A bell jingles as I push open the diner door, and the smell of bacon and coffee hits me as I step inside. This placelooks vaguely familiar: black-and-white checkered floor, chrome stools, red vinyl booths. I look toward the counter as I enter, but I don’t see Willa.
There are a few guys I recognize in here. Brewer Benson, a fellow lumberjack who I often bump into in the forest. A couple of tree fellers from my second crew—new guys who I only know by sight.
But it’s not them I’m here to see.
I take a seat at a booth near the counter, nodding over at Brewer. Then I wait.
Willa comes out of the kitchen a couple of minutes later and my breath catches. She’s wearing an apron that wraps tight around her curves, with the words Creekside Diner stitched on the front. Her dark hair frames her pretty face, her features tight with exhaustion. Even when she’s barely holding it together, she looks like an angel.
She doesn’t notice me at first. I watch as she busies herself making coffee, serving a customer at the counter. Her eyes are bloodshot, lined with circles, but she still manages to smile as she hands them a steaming mug of coffee. Her gaze drifts past the customer and suddenly, our eyes lock.
Willa does a double-take, eyebrows lifting as she stares at me from across the diner. Then she smiles, her face lighting up in a way that almost makes me come undone. She says something to another server behind the counter, then makes a beeline for me, and everything else melts away. The booths, the tables, the customers—gone. All I can see is Willa.
“Hi,” she says warmly, stopping at my booth. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”
“Figured I’d give it a try.”
It must be obvious that I’m here to see her. Hell, she must be able to see my feelings written all over my face—the urgent needthat buzzes through me every time she’s near. But if she senses it, she doesn’t let on.
“What can I get for you?” she asks.
I’ve been too busy staring at Willa to look at the menu.
“You choose.”
She cocks her head. “How about the Creekside Special? You get bacon, eggs, hash browns?—”
“Sure.”
I don’t care what I eat. I’m not here for the food.
“Coming right up,” Willa says.
She doesn’t leave straight away. She hovers next to the booth, holding my gaze for a beat too long. Then she drops her voice to a murmur.
“Thanks again for yesterday, Flint.”
My heart jolts, just like it does every time she says my name in that sweet voice.
“I told you. Don’t mention it.”
“Iwantto mention it,” she says stubbornly. “You didn’t have to do that. It was really kind…it meant a lot.”
She sounds so earnest, so damn grateful, that all I can do is nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat. Then she turns on her heel and gets back to work. I watch her while I wait for my food. She never slows down. Never stops, even for a moment. She’s always moving: taking orders, bringing out food, making drinks behind the counter. This girl doesn’t half-ass anything.
As my gaze follows her around the diner, I think back to her conversation by the creek with her friend. I still have so many questions. How did Willa end up with $80,000 of debt—the kind of debt that leads to threatening phone calls? What did she need to borrow all that money for? She’s so damn young…doesn’t she have anybody who can help? Parents? Family?
Or is this angel all alone in the world?
The thought gnaws at me. I know how it feels to have nobody. I was still young when my mom died, and it changed me. Forced me to grow up fast. Get used to relying on myself. I see a lot of that in Willa, and I’m still wondering about it when she brings out my breakfast a few minutes later, setting the giant plate of food down in front of me, along with a mug of black coffee.
“Here you go,” she says. “The coffee’s extra strong with a teaspoon of sugar.”
I frown. “You know how I take my coffee?”
“I’ve seen how you make it in the office.” Her cheeks pinken slightly. “Do you want anything else?”
“No. Thanks, Willa.”
