Page 22

Willow

T he minute Poppy’s down for her nap and the house falls quiet, I step out onto the back patio with my phone at my ear and an iced coffee I made purely for the ritual of it.

I need five minutes. Just five to feel like myself again.

And the person who I know will pick up on the third ring will do just that. And as if on cue, she answers with her usual dramatic flair.

“Please tell me the hot rock god has a private chef who cooks you gourmet pancakes in the shape of his abs,” Lily says in one long breath.

I laugh before I even sit down. “Sorry. No pancakes. No abs. And he barely speaks in the mornings unless it’s to grumble at the coffee maker.”

She gasps. “Oh my God, is he one of those ‘don’t talk to me before caffeine’ men? Because honestly, same.”

I settle into a lounge chair, stretching my legs. “He’s more of a ‘don’t talk to me ever’ kind of man.”

Lily snorts. “When you look that good, you don’t need to talk. ”

“Let’s not tell him that.”

She chuckles. “So he’s still grumpy and mysterious. That tracks.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” There are so many things I want to say to her, tell her, but I can’t. Not just because of my NDA but because I don’t know how I even feel about them myself.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Who said I was hiding anything?”

“You. Your silence.” Lily sighs. “You’re an open book. That’s what makes you you .But right now you’re not saying shit.”

“You really do have an active imagination. How have I never noticed it before?” I chuckle.

“You did. You know I’m over here filling your lack of communication with thoughts about how the man is kissing you senseless in between snack time and Goodnight Moon .”

I go quiet and then snort in a half-hearted attempt to play off her words.

“Wait.” Her tone sharpens. “ No way .”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly,” she says, triumphant. “Oh my God. He kissed you?”

I press the heel of my palm to my forehead and scrunch my nose up. “No. Not officially. There was a moment. A brief second, but then we jumped back because it was a mistake.”

“Forget the fact that I’m freaking out that Rocket fucking Caldwell kissed you—like OH MY GOD, WILLOW—and listen to me when I tell you the we shouldn’t have kissed is ten times worse than the full-blown, all-in, fully committed kiss. You play it on a loop like a messed-up song you hate-love.”

“It never should have happened,” I murmur.

“When your boss is as hot as he is, all is forgiven.”

“It’s complicated.”

“No shit. Well, I demand a full debrief in person. Soon,” she says, switching back to lighthearted. “We need margaritas and judgment and at least one dance floor.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Soon. I promise.”

“Good. Because I miss you in that irrational, clingy best friend kind of way.”

We both laugh, and for a second, I forget about the tension in this house, the letter, the girl with the quiet eyes, and the man who’s a contradiction in more ways than one.

“Soon,” I say again.

“Soon.”

We hang up.

And even though nothing’s changed, I feel a little more like myself again.