Jesse nodded, looking a little more relieved. “Thanks, man.”
“Talk to you next week. Have a good one.”
The video call screen went dark, and my attention immediately went to an unread text from Willow sitting on my phone.
Future Wife
I’m allergic to flowers and potatoes.
Me
No potatoes. Got it. Too bad. I was gonna swing by your hotel and bring you some pierogies from this little spot in the East Village. They’re the best and usually sell out before the afternoon. But since you’re allergic to potatoes, I’ll bring a salad. Do you like kale?
I knew exactly what she was doing, and I was more than willing to play her little game. It wasn’t so much what she said. It was what she did.
The takeout I had spotted in her hotel room the morning after Rom-Con was comfort food. Spaghetti and garlic bread. Filling and simple. The seltzer and boxed wine told me she was no-nonsense, but her comment on stage about her hair being the color of rosé told me she was probably highly opinionated when it mattered.
Future Wife
East Village, you say?
Me
Let me bring them to you.
Future Wife
Nah. I’ll pick them up on my way to the airport. I’ve decided to flee the country.
But I was already shoving my laptop into my bag and heading out of the coffee shop that I’d been working at all morning.
Me
My passport is up to date. I’ll come with you.
Odette’s was a cozy spot nestled away from the hustle and bustle. There was barely room to stand, much less sit, which made it too easy to trap Willow inside when she slipped through the door.
“Busted,” I said as I sidled up to her in the line to order.
Willow jumped and pressed her palm to her chest. “Geez. Warn a girl.”
Today, her hair was in two pink braids that started at the top of her scalp and danced along her shoulder blades. She was in a pair of overalls with stylish rips and tears, and a cropped shirt that offered a peek at her waist. Her sneakers were classic black and white Converse, but she had swapped the standard laces for purple ones.
The overalls were cute as hell and made her ass look like a dream.
“Nice try getting pierogies without me. So, about that potato allergy...”
Willow had the good sense to look guilty.
I placed my hand on the small of her back as we shuffled forward in line. “You’re stuck with me for three months. Fuck around with me all you want. Just know it can be three months of potatoes and rosé and all your favorite things, or three months of kale smoothies.”
The woman in front of us moved to the side, and we took our place at the register. The cashier looked at us with aged eyes. “What can I getcha?”
“What pierogi flavor is the best?” Willow asked.
“Ruskie. Potato and cheese.”
Willow perked up at that. “I’ll take four.”
