“Of course,” Drew said with a snort. “When is it about anything else?”
“Just because we shared a womb doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass.”
Drew’s relaxed stance remained, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. “If I had a buck for every time you said that to me, I’d be a mighty rich man. And yet my ass has remained unbeaten.”
“Maybe this time I should follow through.”
“Are y’all about done?” Nola asked with an eye roll. “Can someone please let me in on whatever the hell y’all are goin’ on about? Not everyone here has shared a womb.”
Before Finn could open his mouth to say anything, Drew beat him to it. “Romeo here thinks there’s some chance with the girl he ran away from. Wants to stick around and find out. And, if I’m not mistaken, wants us to hunker down in that apartment above the bar while he does it.” Drew turned to Finn, eyebrows raised. “Did I get that about right?”
“No, you didn’t, smartass,” Finn said. “This isn’t about Willow. Nola can’t be around every day while we get these details figured out. Who else are you proposing do it? Our fairy godmother?”
“So, what, you’re just gonna leave Sammy in the lurch? You know he can’t run the bar without you.”
“The bar’ll run fine. I’ll let him know we’ll be back in two weeks—three, tops.” Finn didn’t need his brother telling him this was a bad idea—he already knew that. He didn’t know what the hell he hoped to accomplish by staying. Didn’t know what hecouldaccomplish. But he wanted to try. Even for just a little while.
“What about you?” Finn asked Drew. “What’ve you got goin’ for the next bit?”
“Nothin’ I can’t do from here, and you know it.”
“So then hanging ’round for a couple weeks shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Jesus.” Drew took off his cap and scrubbed a hand through his hair before replacing the hat, no doubt reading every ounce of hope and apprehension that dripped from Finn. Drew stared at him for long moments then sighed and shook his head. “All right, I’m in. Let’s see how this shitshow plays out.”
It had been a couple days since Willow’s world had capsized. Since the ex-boyfriend from hell had popped back into her life. And she’d done a damn good job of pretending it hadn’t happened. She’d replicated the life of a hermit, diligently avoiding most public spaces—and thus avoiding the gossip mill. She had at least seven voice mails from Rory to tend to, but she just didn’t have it in her yet, wanting instead to keep her head buried in the sand a bit longer.
The prediction she’d made to Rory a few days before rang through her head, how the Thomas boys would peel away from town before the people of Havenbrook could blink. She didn’t know one way or another if they had—she’d asked Mac and Avery not to mention anything about the twins, and she’d studiously kept her head down and her nose to her work.
The thought of Finn still being in Havenbrook sent her stomach into a tailspin. More concerning, though, was the fact that the thought of him leaving without a word, going back on his promise of seeing her again, sent a whole flurry of other emotions swirling in her belly. And since there wasn’t enough wine in the world to explore that particular issue, Willow avoided examining it further. Pulled the proverbial blanket over her head and ignored. She went to work and then straight home, usually forcing Mackenna to run and grab supper and bring it back to the house so Willow could stay hidden away.
She just had to ride out the few days until Finn and his brother bailed again—and she was already two days into it. She could hold out through the weekend. By Monday, the Thomas boys would once again be just a distant memory.
She squinted at the painting she’d been working on for the better part of the day. Definitely needed more red. She’d just dipped her paintbrush in a deep, blood shade when the phone rang. Without setting the brush down, she reached for the phone with her other hand. “Hello?”
“Please tell me you’re doing something other than sitting in front of your easel, wastin’ the day away,” Mac said.
Willow froze, paintbrush suspended in mid-air. Her sister was creepy sometimes, but Willow wasn’t going to tell her she was absolutely right. Though she wouldn’t consider this “wasting the day away.” “’Course not.” A lie didn’t count through the phone, right? “What’d you need?”
“Avery was thinkin’ about Chinese for supper. That sound all right to you?”
“I could go for Chinese.” What she could go for was not leaving the house, and having her sister and Avery deliver it to her certainly fit that bill.
“All right. We’re just finishin’ up a few things, so it’ll be a bit.”
“’Kay. See you later.”
Willow didn’t know how long “a bit” was, but she planned to use it to her advantage and brought the paintbrush back to the canvas. Some mindless TV droned on in the background, but she didn’t pay it much attention. Instead, she focused on the canvas and threw all her frustration into it. The painting—a mix of colors and patterns with no rhyme or reason—was raw and wild and a great big mess. Exactly like Willow.
She’d been using paint as a means to express herself for as long as she could remember. Even after Finn had left, she’d managed not to allow her favorite pastime to be dampened by his memory. Which meant her having flashbacks now didn’t make any sense, but yet there she was. Every instance over the past few days when she’d picked up her paintbrush, snippets from her teenage years, from her time with Finn, would rush to the forefront of her mind. The first time she’d shown him one of her paintings, the look of awe and pride on his face. How he’d never made her hobby seem like a waste of time like her daddy had. When he used to sit behind her and play with her hair as she painted, his arms a solid weight around her, making her feel safe and secure, like she’d never felt before.
It had all been lies, of course.
She didn’t know how long had passed before Mac and Avery found her there, both their eyes narrowed.
“You liar,” Mac accused as she tossed her purse on the side chair, setting down boxes from Wok This Way on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You said you weren’t still doin’ this.”
“And you believed me?”
