So. She was following my dating program.
The way Willow said it, she made it seem like she had found the answers to a test. But that wasn’t it at all.
She was taking the same test I was, even if she didn’t think so. Because, for every question I asked, she had to answer as well. And for every answer she gave, she had to think about what mine would be.
This wasn’t an interview. It was a conversation. One that I hoped would last well beyond three months.
“What makes you think I haven’t figured it out already?”
Willow grabbed the overalls she had been wearing the day we met up for pierogies and summertime hot chocolate and folded them neatly. Her face was completely impassive, as if nothing was bothering her. “Because you haven’t explored all of them, and you promised you wouldn’t.” Her eyes danced with presumed victory. “And I don’t beg. Not for sex, and not for love.”
I grinned. “I’ll enjoy making you eat those words, cupcake.”
Willow snorted. “Good luck.”
“I think they’ll probably taste like my cock in your mouth.”
She froze with her jaw on top of her suitcase. “You did not just say that.”
I gave her a wink, and she returned the gesture with an eye roll as she moved on to a pile of bras.
“Don’t you ever work?” she grumbled.
“Perks of being self-employed. But you get that. Now, don’t think you’re getting out of answering my question. Where are we going next?”
"Weare not going anywhere,” Willow clipped. “I’mgoing to Michigan.”
Bingo.
“Cool. Who’s taking the first driving shift?” I asked.
“I am taking the first shift and every shift after that," Willow retorted. “You’re not coming.”
“Come on. You don’t want to go to Michigan with me? I’m a great road trip partner.”
“I do not want to spend fourteen hours in a car with the belligerent man from the convenience store checkout line.”
“Future husband, cupcake.”
“You don’t even know my real name.”
“Your first name is all I need. You can take my last name. Or if you’re feeling chatty, you can tell me your last name too, and I’ll take yours.” I grinned. “I’m agreeable like that.”
“How nice for me,” she grumbled as she shoved the bras into the corner of the suitcase.
I hunched forward and scooped her pile of socks closer to me. “So. Why Michigan?” I asked as I started to match the pairs.
To my surprise, the combativeness dissipated from her posture. “Found a cute little cottage on Lake Charlevoix. The owners had renters who were supposed to be there all summer cancel at the last minute. They gave me a great deal since I’ll be there for a few months instead of them having to turn it over every week.”
“What’s the book going to be about?”
“I was a little inspired by Wander,” she admitted. “There’s this lavender farm close to the cottage, so I’m going to check it out. I think my leading lady will have inherited a property like that and have to revitalize it. She meets some small-town, blue-collar hunk, and they fall in love while uncovering secrets and going on side quests.”
“Side quests?”
“Side quests. Like, little adventures that let the leading lady and the book boyfriend unintentionally grow closer because they’re working toward a common goal. Something mundane, like fixing up a house or tilling old plants or battling the evil corporate shark who wants to turn the beautiful, untouched land into a parking lot.”
I needed to add side quests to the Ford Method.
