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“You mean you were thinking with the wrong head,” Gran grumbles, shoving an axe at me, hitting me square in the solar plexus with its handle. At least she pointed the sharp side out or my future children might’ve been wiped from existence. With a couple days free from flights, I promised to split Gran’s latest haul of firewood so it’s ready for winter. “You don’t know shit about running a theater, Mason.”
“I’ll hire someone.”
“It’s not going to change her mind.”
I’m saved from responding when my little sister bursts through the front door. There are purple streaks in Freya’s mop of hair on the top of her head. I bristle, wondering what jackass hurt her this time. She only colors her hair when she’s heartbroken. If she’d just move home, I could watch out for her better. Put the fear of God in any guy who gave her more than a passing glance.
“Mason!” She rushes toward me and I barely have time to lower the axe to my side before she throws her hands around my neck.
“Didn’t know you were coming for a visit,” I say through strangled breaths. She has an impressive death grip that helps me worry a little less. Because right now, there’s a whole helluva lot I’m worried about.
“Spur of the moment thing. You know.” Code forhe really did a number on me and I needed to get the hell away.
“Going to help?” I ask, raising my axe.
“I’ve never been any good with that thing. I might take someone’s arm off.” She looks at Gran’s cocktail enviously.
“There’s a pitcher in the fridge,” Gran relents. “Just save—me some.” The last two words fall to deaf ears since Freya double times it inside.
“Is she really just here for a visit?”
Gran shrugs. “I never know. She brought a lot of luggage for ‘just a visit’ though.”
Her comment reminds me of Willow’s bulging suitcase with its busted wheel. The thing had to weigh seventy-five pounds. Maybe more. Though coming to Alaska unprepared for any season is unwise, I know for a fact Willow still has plenty of clothes, boots, and gear stashed in Rose’s basement. When she left, she took the suitcase she’d packed for Maui.
“It’s already too late, isn’t it?” Gran lets out a disgruntled sigh.
“For what?”
She nods at me to follow her around back, to the waiting pallet of wood. “Your walls have crumbled.”
“Not true.”
“Bullshit. Mason, I’ve known you all your life. I’ve raised you since you were seven, God bless your mother’s soul. Willow Gray already has her hooks in deep.” She shuts me up with a hand. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but just know I don’t trust her far as I can throw her. You’ve seen my shot putt. It’s not impressive.”
“Gran, this isamazing!” Freya’s sing-songy voice calls out.
“You split the wood. I’ll make sure our little princess doesn’t drink away all her sorrows.” Gran starts to walk up the path, but turns after a couple steps. “Don’t let Freya have the axe. She’ll ask about three drinks in. I made this pitcher strong.”
“Noted.”
I slip in some ear buds and focus on splitting log after log. I take my frustration out with each swing. I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do with that theater if Willow decides to leave after Rose gets back from her world cruise. I had the money for it, but I was saving it up for other ventures. I don’t make a habit of holding onto properties that don’t have potential of turning a profit.
I thought that if I could build an empire, it would be enough to lure Willow home. To prove we could have a comfortable life in Caribou Creek together. That maybe she didn’t need Hollywood as much as she needed me.
Gran’s words haunt me with each swing, but not enough to knock any sense into me. Because I’m already all-in with the woman who’s destroyed my heart once. Even though I know I might not survive a second time if she leaves again. I might be totally fucked and there’s nothing I can do about it. Willow Gray is, and will always be, the only woman I want.
CHAPTER11
Willow
My feet arekillingme. I’ve been on them all day, waiting tables in the diner because the high schooler who was supposed to start at seven a.m. decided she had better things to do on a Saturday. Grandma Rose switched Aurora to busing tables within the first five minutes—less chance of her dumping hot food on customers. Kinley’s been hiding in the office, combing over the books and learning that side of the business so we don’t run the diner into the ground during the month that Grandma Rose is gone.
All I want is to go home.
Except, I don’t have a home. Even if I could go back to the LA house I shared with three other women, it never felt like home. And sleeping on the pullout couch in Grandma Rose’s basement has left my lower back aching.
If it weren’t for the constant whispers I hear behind my back or the awkward questions and comments—I never could stand the city. Too crowded. Did you know Mason went on a date last month? At least all that extra food from your reception went to a homeless shelter. Mason’s building quite the real estate portfolio since you left. Are you actually acting? The only thing I’ve seen you in lately is a hemorrhoid cream commercial.—I might consider staying.
