“I am so sick of customers thinking they can interrupt me.” She leans over the counter to inspect the spit. “I’m not cleaning that. The next person who thinks it's okay to butt in on my conversation can slip on it and learn a valuable lesson.”
I stare at her for a long moment.
This is going to be a very long day.
This is a terrible idea.
The absolute worst.
It won't work. He doesn't feel that way about me. I know he cares, but it's probably out of obligation. I’m Leon's daughter and his son's sister. Nothing more than that.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
Still, after hours of Quinn talking nonstop, wearing me down piece by piece, I finally caved.
Her reaction was… dramatic. The little happy dance she did nearly ended up with her ripping her top off in the middle of the cafe, and I had to physically wrestle it back down while she cackled like a witch.
You wouldn't think we've only known each other for two days. It feels like she's always been there—loud, unfiltered, and impossible to ignore. Growing up, I never really had any friends, and I told myself I was fine with that. I believed it too.
Now I realise I missed out.
“Okay, I can do this,” I whisper to myself, smoothing down the deep red dress Quinn let me borrow. It clings shamelessly to every curve, pushing my boobs up so high I’m mildly concerned it might reach my chin. Alright, I might be exaggerating, but they are high. The dress barely covers my ass, equal parts terrifying and empowering.
I steal a quick glance at my reflection in the mirror by the stairs. My hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, the effort with it despite the mild arm ache. Light brown eyeshadow, a clean line of eyeliner—my flick is perfect, even if it took five attempts and a near eye-poking incident to get here. Deep red lipstick stands out boldly against my pale skin, making me look far braver than I feel.
Peering down, I check that the delicate straps of my black heels are still secure, take a steadying breath, and straighten my shoulders.
Right.
I've got this.
I just need to pull up my big-girl knickers—well, in this case, my big-girl thongs—and actually do this. Make him jealous. Or at least get him to admit how he feels… or why he pulled away from me last night.
I head downstairs, palms slightly damp—God, gross.Pull yourself together, Willow.
I can hear him talking, probably on the phone. River is out at a team meal, and Rose is busy with her usual gaggle of gossip-hungry friends.
He laughs loudly.
It's deep and rough around the edges, the kind of sound that settles low and makes my thighs clench before I can stop it. I could listen to that laugh all day. Every day.
I step into the room and spot him sprawled in the chair, legs parted, one hand loosely cradling a beer, the other holding his phone to his ear. His cap is still on, shadowing his face, hiding that dark, slightly too-long hair I ache to run my fingers through.
He looks up mid-laugh and freezes.
The sound cuts off instantly as his eyes widen, tracking me slowly, from head to toe. My skin tingles. I can't tell if he likeswhat he sees or if I've just made a terrible mistake, and not knowing is killing me.
Say something. Anything.
I’m usually confident. I don't crumble like this.
But apparently, I do with him.
I really wish he would break the silence before I melt into a nervous puddle right in front of him.
“Um, Ethan, I need to call you back,” he says slowly, then hangs up and lets the phone fall onto the cushion beside him.
My stomach twists and flips. I chew the inside of my cheek, suddenly hyperaware of everything. “Sorry,” I mumble, instantly regretting disturbing him. “I didn't mean to interrupt your call. I just wanted to ask if I looked okay.”
