Page 75 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Then—the door slams open hard enough to rattle the windows.

A woman storms inside.

She’s slightly older than Willow, blonde, mascara streaked like she’s been crying for hours.

Her cheeks are flushed with rage.

She’s shaking.

“Kelly?” Willow says, standing.

But the newcomer is yelling before she even fully clears the doorway.

“That lying, cheating, two-timing piece of shit husband of mine left me and our son to run away with his twenty-year-old yoga instructor named Stormee—with two E’s!”

The entire Lunchroom goes dead silent.

Some guy at the counter mutters, “Damn,” like he’s watching live television.

Willow stands up so fast the booth seat squeaks. “Oh my God, Mike? Really?”

The woman—Kelly—whips her head toward Willow like she’s been holding herself together by rage alone and Willow is the one person she can finally fall apart with.

Willow moves around the booth and wraps her in a hug.

Kelly clutches her like she might collapse.

I sit there frozen, burrito halfway to my mouth, watching this emotional hurricane blow into the room.

Willow pulls back and cups Kelly’s face.

“Okay. Breathe. What happened?”

Kelly sniffs, wiping her cheeks. Then she turns to me.

Willow turns.

“Oh!” she says, like she remembers I exist again. “Kelly, this is Clara.”

Kelly’s eyes flick over me, sharp and raw and overwhelmed.

“Clara,” Willow says, “this is my sister-in-law and the best woman I know.”

“Hello Clara, I am so sorry to interrupt your breakfast.”

“No, that’s okay,” I begin.

“Well, I’m Willow’s sister-in-law—Kelly McCrae-Stevens…” She winces like the name tastes bad. “Or I was. Luckily I can drop that jerk’s name easy peasy.” She blows out a shaky breath and shakes her head. “Anyway. I married a man who deserves to be launched into the sun.”

“Okay, spill,” Willow says instantly.

I choke on a laugh, because Willow says it like it’s a courtroom ruling.

Kelly’s gaze snaps to me, and my brain latches onto sister-in-law like a life raft.

So—Thatcher’s sister.

So—Willow isn’t Greyson’s muse.