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61
Willow
“Shit,” I groan. I crumple a demand note on an official letterhead into my fist. I lay my cellphone onto the island in the kitchen, dead tired after my Target Superstore shift.
“But you could use more exercise,” I snort to myself. The damn letter came from snooty-ass neighbors about our neglected lawn.
I walk past the swampy lap pool that Hillary has been desperate to save. I crack open the door to the shed. The sunlight streams into the sparse area. I’m assuming the maintenance staff Thad hired took their equipment because an old lawnmower is in the center of the shed.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve watched a video on YouTube while standing in the front yard. With my hands resting on the bar, I glance over the lawnmower.
“Hmmm . . . where’s the string thingy?”
At the sound of my name, my gaze collides with green-blue eyes that throw me into the deep end of the ocean. A pocket chain loops at the side of his jeans. An undershirt skims across his chest. Jamie rounds a busted pick-up truck with a lawn decal.
I saw him briefly at my graduation while searching out my family. He’d asked if I still hated the messenger and placed a graduation cap charm in my palm. The look of pain glinting across his face wouldn’t allow me to deny him the new piece.
Now, I’m looking at a different kid, a man. I fiddle with my fingers as he approaches. My eyes flicker over his buzz cut, which makes his hair look much darker. His entire vibe is borderline mysterious. “So . . . you’ve been tearing up some protein.”
He glances over his biceps. “I’m the neighborhood lawn guy. Mrs. Lark down the street suggested I introduce myself to the divorcée.”
“Eh, she’s at school right now. She’s broke, too.”
Jamie smiles.
My mouth twists up at one edge. “Making money for junior year activities? School just started, right?” Since I never gave myself half a break and began college this summer, my seasons are blurred.
“Yup, the school year started last month.”
“DuPont?”
He nods, moving his fingers over the side of the lawnmower and pointing to the switch.
Embarrassment blooms over my cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Allow me.” Although he’s been repackaged into a bad-boy façade, the friend I once loved stumbles over his words. “No . . . I can’t have you . . .”
I glance over myself. “I’m gaining weight. With college and my new Target gig, this is a workout.”
Relaxed, Jamie banters, “I’ve got five houses in this neighborhood, Willow. Between you and me, they’re reaching out to the city.”
When I laugh, Jamie’s eyes twinkle like uncut jewels. Still, my heart kills over in my chest for the other MacKenzie.
* * *
I’ve showered and changed into yoga pants and a loose top, the attire I plan to wear for the rest of my life. Jamie was working on the left side of the lawn when I started cooking, and then he offered to do the pool.
By the time I finish baking chicken and steaming rice, he stops at the sliding glass door.
I usher him in with a hand wave. “Come in, buddy.”
The giant kicks off his boots and pulls the undershirt from over his lean abs.
“Oh, um, salad kit.” I walk toward the refrigerator. “I keep telling Hillary we’d save money by cutting our own vegetables. She’s friggen ornery. Stay for dinner?”
He glimpses himself again.
“You’re good. Besides, she has Professor King—ahem, Professor David tonight.”
His teeth tug over his bottom lip, and I imagine Camdyn doing just that. It’s been a week since I replied to Cam, though he’s never far from my mind. “So, Willow, it’s just you?”
“Yup. You won’t, uh,” I glance down at myself while worry flits over my face, “tell Cam you saw me like this, will you?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow cocks. “You’re perfect, Willow.”
