Page 27 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

RYAN

POOR MAN’S MARGARITAS

“ Y ou seem antsy.”

Willow glanced over at me from the passenger’s seat. “Antsy? Me? I’m not antsy. Why would you think I’m antsy?”

I plucked the paper coffee cup out of her hands and gave it a little shake. It was the size of her head and nearly empty.

“Maybe lay off the caffeine. I think you might start vibrating if you drink anymore.”

Willow snatched the cup back. “Hands off my coffee, Ford. It’s the only thing making me nice today.”

Willow had worked through the stages of grief and had almost made it to acceptance when she rebounded to anger. I knew the feeling all too well. I slipped her coffee into the cup holder and took a left as we eased through an intersection.

“Talk to me,” I said as I reached over and took her hand. “What’s going through your head?”

She sighed. “I just have other things I need to do today.”

“Like what?”

“Not visit my family,” she muttered.

A few days ago, Willow’s mom had dropped by the rental house while I was on client calls. By the time I had wrapped up, she had left and Willow’s mood had turned sour.

Whatever had been said was enough to keep her quiet for the better part of the weekend.

“I can turn this car around and head to Lisa’s if you don’t want to go.”

Willow shook her head, but I didn’t miss the way she glanced at the clock. “She won’t be back until this afternoon.”

I took her hand and gave it a squeeze before lacing our fingers together. “How are funeral arrangements coming?”

The date had been set for the upcoming weekend. Although it had been two weeks since Willow got the news that her stepdad had died, she still talked about him like he was going to walk through the door at any minute.

“Everything’s pretty much done. He wouldn’t have wanted anything fancy. Lisa just wanted to wait until all of their family could get into town.”

“Makes sense,” I said as I followed the GPS and took another left. I slowed to a stop at a red light and traced the ridges on the back of her hand with my thumb. “Have you talked to Whitney and Wander lately?”

“I told them about Shep, but said I’d be radio silent for a while.”

“Why?” I couldn’t imagine why she’d open up to me, but shut out the women she had been friends with for years.

Unless . . .

Willow stared out the window at the passing houses as we navigated our way through the tight subdivision. “They’re busy. They have their own stuff going on. I don’t want to be a Debbie downer, but I also can’t put on a happy face or pretend like everything’s fine. It’s better this way.”

“Suffering in silence?”

Willow cut her eyes at me, and I knew I had struck a chord. “Being a good friend.”

“Maybe you should let them be good friends to you.” Before she could answer, I pulled into a driveway belonging to a tidy one-story ranch. “What’s the code word for when you’re ready to leave?”

Willow tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, letting out a sharp exhale. “Trust me. You’ll know when it’s time.”

With that, she opened the door and hopped out. I followed her up the concrete path to the front door, but no one came to open it.

I kept my hand on her back as Willow let herself into the house.

“Hello?” she called out as she dodged a voluptuous orange cat.

It glared at me like I was a peasant before darting out of the house.

“Mom?”

A door opened and closed as Willow led me farther and farther into the house. A woman a few years older than Willow stepped out of a bedroom, wearing a pair of headphones over long blonde hair. She shrieked and ripped the headphones off.

“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” But it wasn’t said in surprise. Every word dripped with annoyance. She shared a few similar features with Willow, but not many. Their eyes were the same. Bottle green and wary.

Willow glanced around. “I texted you and mom that I was coming by to visit, and she said it was fine.”

The other girl huffed. “I lost my phone.”

“Amber, it’s in your hand.”

Amber looked down at the phone in her hand and groaned. “Fine. I just didn’t open the text.”

“Of course you didn’t . . .” Willow muttered as she raked a hand through her soft pink hair. “Ryan, this is my sister Amber. Amber, this is Ryan.”

Amber’s eyebrows winged up when she realized there was a whole other person present. “ Hello , Ryan .” She drew out each syllable in obvious appraisal.

Willow grabbed my hand and slid her fingers between mine, staking her claim.

I fucking loved it.

“Do you have a dress picked out for the funeral?” Willow asked, as the two of us followed Amber into the kitchen.

She sneered as she yanked open the refrigerator door, making the condiments clatter against each other. “Why would I need something to wear to a funeral?”

I raised an eyebrow at the obvious malice in her voice, but Willow wasn’t quite as put off. “Because it’s on Saturday?”

“Is that why you’re here?” Amber said as she cracked the top of a soda can.

