“I see nothin’ much has changed with your daddy. Still as much of a dick as his name implies.” His response should’ve surprised her, but it didn’t. The hate between the two certainly wasn’t one-sided and had never been, and it apparently hadn’t waned with time.
“Did you have a question about somethin’?” she asked, walking toward her office. The last thing she needed today was to have her daddy come flying out and get a look at Finn. That was an interaction she wanted to postpone as long as humanly possible.
“Yeah.” He stepped close to her, closer than was appropriate for two business associates. Reaching out, he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, let his finger drop to the side of her neck, resting against her pulse point. “I wanted to see if you got the delivery.”
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch, the dormant butterflies in her stomach once again swirling to life when she thought about what the gift meant. Was he trying to tell her he hadn’t forgotten about her, about back then? Or that he was disappointed she hadn’t fulfilled her promise to go to art school? But that was a can of worms she couldn’t afford to open right now. Instead, she said, “I did. Thank you.”
“You still use that brand?”
Given he went out of his way to get them for her, she didn’t have the heart to tell him no, so she just bit her lip and kept quiet.
He smiled, though there was still tension in his body. “Always so polite, aren’t you? That hasn’t changed.” His jaw ticked as he glanced toward her daddy’s office. “Is that why you let him talk to you that way? You deserve better than that.”
She shrugged. “You know that’s just how Daddy is.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Did you need anything else, Finn? If you heard him, I’m sure you know I’ve got a busy day, so I should get to it.” She pasted on a fake smile, hoping like hell he bought it—or at least pretended to for her sake.
Finn looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply through his nose. He gave a quick shake of his head and dropped his hand from her neck. “Nothin’ that can’t wait.”
“If you’re sure.” But Willow didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she ducked her head and stepped around him, straight into her office where she had twelve hours of work she somehow had to stuff into seven.
Finn wasn’t sure he’d ever hated another human being as much as he hated Richard Haven. The man was everything Finn despised in a person—arrogant, pushy, narrow-minded, rude. And he’d been that way as long as Finn could remember. It’d been different then, though. Back when he’d been just a teenager, someone good ol’ Dick could use his powers to intimidate and persuade and push exactly where he wanted.
It’d been a long time since anyone had been able to do that to Finn. Come to think of it, it’d been since the day he’d left Havenbrook behind. When Dick had made sure Finn had no choice but to leave, he’d sworn he’d never allow someone to do that to him again.
He only wished Willow could say the same.
It’d about killed him to hear her daddy talk to her like that. Finn had stood in the hallway, fists clenched, body nearly vibrating with the urge todosomething. To step in and intervene. To tell Dick to fuck off once and for all. But if he knew Willow at all, he was certain she’d hate that.
His original intention had simply been to stop by and see if she wanted to grab lunch. See if his little talk at the hardware store had had any effect on her at all. Because it sure as hell had on him. Truth was, since he’d put it all out there, hoping she’d see things his way, he couldn’t stop the runaway train known as his desires. He wanted her, with a single-minded focus. What he should’ve been spending his hours concentrating on was getting the bar up and running, not on the probability of getting another kiss from Willow.
But knowing with complete certainty she felt this pull too, that there was a possibility she’d give him another chance? Well, he couldn’t think about anything else. And he’d be damned if he left again without giving this everything he had. Without giving them another shot. He couldn’t live with the what-ifs for the rest of his life if he didn’t.
“You gonna stand by the window all night like a goddamn creeper, or what?” Drew asked as he strolled out of his bedroom, tossing his keys in the air before catching them.
“She’s been out there all damn day.”
“Just doin’ her job.”
“I can almost guarantee planting fresh flowers isn’t in her job description.” Finn looked out the window again, finding Willow across the square at the cafe, attempting to shuffle the heavy wrought-iron furniture into some semblance of order. No doubt on her daddy’s command.
“Yeah, well, her daddy’s an asshole,” Drew said. “Never did think a woman was good for much else than cookin’ and makin’ babies. He’s probably made Willow sorry every single day that she took that job.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Drew clapped Finn on the shoulder, then turned to leave. “Gonna meet Nola at Rudy’s. You wanna come?”
Go and have a drink while Willow busted her ass for someone who wouldn’t even give her a grunt in thanks? Not if you paid him. “Nah. I’ll see you later.”
“All right then.”
The door shut behind Drew, but Finn didn’t take his focus from Willow. She still wore her favored business attire—a slim skirt and sleeveless top, the suit jacket she’d had on that morning tossed over one of the cafe chairs. Those siren red heels she still wore called his name. Her feet must’ve been killing her.
All day, he’d watched her from inside the bar. Watched as she’d flitted around like a hummingbird, her legs carrying her as fast as they could go. First posting flyers around the square for the annual Fourth of July parade she’d no doubt she worked her ass off to make sure was amazing, then filling all three dozen planters with fresh flowers. As much as he’d wanted to go out there and help with her duties, he knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t want it—would, in fact, bite off his head for even offering.
But now, long after he and the rest of the crew had closed shop for the day, she still worked. It was past eight in the evening, which meant she’d been working for nearly twelve hours. Not to mention, she was attempting to heft the heavy, wrought-iron cafe tables where they needed to go, in between wrangling the child-sized playhouses and toys strewn all about from the day care.
