his head dipped to stare into the liquid. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Me neither. But I thought you should know.”
After a moment, his friend looked up again. “Thanks for talking about her. Most people avoid bringing her up.”
Cooper nodded, then let a moment pass. “You should also know she had a terrible habit of hoarding aces. It’s how I ended up trouncing her.”
Hart’s reluctant laughter died shortly, but he still laughed. “Thanks,” he said again. “I needed that too.”
They subsided into a companionable, if not happy silence. Hey, Cooper thought. Here was a silver lining. Misery made him a better friend.
Obviously Rachel had been wrong to advise Willow to ignore her fears. Involvement with Cooper Daggett had been a bad idea from the get-go—and hadn’t he warned her about that?—but she’d refused to listen and fallen in love with him anyway.
You think I’m that desperate for a husband, for someone willing to commit to me, that I’d take Brad under the current circumstances.
Well, it’s not something I’m offering.
Yes, falling in love with Cooper had proved disastrous. The best she could do now was carry on with her life while keeping the ache in her chest and the keen pain of disappointment to herself.
People hooked up and broke up all the time, right? Cooper wouldn’t even call it breaking up, she supposed. What they’d had together was his usual M.O. Hot, mutual sexy times and then the sputter-and-die of the little fire.
Move on. Carry on.
With that in mind, she met Sophie at Fun & Games at noon on the day of the anniversary party. Her new friend had consulted her on the design of the floral arrangements—gray-green succulents as the base, with birds of paradise flowers and bold-colored orchids as focal points.
They worked together in the empty building to rearrange the seating, including setting up small bistro sets on the outside front patio that could be reached when the floor-to-ceiling front windows were rolled up. They moved ping-pong tables and the air hockey table out back to create enough room for the band and dancing. The caterers would be stationed in the kitchen and an array of finger foods would be tray-passed.
By two o’clock, they stood together side by side, surveying their efforts.
“I suppose we’re ready,” Sophie said.
“Yes.” Which meant Willow must be ready to face Cooper that night. She’d considered making an excuse to skip the party, but she’d become acquainted with several women in Sophie’s circle and she wasn’t going to hide, not in Sawyer Beach. This was her town now too.
She could embrace that without embracing him.
No one need know how deeply he’d touched her.
A little after five, she returned to the brew pub, in another of her credit card-splurge dresses, one she’d never had a chance to wear for Cooper. Sunflowers blazed on a cream background and the low-cut bodice left her shoulders bare, though smocked sleeves wrapped her upper arms and kept the dress safely in place. She’d be able to dance in it…though she didn’t suppose she’d be dancing.
Her mood didn’t feel dance-worthy, even though music already poured from those open windows that rolled up like garage doors. Guests strolled through the small reception area to be greeted by a server holding a tray of piña coladas, though the bar was open as well and the self-serve draft beer dispensers were getting a workout. Willow snagged herself a glass of the frozen pineapple-coconut concoction and found a place against the wall. From here she could see that Randy and Carol Daggett were holding court at the far side of the room, a man beside them who looked like a shorter, more-harried version of Cooper. Big brother Beau, she surmised.
Cooper she didn’t see at all and Sophie must be lost in the crowd, she decided, until the small blonde materialized in front of her. “C’mon,” she said, exuberant. “I snagged a couple of tables for our group. You can put your purse down.”
But she stopped by to well-wish the anniversary couple first and met the oft-mentioned Beau Daggett. Randy and Carol explained to their older son that Willow was the lake house designer and he even slid the phone that seemed attached to his hand into his pocket to give her his full attention and compliment her on the upcoming renovations. The Daggetts had decided to put off beginning the work until post Labor Day, and Willow could only be glad of the reprieve…it would limit the opportunities to run into Cooper for a while.
And then he was there, at her elbow. She ignored the pang in her chest. You’re moving on.
“Hey,” he said, the greeting for her, his gaze on his brother. “You met Willow.”
“I like Willow,” Beau Daggett said, a twinkle in his eye.
“You should like Willow,” his father interjected. “I’ve thought from the first that—”
“I need you and Sophie,” Cooper said, big-footing the rest of his father’s remark. “Let’s go, you two.”
