He smiles, and by instinct, I return it.
No. Dammit.We’re not supposed to smile at each other.
“What time are you meeting her?” I ask.
“Right now.”
“Great. I’ll walk you over.” I need the distraction. I need to leave this space, even if only briefly. I can feel Parker’s presence all around me in here, and I’m desperate to run away from it.
Weston frowns.Back on track. “I don’t need an escort, Willow.”
“I’d sure hope not, considering you’re a grown-ass man, Weston.” I close the register and hand him back his card before calling in the direction of the back office, “Mom, I’m going to take a break and see Penelope for a second. I’ll be right back!”
“Okay! Tell her hi for me.” Her voice floats softly from the hallway behind me. There is relief in her tone, like she too knows how badly I need to step away.
I begin walking toward the doors, but Weston makes no move to follow. “Are you coming or...?”
“Yeah.” He huffs, stepping up behind me. I reach for the handle, but his arm shoots out before I can, and he leans around me, holding the door open. “I’ve got it.”
He’s close enough that his breath fans against my neck, and I’m shadowed by the hovering of his body. I inhale swiftly, met with the scent of his cologne—something clean and woodsy.
“Thanks,” I murmur, slipping into the afternoon sun.
“What do you need to see Penelope about?” he asks gruffly, walking a beat behind me as we cross the ten feet that separates Honeysuckle from The Wicked Wildflower.
“I can’t just say hi?” I shoot back.
He brushes past me, grabbing the bakery’s door before I reach it and holding that open too. For how reticent he is, he at least has manners. “Of course you can, but it feels a little like you’re tryna follow me, Willow.”
I let out a low whistle as I sidle up to the counter. “That ego sure is something.”
He leans against the register, tossing me a grin before his face straightens again and he turns to Allie, who is now standing in front of us on the other side. Her brown eyes are wide, darting between Weston and me.
I desperately want to pull her aside and tell her what just happened with Parker, but I know now isn’t the time, so I push that despair further down—into the very pits of me, until I’m convinced I’ll forget it happened at all.
“Hey, Allie,” he says casually. I forget they’re familiar with each other. When Weston lived with Carter and Penelope as a teen, he and Allie worked together at the art gallery, since herparents help run it too. When I asked her about him last week, she said she didn’t know much. He kept to himself, was quiet and shy. I suppose it hasn’t changed. “Can I get a hot Americano and an iced almond milk latte with three pumps of hazelnut and two pumps of vanilla?”
“Sure.” She turns to me, asking, “Do you want your regular?” before glancing back at Weston. “I assume you’ll be paying for Willow’s as well.”
His brows pop, like he’s not sure how to respond, but he wordlessly pulls out his wallet and hands her his card. Allie beams while she runs it before giving it back.
“Is the latte for you or Penelope?”
“Penelope.” He yawns and stretches while we walk to a table in the corner of the cafe, and I don’t miss the way his Heathen’s sweatshirt rides up, offering a glimpse of his stomach. “I don’t do sugar while I’m training.”
“Bummer,” I mutter, sinking into one of the wicker chairs.
Weston places a hand on the back of it, and I’m overcome by his presence again, breath catching in my throat as he gently pushes me forward, scooting me closer to the table.
“Mm-hmm.” He takes the seat across from me, eyes roaming my face. “I have a lot of restrictions I’m becoming less than thrilled about.”
His tongue slips between his lips before he pulls his bottom one beneath his teeth, slowly letting it go while his gaze remains on me. He exhales deeply, closing his eyes and shaking his head before turning toward the front of the bakery. I want nothing more than to pick apart his brain and rummage through every thought floating inside of it.
He doesn’t say more, and all my words unravel in my throat and become lost on my tongue, so I only study him instead. His eyes are turbulent, jaw tight, mouth tense as he looks beyond the windows and out toward the beach.
After a moment, that rigidity in his features softens, lips spreading into a smile, and as I follow his gaze, I find Penelope pulling open the door and stepping inside.
Weston raises his arm, waving, and it only takes her a second of scanning the semi-busy cafe to spot us. Her face brightens as she waves back and heads to our table.
