“Hey, it’s Finn.”
There was a brief pause before she asked, “Why’re you callin’ me on my private number?” Her voice was tight, that anger he’d only recently seen come out simmering under the surface. He’d never had that anger directed at him before—had never given her a reason for it to be. And he shouldn’t like it as much as he did, but there was no denying Willow was hot as hell when she was fired up.
“Ah, sorry,” he said. “Nola sent it to me. Said you had some paperwork that needed to be signed.”
Willow made an impatient huff. “I’m still not seeing why that involves calling my cell phone, Griffin. I have an office phone for a reason, especially considering this isofficebusiness.”
He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face, hating every time she uttered his full name. Knowing damn well she was using it as a way to put up imaginary bricks between them. She could keep putting them up all she wanted, and as long as he was there, he’d keep knocking them down.
Finn ran a hand through his hair. “Drew and I are workin’ in the bar today with Nash. We’re not exactly dressed for town hall. Any chance you can swing that on by?”
Nothing but silence came from her end, and he could just imagine her in her office, her jaw tight, paperwork clenched in her fist. He waited for her to tell him to try his hand at skydiving, minus the parachute.
Instead, she snapped, “Fine.” Then the line went dead.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and glanced up at Drew, who was watching him intently.
Drew raised a brow. “How’s that plan of yours workin’?”
“Fuck off,” Finn said and turned his back on his brother.
Drew’s laughter followed Finn as he went back to pulling off another section of baseboards. The truth was he didn’thavea plan, not when it came to Willow. And maybe that was the problem. All he wanted to do was make sure she was happy here, that his leaving had served a bigger purpose. But it seemed like any time they got around each other, all common sense fled his head.
He didn’t know what he’d have to do to get through to her, to get her to actually have a conversation with him, but he wasn’t giving up just yet.
* * *
Hours later,Finn was spackling a bit of plaster by the ceiling, Drew and Nash having just slipped out to wheel a few salvage loads from the back room out to the dumpster. He’d managed to stop checking the clock a while earlier, but that hadn’t made the time go by any faster, wondering when Willow would get over her anger and stop by.
He heard her before he saw her, the click of her heels on the sidewalk outside drawing his gaze toward the opened door where she walked through, taking a tentative step into his building.
And damn.Damn.
While he would always prefer the more casual Willow—the girl who was at home in paint-stained tank tops and cutoffs—he couldn’t deny how well she pulled off a suit. The tight, mid-thigh length skirt clung to the tantalizing curves of her hips…hips he’d had under his hands mere days before. She wore a bright red sleeveless top tucked into the waistband of her skirt, no doubt having shed her jacket in her office in deference to the heat.
Her dark hair hung down her back, loose waves framing her face. Cool detachment was written along every inch of her body and a fake smile on her pouty pink lips. At least, until she took in the space around Finn, no doubt a mess in her eyes, and realized no one else was around. It was just the two of them. That fake smile dropped like an anchor.
“Hey, Willowtree.” He climbed down from the ladder, setting the plastering trowel and mud pan on the old counter.
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, like she was trying to get herself under control. Trying to rein in that temper that only intrigued Finn. When she opened her eyes again, she looked anywhere but at him, taking in the place that was in utter disarray. “Where’re Drew and Nash?”
“Around.” He hated how his gut twisted when she asked about the other guys, one of whom was his brother. But Nash…shit, for all Finn knew, Willow and Nash had dated at some point. It wouldn’t be so farfetched, considering the small pool of available people their age in Havenbrook. Nash was a couple years younger than her, having graduated with the youngest of the Haven girls, Natalie. But that didn’t mean anything.
“Why, you need them for somethin’?” he asked. As if he could wipe the make-believe images of Willow and Nash together from his mind, he plucked the T-shirt he’d tucked into the waistband of his shorts and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. That did fuck-all to get thoughts of Willow with some other guy from his mind—which was dumb as hell because ofcourseshe’d been with other men while he’d been gone. It’d been ten years. And besides being stunning as hell, she was smart. Funny. Kind. Generous. She was everything any sane man would want by his side.
And Finn had just walked away.
He’d kicked himself daily for that over the past ten years, but he’d stayed away. He’d managed to keep himself from running back because, while the circumstances surrounding his departure hadn’t left him much choice in the matter, he’d been sure he’d done it for her benefit. That his being gone had allowed Willow to become the person she was meant to become instead of being weighed down by him.
Shaking those thoughts from his head, he ran his shirt down his chest to wipe away the sheen of sweat and glanced back at Willow, realizing her eyes were trained on his hand as it brushed the cloth across his abs.
“Willow?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Why’d you want to know?”
“What?” she asked, snapping her eyes to his. “Oh, just wondering.” She averted her gaze and crossed her arms over her chest, but not before he caught sight of her nipples straining at the material of her shirt, dark shadows beneath all that red. And since it sure as shit wasn’t cool in here, that meant one thing.