Willow shared a puzzled glance with her friend, but followed the man until they found themselves by tables filled with the poker night crew. Cooper himself had mysteriously disappeared.
“What was that all about?” Sophie asked on tiptoe, trying to peer over the shoulders of the guests standing about them.
“You need to sit down,” Hart Sawyer said, pulling her into a seat beside his. “Your brother said you’ve been on your feet all day.”
Willow followed suit, and found herself able to relax as conversation was batted about the table and then floated to the next one too. Boone got up and brought back more piña coladas, while others helped themselves to beer. At her side, Gemma, Boone’s fiancée, regaled them with tales of her more hard-to-please customers at her boutique Gifts for Girlfriends, which led to Willow sharing about the woman who’d wanted her to design an entire room for a pair of pet love birds—which had died and been stuffed years before.
Everyone laughed and they all ate, drank, and were merry. At least Willow pretended to be so. But it genuinely warmed her to be welcomed into this circle. So much of her childhood she’d spent feeling other and outside, so she truly reveled in the feeling of belonging. Through her next slushy drink she asked questions about Gemma’s upcoming wedding and about the latest antics of Sloane’s little girl.
I’ll be okay, she thought. It felt good to continue building friendships. They’d get her through.
And the crowd got her up on her feet when they all rose with a roaring cheer as the band segued into the piña colada song. With Sophie’s arm linked with hers, she rushed the dance floor with the rest, and they all coupled off, swaying to the sappy, catchy tune.
Sophie circled Willow’s waist with one arm and linked their other hands. “It’s a tradition,” she shouted over the sound of the guests chiming in with the lyrics. “We always dance to this song on big occasions.”
They switched partners on every verse, too, apparently, because soon she was dancing with Maddox Kelly and then Hart Sawyer.
He smiled down at her, though his eyes remained sad. “Don’t fight it. Not one of us knows why Carol Daggett insists on this.”
“Okay.” Over his shoulder she saw Cooper shuffling his sister from side to side. As long as she could avoid him, she’d manage.
“It’ll go four or five rounds, too,” Hart said. “You gotta dance with almost everybody before they’ll let the band stop.”
She wilted, sure s
he couldn’t be in Cooper’s arms and remain unaffected. “Right. I think I’ll take a bathroom break—”
The song began again, she was twirled into another body.
A stranger.
A woman.
“Hi!” the stranger said, grinning as she took the lead. “Isn’t this wild? I’m Nessa.”
“Willow.”
The other woman’s steps faltered. “Water balloon fight Willow?”
“Um…yeah?”
“I’m LeeLee and Emmy’s mom.”
“Oh!” She could see the resemblance. “They’re adorable.”
“They adored spending time with you and Coop, too.”
“Right. He’s good with them.”
She let out a sigh. “The one that got away,” she said, shaking her head. “You know, the two of us were once engaged.”
“Engaged?” Willow nearly choked on the word.
Nessa gave another grin. “On the way to the altar and everything.”
Stupid how that felt like a slice to the heart. But until now, she’d partially consoled herself that Cooper’s commitment-phobia wasn’t personal. That he truly was a bachelor to the bone, never interested in changing that state of being—that no woman could budge him. This Nessa proved it a lie.
“Hey.” The other woman frowned and narrowed her gaze. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, determined to cover for all she was worth. “I’m fi—”
And then the verse changed again and Cooper had her.
His expression gave nothing away about how he felt finding her in his arms. Holding herself stiffly, she kept several chilly inches between them. He studied her face, then frowned as she was buffeted by not one, but two other couples moving around the floor. Though he tried edging her closer, she kept her distance.
“You hate this song,” he said, again trying to draw her near when she was bumped by an exuberant gray-haired pair.
She reminded herself he was once engaged.
Well, it’s not something I’m offering.
“I don’t hate this song.”
He shook his head. “Please. Everybody hates this song. And now it will be stuck in your head until your thirty-fifth anniversary party.”
ANTE UP (7-Stud Club Book 3) Page 19