by Kim Amos
When the half mile was finally over with, Willa was never so relieved to have something behind her. She rested her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath, while the girls chatted and stretched. Some of them called “Good job!”—which only made Willa want to keep running, away from the track and her bone-deep humiliation. These girls must think she was a joke.
She squeezed her eyes closed, knowing if that was the case, then she didn’t have much time to rectify their opinion. She had to assert her authority, and soon.
“All right, ladies,” she said when she felt like her throat was no longer on fire. “Let’s get our hamstrings—”
Nausea twisted her gut. She tried to press it down, but it was roiling and churning. “Our ham—” she tried again, but it was no use.
She turned, but it was too late.
The girls squealed in horror as she emptied the contents of her stomach on the red clay track.
* * *
Willa approached the back doorway of Knots and Bolts in her oversized track pants and hoodie, smelling like gas and sweat, and panting heavily. Her mouth was still sour from vomiting on the track, and she wanted nothing more than to just go home already. She’d tried to tell Audrey there was no way she could meet the Knots and Bolts group tonight, but Audrey had insisted she come. “Oh, you’re fine,” Audrey had said after practice, handing Willa a bottle of water. “No one cares about looks around here.”
Easy for you to say, Willa thought, taking in Audrey’s trim figure in her track pants and fitted T-shirt. Willa figured Audrey could roll out of bed with barely any sleep and a massive hangover and still look better than Willa on her best day.
Willa shoved her shaking hands inside the sweatshirt’s front pouch, hoping no one would notice her nerves. Which was too kind a word, really, for the humiliation that was shredding whatever scrap of dignity she had left after practice.
She swallowed back a cry of frustration. Back in New York, she spent time fixing herself up just to make a run to the corner market. She was used to looking her best. Now she’d barely had a moment to catch her breath, much less change or reapply her makeup, before meeting a whole new group of women who had every reason not to like her. A few steps ahead, Audrey’s glossy brown ponytail bounced with unbounded enthusiasm as she opened Knots and Bolts’ painted back door. Willa clenched her jaw. All that running around, and the woman had barely broken a sweat today.
Willa followed Audrey inside, entering a cozy space with warm light and vases of sunflowers and spider lilies placed here and there. It would have been lovely, inviting even, except for how the conversation that had been taking place didn’t just die when she showed up—it fell off a kind of vocal cliff, fading and fading, until it hit the ground and crumpled into surprised silence.
Four women stared at her. For a moment, none of them moved.
Willa’s feet twitched, telling her to run and get out of there now. Her shoulders wanted to hunch, her spine wanted to curl. But instead she took a breath and held her ground. Besides, she was sore enough that she might never run anywhere ever again, so she might as well stay put.
Audrey cleared her throat. “As I mentioned, Willa Masterson is back in town and I thought we could help her feel welcome.”
Willa met the flat gazes of the women seated at the bright red table in front of her. There was Burk’s dark-haired sister, Anna Palowski, as well as Stephanie Munson, a freckled woman Willa remembered being a cheerleader. And of course, Betty Lindholm.
“The recipe exchange sounded too good to miss,” Willa said, smiling too brightly. “God knows I could use some help in the kitchen.” She let out a laugh that was more high-pitched than she would have liked. In New York, it would have signaled weakness.
Audrey smiled back. “We’re happy to have you.”
Clearly not everyone shared Audrey’s enthusiasm. Especially not Betty, who looked like she was clenching her fists—maybe to keep herself from punching Willa.
“What a great space,” Willa said, distracting herself by launching into overzealous guest mode. She gazed at the large table in the middle of the room and the woven carpet underneath. The room was wider than she would have guessed the back room of Knots and Bolts would be, with space for a small love seat toward the rear, and lots of windows all around. Off to the right was a small kitchenette, where the smell of chocolate brownies was drifting into the room. It wasn’t Willa’s style, but it was definitely cozy. Comfortable.
