I go to the living room during the rest of their conversation. My new bedroom for now. Setting my overnight bag in the corner, out of sight. I don’t dare disrupt Willow’s careful decorating of candle lighting, blankets galore, and sherpa seating. I set up my game console. Realistically, I won’t have a ton of time play since wearesearching for an attempted murderer.
“Moon and Stars Tattoo Parlor, isn’t it great?” Layla says with a bright smile and a twinkle in her eye.
“Tattoos? Since when do you know how to do that?” Willow asks, now confused.
“No, I’ll only work the front as a receptionist. All I’ll do is make sure people come to their appointments, answer the phone, and take payments. I’ll give them our paperwork, make sure they are comfortable, things like that.”
“I’m happy for you. That was fast,” Willow says. I make my way back to them, getting three mugs out, pouring each of us a glass of boiling water and dropping a tea bag in each one. I wait for the tea to settle in before taking a sip from Willow’s mug. We weren’t having a repeat of yesterday.
I am as capable as Flora is. I can check her tea from now on.
My eyes find hers already staring at me. She slowly lifts it, taking the slowest sip, and I swear she puts her lips right where mine were. Are we kissing now? Is this woman flirting with me? I love it. The smile is impossible to stop, I don’t bother even trying. I sit with my own mug.
I swing my hand under her chair and yank her closer to me, smiling down at her. Willow, my dear lovely Willow. The light is back in her eyes, and I fight the urge to kiss her plump lips. Man, oh man, am I a strong guy.
Or am I? Leaning towards her slightly, I watch her eyes drop to my lips and back to my eyes. Her skin glows with softness, and I yearn to trace it with my finger, down her cheek and neck. Her buttercream scent surrounds me, and I’m drawn in even more so. Wow, the way this woman stares at me.
“Willow, what are we going to do about... what was his name?” Layla asks suddenly, twisting her fingers. Her eyes shoot between me and Willow, and it reminds me that she’s practically still a kid. It’s like she’s looking at her parents. Which we are not, but I find I don’t dislike the idea. Still, Willow jumps away from me, turning her attention back to Layla as the light in her eyes dies out.
“Who are you talking about?” I ask, putting my mug down.
“Ghost,” Willow murmurs over her teacup.
“What do what we have? Layla, what do your notes say? You’ve gotten more than Willow has. Maybe we can tell more from yours?” I ask, realizing I haven’t heard her side of the story yet.
“They say to stop looking, but that’s it. Nothing more has happened to me,” she explains.
“Looking for what?” I ask, and by the silence that follows, maybe I shouldn’t have asked, but I don’t care because I ask again. “What have you guys been looking for?”
I could hear Willow’s breath hitch as if she’d been punched in the stomach, yet she sits almost isolated at the table. Besides Layla, who is sitting across from her and no longer gripping her mug. Willow’s staring into her mug like it will tell her all the answers she’s desperate for.
“He's trying to help,” Layla tries to convince her to spill whatever it is. A minute passes before Willow’s eyes meet Layla’s before a sad smile takes over her face.
“I’m not used to talking about it,” Willow says, staring at Layla, who only stares back at her. Being an outsider never hurt as much as it does right now.
Willow should be finding comfort in me, not Layla. I want her to share everything, every little thing, about herself with me. Whatever she’s got to tell me won’t change the way I see her—nothing would. What is she scared to share? I release a shaky breath, staring at the side of Willow’s head. She won’t look at me. She’s shutting me out. I?—
“Do you still love him?” Layla asks, reaching her hand to cup Willow’s, running her thumb up and down the side of Willow’s palm.
Him? Love him? Is there another man in the picture? Am I too late?
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Willow mutters, her eyes glancing at me before settling on Layla.
“We might be past that, Willow.”
“I know.” She sighs, and a tear trails down her face. The blush that adorns her face is long gone, and my heart is hanging on by a thread. There is a whole life of Willow’s that I don’t know about. Which I knew, but there are details that might break me, and I almost ask her to not tell me.
I turn in the velvet dining chair, my body completely faces her. Whatever she is afraid of or worried about sharing will be embraced by me. I will be the best listener she has ever talked to. I don’t even prop my head up by leaning on my hand, wanting to show her that I’m paying attention.
“In high school, I found?—”
“Fell in love,” Layla interjects. Willow pauses, glancing over at her with scrunched eyebrows before continuing on.
“Fell in love with Milo Barrow, Layla’s older brother. We were inseparable. We were soul mates, Eddie.”
Soul mates. She had already found her mate. What—I mean, how—why am I so entranced with her if she’s not my mate?
The thread my heart was hanging by snaps.
