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“Right in half,” Rosie agrees, shooting a heated look West’s way.
I clear my throat. “Um. Gross. I do not want my scone split, thank you very much. I want to keep my scone intact, my head in the game, and make sure I beat him next time around.”
I chat with the girls for a bit longer, then excuse myself to gather my things from my station and tidy up. As I load my purse with the spices I brought from home, Willow tiptoes over to tap a timid finger on my counter. “I’d like to take you out, if that’s okay. You and Weston? To say thank you.”
“Oh, you don’t—” I’m about to say have to, but I stop myself and think about how I’d feel if the shoe was on the other foot. If Willow had kept me from catching fire, I’d absolutely want to take her out. The look in her eyes tells me she feels the same way.
That this matters to her.
“Yes,” I say with a smile. “I’d love that. Want me to ask West for you?”
Willow and I have been casual acquaintances for years—since she opened The Cupcakery in Williamsburg, in fact—but she’s still shy with me. I’m assuming West must have her completely spooked, but she surprises me.
“No, I’ll do it,” she says, her lips twitching up on one side. “He’s really nice. Reminds me of my big brother.”
Aw. That’s sweet, though I confess I’m secretly relieved West doesn’t remind me of my big brother.
I watch as Willow asks him to join us, and the gentle way he accepts the invitation, and a warm fullness spreads through my chest.
He’s not an evil tea-peddling trickster human. He’s kind and funny and gracious and heroic, and when he turns to me with a smile—clearly happy to join Willow and me—it’s all I can do not to jump into his arms and pepper his big, sweet, sexy face with kisses.
Instead, I hitch my bag over my shoulder and nod toward the top of the Park. The sun sinks near the horizon as evening sets in. “Should we walk up by the museum? Avoid the subway?”
Willow nods. “There’s a great diner up there. Amazing curly fries.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sliding into a shiny red booth next to Willow while West settles across from us. We order burgers and extra curly fries and chat about Brooklyn, trading stories of our favorite quirky natives, from the unicyclist couple who go for romantic, one-wheeled jaunts every night to the woman who brings her pet duck to the park in a baby carriage so it can visit with the wild waterfowl.
Willow nibbles a fry, then says, “And now this is one of my favorite stories about Brooklyn. I’m so grateful to the two of you.” She takes a shaky breath. “That could have gone…really badly.”
“Our pleasure,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Don’t think twice about it. Wasn’t a big deal at all.”
“But it was. You took time away from your dishes to help me, and I appreciate your kindness so much.”
Something in her voice makes me think she’s not used to kindness from strangers. Which is sad. Kindness is one of my favorite things.
“Well, I appreciate your cupcakes.” I squeeze her hand then shift my attention to West. “You simply must try the cinnamon roll cupcakes at her shop. They’re the best.”
He seems delighted, his lips crooking into a grin. “Are they now? I’m a big fan of cinnamon.”
My stomach rumbles with the memory, and I hum happily. “Then you’ll love them. Absolutely delish. But she only makes them on weekends, so keep that in mind.”
“Or let me know ahead of time that you’re coming,” Willow says with a smile. “I can make some special. We chefs have to stick together, right?”
“Except Hawley.” West’s smile vanishes as clouds sweep in behind his eyes. “Don’t turn your back on that one. Especially if there are any knives around. You’ll end up with one right between the shoulder blades.”
I’m about to ask West to spill the goods on Mr. Slimeball when Willow’s phone barks.
Literally barks.
“Oh, that’s Daisy, my dog sitter.” She grabs the phone from her purse and opens it at cheetah speed. “What? Wait, slow down, Dee,” she says. “Sparky made a nest of my—”
Willow breaks off with a sigh, dropping her head to rest in her hand. “He does that sometimes. He grabs them all from the laundry. He has…a thing.”
I meet West’s eyes and mouth fetish?
Underwear fetish, he mouths back.
I bite my lip, stifling a giggle.
“Sure thing, Daisy, don’t worry, I’ll be right there.” Willow pauses, then continues, “No, he usually doesn’t eat things he shouldn’t. When he starts gathering socks, it just means he’s ready for me to put him to bed. He likes to be tucked in. So do the others. But I’ll come home and keep an eye on him to make sure he hasn’t been chewing on things he shouldn’t.”
