Willow is on the path, speaking to Joel. She has her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the breeze captures the strands, making them dance on the back of her neck.
Joel says something, and she tilts her head back and laughs.
What the hell have these two got to laugh about? My jaw clenches, and I stalk toward them. “You’re late, again.”
Willow spins slowly to face me with a smile still on her face. “It’s the drill sergeant.”
Joel raises his eyebrows and gives me a WTF look. I’m being irrational, and I know it, but she’s violating the terms of her parole by not showing up on time.
“It’s all right,” Joel interjects. “We were just talking.”
I fold my arms across my chest and look between them. Joel’s good-looking for a man pushing forty. His salt and pepper hair makes him appear distinguished, and the laughter lines around his eyes hint at his good nature.
I can see why she’d be attracted to him.
Not that it should bother me. But if she wants to flirt, it can be done on her own time.
“Janelle needs help getting the paint.” I indicate the workers behind me.
Willow half-laughs before realizing I’m serious. “Yes, sir.” She offers another sloppy salute and grins at Joel. “I better get going before Captain America has an aneurysm. Let’s continue this later.”
Joel chuckles. “Stop by the office when you get a chance. We’ll grab a coffee.”
“Will do.” Willow’s reply is breezy, and she gives him a broad smile. “And don’t worry about Dana. I’m sure her grades will come up.”
Why the fuck is she talking to Joel about his daughter? Logically, I know Willow can have coffee with whomever she wants, but damn, my insides clench thinking about it.
As Willow heads down the path, Joel shakes his head at me, amused. “Go easy on her, Hudson. Go easy on all of them.”
He hums a tune as he heads back into the center, and I’m left wondering why the hell I should care who a small-time criminal with no respect for a schedule has a coffee with.
I jog to catch up with Willow and fall into step next to her. “What were you two talking about?”
She keeps striding toward the work crew. “I gave him my dealer’s number.”
A few days ago, I might have believed her, but her lips quirk up, giving her away.
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Yes, Hudson. I’m fucking with you.”
It’s a relief to hear, even if she hasn’t given me a straight answer. “So, what were you talking about?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I offered to paint a mural on one of the center walls.”
I stumble, almost tripping over my feet. That’s not what I expected her to say. “You paint?”
My gaze drops to the colorful splatters on her boots and overalls. Of course she fucking paints.
She stops suddenly and fixes me with a stare. “Yes, Hudson. I’m more than someone who broke the law. I have a life and a passion. I’m a full human being, like everyone here.”
Willow’s eyes flash with anger, and she casts her arm around the work group. Two men talk as they shovel mulch from a wheelbarrow to the garden; a woman laughs at something they say.
I get it; they’re people. They’re not all bad, and maybe I’m being too harsh. But they did break the law. And I don’t need a gabby brunette to remind me where my moral compass is.
“The only thing you’re painting today is fences, so get to it.”
Willow huffs out a breath and shakes her head slowly before turning away. I feel dismissed, like she sized me up and found me lacking. It shouldn’t bother me what she thinks, but it does.