“Come on in, make yourself at home,” Audrey said, leading her toward the table where the other ladies were seated. There was an assortment of odd chairs to choose from—some painted, some with fabric seats, some just cheap plastic. The eclectic mix of it all was oddly charming. Willa chose an old oak seat with armrests, and eased herself next to Betty.
Keep your enemies close, as her dad used to say.
“Willa and I were just at track practice,” Audrey said. “Willa’s volunteering, and helping out a ton.”
Willa winced. That was too kind. The reality was that she’d been awful, gasping and panting and trying to be useful to the girls, but feeling more of a joke instead. She could all but feel them smirking at her as she bumped into hurdles or fumbled with the stopwatch. Plus, her muscles were going to be sore for days. And she might never stop sweating.
“Your record still stands on the field,” Stephanie said, her red hair glinting in the warm light. “That must make you feel proud after all these years.”
It should, except it didn’t. Willa realized that she hadn’t really done anything since setting that record. She’d moved to New York, thinking her life would be so much better, so much more important. But here she was, twelve years later, back in her hometown and talking about what she’d done as a teenager.
“Can I get you some coffee?” Audrey asked, bringing her a cup before she could refuse. The Minnesotan way.
The hot liquid was going to have her sweating even more, and she needed water badly. But instead she smiled and sipped at the bitter drink. “Thanks.”
The conversation petered out. They were all just staring at her.
Betty finally gave a little cough. “You back for good?” she asked in a way that made it clear she hoped Willa wasn’t.
She thought about how to answer. In New York she would have laughed while she oozed venom. But this wasn’t New York, and Willa needed to make White Pine work. She tried on another pageant smile—one she hoped said, Look, I’m not a threat! I’m nice now!—but that felt fake, too. So instead she just went for the truth.
“I’d like to think so. I’m opening a bed-and-breakfast here. In the house where I grew up.”
Okay, partial truth. No way was she going to tell them about Lance and losing her money and her house being her only remaining plan.
For a second Betty just stared at her. Willa had time to study how age had softened her looks. Betty’s teeth were just fine now, though Willa wondered if Betty might still haul off and bite her like a beaver, for old times’ sake.
Instead Betty just shrugged. “We’ve got the Great Lakes Inn. Not sure why we need another place.”
Before Willa could answer, Burk’s sister, Anna, spoke up from across the table. “Burk’s doing the work for you on the house?”
Willa tried not to blush at the recent memories of Burk and the Volvo. “He is. We walked through the project list this morning.”
Something dark flashed across Anna’s face, and Willa wondered what she’d said wrong. Twelve years ago, Burk had treated Anna like a pesky little sister but Willa had adored Anna and fawned over her. Anna would follow Willa and Burk around, asking to look in Willa’s purse or wanting to try on Willa’s headband. Willa had always indulged her, sometimes even bringing her lip gloss or a downy stuffed animal she no longer wanted. Now Willa wondered if that little girl had grown up to despise the way she’d broken Burk’s heart all those years ago. Not that Willa could blame her.
“I bet it was a surprise being around Burk again,” Stephanie Munson said, no
t unkindly.
“Burk’s a good contractor,” Willa said, trying to shift the conversation. “The house needs a lot of work.”
“Well, you can come on down to Knots and Bolts if you need to get away from the construction,” Audrey said. “We have our recipe exchange every Thursday afternoon, of course, but the place is open during normal business hours. And sometimes during not-normal business hours. If there’s an emergency.”
Willa fidgeted with her coffee cup. Did this mean they were going let her stay in their group?
“Betty keeps the key in the geranium pot if you ever need to get in and we’re not around,” Stephanie said. Betty shot her a searing glare from across the table.
“Except I’m almost always here,” Betty said pointedly. “It being my store and all.”
“That’s such good news,” Willa said, surprised at how much she meant it. Maybe this was all going to be easier than she’d anticipated. She faced Betty, remembering her unfinished errand from earlier, and how she’d fled before Betty could see her. Willa’s regret was still there, a hot flame inside her chest, but she couldn’t help wondering if there was a chance the past would get swept to the side. They’d all see how hard she was trying, and everyone would simply forgive her and move on.
