Willow
“So y’all are comin’, right?” Britta raised one sharply curved brow.
It was early morning, the sun a glowing sliver on the horizon, the scents of cooking food rushing up to greet us alongside the warm morning breeze. Britta and I had crossed paths on our way to the dining hall, both of us headed to breakfast before work. Joining me, Britta was eager to share the news that EJ had asked her to attend Maria and Jim’s wedding with him, an offer that Britta had found downright hysterical. He was too young for her, and too straitlaced and clean-cut for her to even consider. She preferred her men more rugged, more like Logan, she’d said, winking.
“I’m coming,” I replied slowly. Britta liked… Logan? Moody, miserable Logan? Something about that made me feel… strange.
“Not Eddie, though, huh?” Laughing, she mimed a scissor motion with her fingers.
“Nope. He’s being, you know… himself.” I flicked my eyes skyward. “He hates all forms of fun. Always has, always will.”
I’d hounded Logan for the past few days, attempting to convince him to come along, but in true Logan fashion, my persistence had only resulted in him digging his heels in further, remaining absolutely adamant about not attending.
“That man is backed up worse than Talladega on race day,” Britta said with a sly grin. “I could set him straight. Whip us up some of my daddy’s hooch and get me a few hours alone with him—he’d be right as rain. Not like it’d be a hardship. That man is hotter’n Georgia asphalt.”
I stopped walking, staring after her. The imagery she’d just provided me with—her and Logan alone together—made my stomach flip, and not in a good way.
“Speak of the devil,” Britta drawled, as Logan pushed through the dining hall doors. “We were just talkin’ ‘bout you, Eddie, weren’t we, Will?”
Logan descended the stairs without as much as a glance in Britta’s direction, his long blond hair hanging wild and free around his face and shoulders. He’d so rarely worn it down since letting it grow out, not even to sleep, and so I was shocked to see it. Even more surprised to find that he looked considerably younger because of it, too.
“Uh, hey,” I said, blinking up at him. “Your hair is… down.”
Logan sent a hand through his unruly waves, shoving it back from his face. “Yeah,” he replied. Silence followed while we stared at each other. “I’ve got to go to work,” he eventually said. “Got to finish Joe’s roof before it rains today.”
Britta made a noise of disbelief. “The sky’s as blue as an old country song—how you figure it’s gonna rain?”
“His knees,” I said.
“My knees,” Logan replied, both of us speaking at once.
“Every damn time,” he said with a roll of his eyes and a small, surprising smile. “See you later?”
“Yep,” I replied, smiling after him as he turned to leave.
“Well, well, well,” Britta murmured, coming to stand beside me. Together, we watched as Logan disappeared down the path. “That was mighty interestin’.”
Glancing sideways, I asked, “What was interesting?”
“That.”
“What?”
“Oh hey there, Eddie.” Britta batted her eyelashes and furiously fanned herself with her hand. “My, oh, my, look at your hair hangin’ down all gorgeous and shit.”
My eyes flared wide and my face flushed hot. “That’s not what happened.”
Britta leered at me. “Ain’t it though?”
“That’s not what I said to him. And that’s disgusting.” I marched loudly up the stairs and wrenched open the double doors.
Britta was still laughing when she joined me in the food line. “What’s wrong, sugar? Was it somethin’ I said?”
“‘Morning, Willow, Britta. You want cinnamon or honey on your oatmeal?” Behind the counter, Xavier held up two steaming bowls of oats.
Along with Betsey, Xavier was in charge of food distribution. Unlike Betsey, a stern-faced former librarian with a headful of snow-white curls, Xavier was an easygoing guy, with short black hair, sun-kissed skin, and a friendly smile for everyone. A former biological engineer, it had been Xavier who’d designed most of the economically friendly resources in Silver Lake—everything from the solar-powered buildings to the biodiesel-run vehicles. Food service, however, he did for fun.
“Cinnamon, please,” I replied.