Willow’s eye twitched. “Why else would I be here?”

“I dunno. To bring your . . . Ryan to meet us?”

Willow’s grip on my hand turned deadly. “Of course I came for the funeral. Why aren’t you going? Mom said she told you the time and date.”

Instead of letting Willow cut off the circulation to my hand, I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her, keeping her snug against my chest.

Amber’s eyes narrowed. “How cute.”

Those were the most insincere syllables in the history of spoken language.

“Will you please think about coming to the?—”

Amber let out a petulant growl. “Ugh. Enough of the funeral stuff. Why would I want to go sit in a room full of sad people and stare at a dead body? Gross.”

Amber was the oldest of the two sisters, but she had the attitude of a child.

“He was our stepdad!” Willow gasped.

“And then he and mom got divorced, so no more stepdad,” Amber clipped as if their step-father had been a goldfish won at a county fair that no one actually wanted. She finished her drink and tossed the can into the garbage.

Willow went still and silent. It was a notoriously foreboding combination. “Shep spent more time with us than Dad spent with us. The least you can do is show up to his funeral and pay your respects.”

Each word was sharp and clipped like an arrow.

“Girls.” The warning greeting came from behind us. I glanced over my shoulder as Willow did the same and found her mother walking in with a grocery bag hooked on her arm.

“Mom, this is Ryan. Ryan, Mom,” Willow said as she slid from my front to my side as her mother passed by and stuck the grocery bag into the refrigerator.

“Hey, sweetie,” Willow’s mom said dismissively, then immediately focused on Amber. “Late night?”

Amber grunted. Willow sighed. And I was fucking furious.

Her mom closed the refrigerator and fluffed her hair.

It was blonde like Amber’s but erred on the silver side.

The notion struck me that I had no idea what Willow’s hair color really was.

Her eyebrows were tinted pink to match her hair.

More than once, I had watched her dust them with pink pigments to deepen the color when she did her makeup.

“Mom, this is Ryan,” Willow said once again, with a little more edge to her voice this time. It was strange to me that she had no problem speaking up around me or anyone else for that matter. But here . . . She wasn’t herself.

Home should have been the place where her armor fell, and yet she had put more on and was using me as a shield.

Her mom’s gaze finally turned from Amber and lifted to me. “Oh. Right. The . . . fella you’re . . . Well, frankly, I don’t know what to call it. Dating? Not dating?”

The next shock of the day came when Willow bristled at that. Frankly, I thought she’d take the opening to crack a joke about whatever we were. But I felt her body push against mine like she was trying to glean strength from me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Winslow,” I said, trying to offer an olive branch.

She scoffed. “Just Cynthia. The only Mrs. Winslow in this town is Lisa and, well—” She flicked her hand dismissively. “I went back to Hart so I could match my girls.”

“ Mom ,” Willow hissed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cynthia,” I said politely, then turned to Willow’s sister. “Autumn has told me a lot about you, Amber.”

Amber snorted in a similar sound to her mom. “Right.”

Willow balled her hands into fists as she seethed, but her mother didn’t seem to notice.

“You just about ready to go, Amber?” Cynthia turned back to Willow. “We have appointments at the nail salon. What are you two up to today?” she asked. “I can’t imagine there’s a lot of sightseeing to do around here.”

Willow looked between her mom and sister in disbelief. “We came over to see you guys. That’s why I texted asking if you wanted to get together today. You didn’t tell me you had somewhere to be.”

“Well, I just thought you meant you wanted to pop in, since you were still in town,” Cynthia said.

Willow pinched the bridge of her nose. “Still in town? I told you I was going to stay a while. The funeral hasn’t even happened yet.”

Cynthia grabbed a granola bar from the pantry and stuffed it in her pocket. “Well, I just figured you’d come have your moment and then go off to wherever you were going to go next. You know, since you’ve probably got another book to write or something.”

“Mom, we have to go,” Amber said as if she was a whiny five-year-old and not a completely grown thirty-something.

Cynthia looked at the clock. “Can’t be late.” She gave a passing glance to Willow. “I’m sure they could fit you in after us or something if you want to come. They take walk-ins.”

Willow’s lip trembled at the corner. “It’s fine. I have stuff to get done.”

“Okay,” Cynthia said as she shouldered her purse and walked to the door with Amber in tow. “Lock up before you leave.”

And then they were gone.

“Wills, you could have gone with them. I can go back to the rental.”