“It’s great to have an excuse to be at Knots and Bolts,” Willa told her, pushing past her mortification, “especially because I’m going to need some upholstery and curtains for the B and B. I was hoping I could enlist your services.”
Betty narrowed her eyes. “Probably not.”
“Excuse me?”
“I could sell you some fabric, but I’m busy with a different business on the side. With blood. And skeletons. And death.”
Willa shifted, suddenly nervous.
“Oh, stop,” Audrey interjected. “It’s not that macabre. It’s Halloween items. Betty sells them year round—online.”
Willa let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“Helps me stay busy in between customers at the shop,” Betty said. “I’ve thought about doing it full-time. Knots and Bolts does pretty well, and I don’t really want to close up, but I like the idea of being able to do my work anywhere. The freedom of not having a storefront.”
“Don’t you dare close,” Stephanie said. “My four-year-old twins are no joke. I love them, but this place is a haven for me. I need it to be open.”
“No kidding,” Audrey said. “Especially when Betty stocks the good stuff.”
She reached into a nearby cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Irish cream liqueur, pouring some into her coffee. Everyone passed the bottle and partook, including Willa, who added an extra splash to calm her nerves.
“Well, I just come to show off,” Anna said, striding toward the kitchenette. “You guys know my brownies are the best in town.”
Willa could hear her pulling a pan out of the oven, and the heady smell of baking chocolate wafted into the room.
“So what about it, Willa?” Betty asked as Anna set a plate of warm brownies onto the table. “You plan on contributing to this recipe exchange, or just showing up to get served?”
It was a direct barb, but Willa couldn’t argue. She knew she was pretty much useless in a recipe exchange. She couldn’t do jack in the kitchen, but that didn’t mean she was going to give up on being part of this group. If they were cracking the door to her, she’d push it open and make sure she got all the way through.
“I am really good with a corkscrew,” Willa said, lifting her chin, “and I took a world-class collection of wine with me when I left my asshole of an ex. I’m dying to share it.”
For a second, Betty didn’t say anything. “Then welcome to the recipe exchange, I guess,” she offered flatly, looking away.
“Here, here,” Audrey said, raising her spiked coffee in a toast.
It was a start, Willa thought, and she’d take it. Somehow her heart was already lighter as the thick mugs clinked together.
CHAPTER NINE
Friday, September 21, 7:17 p.m.
Anna set the apple pie in front of Burk unceremoniously.
“I don’t think I—” he started but her sharp glance stopped him from saying any more. He picked up a fork. Tonight it looked like he was having dessert, whether he wanted it or not.
Out in the family room, Anna’s husband, Sam, played with their two-year-old daughter, Juniper. It was a bad sign that Sam hadn’t stayed in the kitchen after dinner. The man loved pie almost as much as his family, and he was a much-needed buffer when Anna had that glint in her eye that meant trouble. She was sporting it right now, in fact.
Burk speared the still-warm dessert wondering what Anna wanted to speak with him about.
As if on cue, Anna sat next to him at the worn oak table. “Willa Masterson came into Knots and Bolts yesterday.”
Well, Burk thought, there it is.
He set down his fork. “You don’t say.”
It was all he could do to keep his emotions locked underneath his skin. Jesus, just the mention of her name and he was getting riled up. What had gotten into him? He had to be careful. His sister could read him better than anyone. Better than himself, some days.
Anna pulled her steaming cup of tea closer. Soft light reflected on the tile backsplash in the adjoining kitchen—Burk had installed it—and everything looked so warm and comfortable. It was a shame they were squandering all the coziness by talking about Willa. Burk glanced at the living room, wishing he were out there now, playing airplane or horsey with Juniper, watching her golden hair bounce and her big eyes shine.
