There was a woman outside her bedroom door. AScottishwoman. Willow was sure of it.
“Ash…Babe…youknewwhat was meant to happen on that day, and ithappened. Can you blame me for being over the moon about finally getting whatIwanted?” After a beat of silence, the woman’s voice continued. “Are you really going to just bugger off and out of my life because I held up my end of the agreement?” The woman spoke in a hushed tone, albeit an exasperated hushed tone, which made it sound all that much lesshushed.
So…yeah. There was a Scottish woman outside Willow’s door calling AshBabe. Which shouldn’t matter because they agreed days ago to dial it back to friends while they finished the song. She had a mirror full of song titles about friendship to prove it, from Ash’s initial nod toToy Storyto Willow countering withThe Golden Girlstheme song, “Thank You for Being a Friend,” all the way to songs that evoked the idea of friendship even if they didn’t have the wordfriendin the title, like “Count on Me” by Bruno Mars or “I’ll Be There for You” by the Rembrandts. She had days’ worth of evidencethat she and Ash were, in fact, friends and nothing more, yet the sound of a woman’s voice outside her door calling AshBabewhile sounding like a Spice Girl was throwing her into a tailspin.
Willow might have still been groggy with sleep, but she was certain of two very important things. One, a stranger in her house calling herfriendAshBabewas not on her bingo card for this week, and two, she had to pee. Like…now.
Willow hopped out of bed and ran for the bathroom. In her haste, she stubbed her pinkie toe on the doorframe,hard, and let out a string of whispered expletives through gritted teeth as she simultaneously shimmied out of her underwear and took care of business.
Only after she’d risen to wash her hands and face and to brush her teeth did she realize how badly she’d jammed her poor little toe. Hot tears pricked her eyes as she put weight on her foot, and when she looked down, she could see that the tiny toe was already visibly bruised and not as tiny as it used to be.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Willow told herself as she splashed cold water on her face and attempted to continue her morning routine. She needed a game plan for how she was going to react when she walked out into the living room to find Ash with the only Scottish woman she could imagine in connection to Ash. Hiswife… Or, she guessed,ex-wife.
With clean teeth, a fresh face, and morning hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head, Willow hobbled back into her room, absently threw on a hoodie over her tank and leggings, and then sniffed back the tears that were surely from her throbbing toe and nothing else. Then she squared her shoulders and threw open her bedroom door.
“Morning!” she cried, way cheerier than anyone should greetanyonefirst thing, but Willow Morgan was a singer. An actor, she wasnot.
Ash was mid-pace on the floor in front of the couch while the woman—yep, that was Annabeth Calder-Payne—stood in a fitted white tennis dress with her sleek blond bob parted down the middle, arms crossed as she glanced from Ash to Willow.
Ash’s eyes widened. “Wills, I’m sorr—” but he cut himself off before finishing the word, clamping his mouth shut as Willow watched the wheels turn in his head.
“I’msorry,” Annabeth interjected, striding toward Willow with a hand outstretched. “Annabeth Calder—” But the other woman stopped short as well when Willow limped in her direction. “Are you injured?” she asked instead.
“I’m fine. Totally fine.” Willow waved her off. “Just stubbed my toe on the way to the bathroom,” she added with a nervous laugh. “Or I guess you call it the loo, right? Or toilet?” Willow offered the other woman her hand. “You must be Annabeth.”
The young woman—she was barely twenty when she and Ash got married, right?—smiled tentatively with perfect red lips as she glanced down at Willow’s outstretched hand. She looked like the perfect combination of Taylor Swift and Posh Spice.
“Don’t worry! I washed my hands after,” Willow joked then cringed at what wasnotat all funny. Nothing about this situation merited laughter.
Annabeth gave her hand a firm shake, firmer than Willow had been expecting, so much so that she lost her balance, put extra weight on the outside of her foot, and then yelped at the sudden onslaught of pain.
“Jesus, Willow.” Ash finally spoke again as he strode not around butoverthe couch to meet Willow where she stood precariously, balancing mostly on her left foot. His eyes widened. “What the hell happened? I think you freaking broke your toe.”
Oh god. This was not happening. Willow was not interrupting a reunion between her…her…housemateand the woman who was very recently her housemate’swifewithout finding outwhyshe was here and what it meant. But Ash was suddenly guiding her toward the couch, almost carrying her as Annabeth clapped her hands together and announced, “Right. We’ll need some ice, cotton, and surgical tape so we can use the next toe over as a splint. Have you got all of that, Ash?” Annabethwas already at the freezer, pulling out the ice tray as Ash helped Willow lower herself to the couch.
“It’s my brother Eli’s place,” Ash called back to her as he situated Willow in the corner of the couch so she could extend her legs. He propped the right one on top of a throw pillow.
“Ah!” Annabeth replied. “Then that means Dr. Murphy has the place stocked. Will I find a first aid box in one of the cabinets, then?”
“Yep!” Ash answered. “Pretty sure it’s the one by the sink.”
“I’mfine,” Willow insisted, but when Ash’s thumb brushed so much as the outside of her footnearthe toe, she hissed in a breath that gave away her big, fat lie.
“Sorry!” he said. “About hurting you…yourtoe, I mean. I didn’t… This isn’t…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then soft enough so only Willow could hear, added, “I can explain. This isn’t what it looks like.”
“What does it look like?” Willow asked in the same hushed tone, but then Annabeth was there. In one hand she held a tea towel tied around a mound of ice and, in the other, the same first aid kit Willow had used to patch Ash up the night she mistook him for an intruder all those weeks ago.
“Right,” Annabeth began, shooing Ash out of the way so she could sit beside Willow’s propped foot. “Now look, this will do bugger all for the painat first until you’re good and numb, but it will help with the swelling so you can hopefully still fit into a shoe.” She raised her brows, which Willow realized was the other woman asking for permission to do whatever she was about to do, so Willow nodded.
Annabeth then unceremoniously lowered the sack of ice over Willow’s foot, and Willow swore through gritted teeth, this time not caring who heard her.
“Ah, yes,” Annabeth replied matter-of-factly. “Maybe I should have warned you better, but the quicker you ice it, the quicker we can tape you up and have you on your feet again.” She pressed her mouth into a red-lipped smile. “Broke the same toe in the middle of a three-hour match during the U.S. Open last year. Played through it so I didn’t have to forfeit or even take a time-out. It was so swollen and hurt so bad that my trainer had to cut my shoe off. Can you believe that? I could barely walk for two weeks after that.”
“Did you win the match?” Willow asked.
Annabeth nodded. “Aye, but I had to forfeit the rest of the tournament on account of the whole not-being-able-to-walk thing.”
Willow’s throat tightened, but she forced a smile. “Thank you,” she told the other woman. “For the ice and for the story to distract me from the ice.” Then she groaned.
