Page 47 of Imperfect Arrangement

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—something vulnerable. Like maybe she missed out on more than just braids.

“You sure?” My hand hovers over the clip securing her bun, my heart pounding in a way it never has before.

It’s just her hair, Ray. Just hair. Totally innocent. I repeat the words in my head, but the moment Willow nods and I release the clip, her red waves tumble between us like a curtain of molten fire, warm and shiny in the light.

The scent of oranges is so intense I have to shut my eyes and take a steadying breath. Great. Now I’m officially ruined for oranges.

“Wow, soft,” Quill echoes my thought as she hands me the comb like a perfect little assistant, smiling as if this is our usual Saturday routine.

Meanwhile, Willow rewinds the video. I try to focus, but my heart is racing so fast it feels like I’m running a marathon in a kiddie salon. Maybe I should book an appointment with Grandpa Will’s cardiologist, because something’s definitely off with my heart today.

It’s been off since the second Willow Pershing strolled into my house.

Her hair is silk between my fingers. I swear I’m not dragging this out on purpose, but I can’t seem to get my braiding game right today. I part her hair into sections, moving slower than usual, trying not to lose it.

“Willow, would you like a matching hair tie like mine?” Quill holds up the green one she picked out, and though I can’t see Willow’s face, I can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks.

“Absolutely. I love playing samesies with you, Quill.” She flutters her fingers like a little bird, and I notice again how her nail polish matches my daughter’s from their spa day.

Watching them together is a sweet kind of torture. Every day since Quill came into my life, I’ve done everything I can to make sure she never feels like she’s missing a parent. Now, in just a few hours with Willow here, I’m realizing there are so many things I’m falling short on.

As soon as I take the tie from Quill’s hand and secure Willow’s braid, Quill claps her hands.

“Done! Now, I’m hungry.” She signs so fast and bolts from the room like a rocket, leaving Willow and me alone.

“I’m impressed.” Willow turns slightly to get a better look at her braid. “I never imagined Raymond Teager would be a braid master.”

“Yeah, well, some things are better kept secret.” I pin her with a serious look.

“Your secret’s safe with me, boss.” She grins and gives me a mock salute before returning to inspect her braid in the vanity mirror.

I grab a small mirror from the dresser and stand behind her so she can get a better look. Our eyes meet in the reflection, and her expression softens in surprise.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice filled with a kind of honesty that makes my chest tighten.

I find myself smiling. “Thanks. I’ll take any compliment from you, even if it’s about my hairstyling skills.”

Willow giggles, a sound that I instantly want to hear on repeat. I’ve realized something in the short time she’s been here, I like Willow when she’s happy. It’s a hell of a lot better than when she’s disappointed or distant.

“Breakfast should be ready. I’m shocked Quill didn’t drag you with her,” I say, heading for the door.

“Raymond?”

Like last night in the pergola, my name from her lips stops me in my tracks and I turn. “Yes, Willow?”

There’s something different about her smile now—it’s softer, more open. “I meant you’re really good at the dad stuff.”

The air between us shifts. The playful banter fades, replaced by something heavier, more meaningful. When someone praises you for the one thing you’re always second-guessing, it hits different. And coming from Willow, a woman who’s turned my world upside down, it hits deep.

“Thanks,” I say quietly. “I’m trying my best.”

EYES ON FIREFLY

WILLOW

“Wow. Who died?” Nana bursts into my room as I’m halfway through another attempt to breathe through the pre-presentation anxiety gnawing at me. Today’s the day I’ll be standing before Elixir Estates’ shareholders and telling them why they should invest in my wedding estate.

“Could you knock, just once?” I don’t even bother turning around.