“She joined the recipe exchange,” Anna said, pulling Burk’s attention back to the kitchen, “and she mentioned you’re the one fixing up the house.” She spoke the words calmly, but Burk could see the twin spots of color on her cheeks glowing like bonfires. She had some thoughts about all this.
“Of course I’m fixing it up,” Burk said. “I’ve been taking care of it this long, haven’t I?”
“You should have refused the project because that’s the house you want. How are you over there fixing it up for her, when it’s your dream?”
Burk thought about how to answer. In the other room, Sam was playing “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who for Juniper. Sam always said every kid should grow up with a classic rock education. Juniper squealed with delight as Sam played air guitar. Good man, Burk thought.
“Someone is going to work on that house,” he said finally. “It might as well be me. And my crew. I don’t see what the problem is.”
Anna arched a dark brow. “The problem is, this is going to eat at you, day in and day out, if she takes over a house that’s supposed to be yours. Why don’t you just cut the nonsense and try to buy it from her?”
“I did. Yesterday. She wanted a half million for it. I can’t afford that, and she’s bent on turning it into a high-end bed-and-breakfast.”
“So tell her that’s ridiculous. Tell her that’s the last thing White Pine needs.”
Burk shook his head, thinking about yesterday in the car. “I’m trying. It’s just—I’m not—it’s not that easy.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
Burk almost smiled. No one talked to him like that. Crew members said “yes sir” and “no sir.” Clients were nice because he vetted them and threw out the ones who weren’t. Only Anna could get in his face like this, and talk to him like they were still kids.
“Burk, are you even listening?”
Anna’s blue eyes were storming with irritation.
“Sorry,” Burk said, “your pie puts me into a trancelike state. It’s just that good.”
For a moment, Anna softened. The way to her heart wasn’t her food—it was compliments about her food. Too bad the thaw didn’t last long.
“Look, I’m not interested in Willa getting hurt here. She was like a sister to me when you guys were dating, and I respect that she’s trying to run a small business. It’s just that she could open up a B and B anywhere. And this is a house yo
u’ve cared for, for years. I think you should fight harder for it.”
Irritation needled him. He was fighting, dammit. The problem was that Willa kept throwing him off his game. Her curves, her lips, her inability to put gas in her car. Cripes. He was frustrated for finding it all so appealing, when he knew better. He knew she was bad news.
“I’ll figure it out.”
Anna studied him for a few moments. He felt as though his thoughts were carved into her kitchen table, plain as day to read. “Are you going to ask her out?”
Burk nearly choked. “What? Of course not. Have you lost your mind?”
“Well, it’s not working out with anyone else, so I thought maybe you’d try to rekindle things with Willa.”
Out in the living room, “Baba O’Riley” was playing. Juniper babbled “teenage wasteland.” It came out “neeeam beebaaa.”
“It’s working fine with plenty of women,” Burk said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So last night’s date? Bowling alley girl? That went…”
“Fine,” Burk growled, not wanting to tell his sister that he’d taken bowling girl back to his place, only to have her storm out when not one but two different bras had slipped out from the pillow underneath her head as they were making out on the couch.
The blurry memory of how they’d gotten there came back to him in a rush, and he’d almost smiled remembering the pair of doe-eyed twins with unbelievable flexibility who’d been over earlier in the week. But he couldn’t very well explain any of that to his date. “That’s classless,” bowling girl said, her tone biting.
He couldn’t even argue with her. She was right.
“I’m glad it was a swell evening,” Anna said, a smug smile playing on her lips as she watched his face. “And before that, it was another home run, right? With the woman who realized you’d taken out her best friend the week before?”
Burk frowned. It didn’t seem right that Anna could sit here and give him a hard time about dating. Especially not when she had found Sam so easily, when they were seniors in college. “I met him in a Russian history class,” Anna used to joke, “and I was so bored, I stared at Sam to keep myself awake.” They’d gotten married right after graduation, and had Juniper a few years later. Here his baby sister was, happy and so clearly in love with her husband—and acting like Burk was somehow less just because he hadn’t found someone yet.