I’m acting like a lovesick bitch. “Nah, have at it.” I shove the plate across the table to him. We’re on lacky errand runs, but the hours we spend waiting for orders are crippling. Better than the empty rooms and stillness of back home, though. I’d sit in a million shit diners in a million shit towns if it meant not having to go home to the echoes of Willa.
I hit respond and type out a text, deleting the last line before hitting send.
Happy to hear you’re getting your own place.
That’s huge! Proud of you.
I fucking miss you! Come home to me!!!
Eighteen
Willa
Lost—that’s what I’ve felt for the past three months. People around try to engage, but I don’t want to be here, and it makes me miserable. My mother gave me a job at her wine bar and helped me look for a place of my own. Staying with her doesn’t feel right. Our relationship feels tainted, cursed by the past neither of us can change. We had such different lives, finding a middle ground is like forcing oil into the water. I’m comfortably numb, shutting down. There’s no love or hate, just indifference. It makes me feel cruel. She’s desperate to have this daughter made up of dreams she’s created in the years she spent seeking me out, but I’m just not who she thought I’d be, and the atmosphere grows colder each day I’m not blossoming under her attention.
“That guy is eye-fucking you.” Jessie, the other bartender that works for my mother, whispers into my ear. I track her gaze to a man I instantly recognize. The glass I’m holding drops and shatters to the floor, causing a screech from Jessie’s lips.
“What the hell, Willa?” she gasps, dropping on her hunches to pick up the shards. Rhythmic pounding rings in my ears as I round the bar and make my way to Mr. Right.
Clasping my trembling hands together in my lap, I slip onto the stool opposite him. “What are you doing here?” It sounds accusatory, and his face becomes stoic, making my insides churn. I want to dip my head and apologize, but hear Gabe’s voice roaring in my head. “No one owns you, Willa.”
“When did you become rude?” He takes a napkin and pats his lips. “Interesting place you have here.”
“It’s not mine,” I race out.
“I heard about Milo’s passing. Can’t say I’m surprised. The boy was playing way out of his league.”
“Why are you here?” I insist with strength in my tone I didn’t know I was capable of. He stares at me, studying.
“You cut your hair,” he mentions. It’s styled into a bob now, resting just above my shoulders. “I don’t like it.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask more firmly. His hands fly out, grabbing my chin in a penetrating grip.
“I go where I please, and I don’t appreciate the tone.”
“Is there a problem here?” My mother appears next to me, her arms wrapping around my shoulder. Mr. Right releases me, a smile hooking his lips. “No, not at all. I was just admiring Willa’s haircut.”
“You know each other?” she asks, dumbfounded.
“Do you?” I ask, my lungs seizing.
“Mr. Cage is looking to invest in local businesses like mine,” my mother informs, looking between us, a dazed expression making her lips thin.
“Mother, could you give us a moment?” I ask her, nodding for her to leave when she appears apprehensive.
“Of course.”
Turning my focus back to Mr. Right…or Mr. Cage—whoever he’s pretending to be—I pull my phone from my apron pocket and snap a picture of him before he can react or stop me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, anger lacing his tone.
“Tell me what you’re doing here or I’m sending this to a friend of mine and getting every drop of information I can on you. What I do with that information will depend on your answer.”
A genuine smile lights up his face, a chuckle deep and terrifying. “Oh, Willa, you have grown. What a clever little girl. I’ll be honest with you. Whether you believe me is neither here nor there, but this is a pure coincidence.” He waves a hand in the air dismissively. Lies. It can’t be. There’s no way.
“I can see your mind working. It’s always been your downfall.”
Having my own thoughts is a downfall?
“The family I work for is looking to extend their reach with their chain of restaurants and bars. I acquire places that have potential.”
“You want to buy this place?”
“No, actually, but when I came in and saw you were working here, I couldn’t help myself, I needed to know everything about it. It felt fated, I suppose.”
This is insane. What are the odds of this happening?
“I’m getting ready to leave, going back to Little Rock. Remember what I’ve told you in the past, I hold a little soft spot for you, Willa. If you ever find yourself in need, you know where to find me.”