Page 74 of Imperfect Arrangement

Raymond: This will be her first birthday in my house.

Oh my God. My chest tightens just imagining what he must be feeling right now. Without overthinking, my fingers fly over the screen.

Me: I can help you with anything you need.

Raymond: You have to. I can’t do this without you, Firefly.

And just like that, my lips curve into the most ridiculous, uncontrollable smile. This man and his damn nickname. Every time he calls me Firefly, my stomach flips like I’m on the world’s most dangerous roller coaster.

Me: What do you have in mind?

I stare at the screen, watching the typing bubbles pop up. And stay up. For way longer than usual. My pulse quickens as I imagine all the ideas swirling in his head. Just when I think I might burst with curiosity, his reply comes through.

Raymond: I found this group of performers who dress up and do story enactments for kids. I was thinking of booking them to perform Little Women. What do you think?

My grip on the phone tightens.

Me: Gosh, Ray. That’s amazing.

I realize only after pressing send on the text what I’ve done. The nickname only Raymond’s family calls him slipped before I even realized it. I stare at the screen, panicking for a second. But Raymond doesn’t miss a beat.

Raymond: I’m so glad you like it. It’s the only thing I’ve thought of so far, and I know there’s so much more to do. I’m going to call a party planner this evening.

Me: A party planner? Absolutely not. Did you forget I organize events for a living at Whispering Willow?

Raymond: I know. But I want you to enjoy the day with Quill and not stress out.

God, this man is gonna kill me.

Me: I will enjoy it. Organizing parties is my thing. My happy place. And for my little surprise packet, I’ll make sure it’s the best party ever.

Raymond: Are you sure?

Me: Of course. I’ll handle the decor, invitations, and food.

A crazy idea starts to take form in my head, and thank God Raymond told me a week before, because I’ll need all the time for this.

* * *

I stareat the disaster I’ve created on the counter, questioning the very moment that brought me here. What kind of delusional confidence made me think this was a good idea? I can’t even warm up a frozen pizza without the oven plotting revenge. It’s like we have some unresolved feud from a past life.

My eyes shift to the picture on my phone. The cake—pastel yellow base with bright yellow sunflowers taking center stage, surrounded by hand-piped light green leaves and a cluster of small white wildflowers for contrast. It feels more like a bouquet of happiness, especially with the tiny sugar bee perching on the side of the cake. It’s not one of the simplest designs, but it’s perfect for Quill. I want to give her something heartfelt for her big day, something that would make her smile. My throat tightens as I fight off the stupid, unexpected lump of emotion creeping up on me.

Why the hell am I on the verge of tears? It’s not like I promised her a homemade cake. Thankfully, a small rational part of my brain knew better than to aim that high.

I pick up the cake base and tap it against the counter. It’s so solid it could double as a hockey puck. When I set it down again, it lands with a heavy thud, practically shouting its failure at me.

I’m so lost in self-pity that I don’t even hear him come into the kitchen until his voice reaches me. “Willow?”

I spin around, and my heart doesn’t just skip a beat—it full-on leaps out of my chest. Raymond Teager is standing there. In track pants.

Correction:justtrack pants.

I’m used to him in tailored suits, buttoned to perfection. I haven’t even seen the guy barefoot, let alone shirtless. Yet here he is, all sculpted muscles and masculine perfection, like he just stepped out of an ad for an upscale gym.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe I’m dreaming. Yeah, that would explain it. Averyvivid,highlydetailed dream.

“What’s going on?” His voice is closer now, and when I open my eyes, I find him standing under the soft glow of the pendant lights.