Eyes shut, I wish for Willa.
A life with her.
A family with her.
Gray hair and more laughter with her.
When I open my eyes, Luke is staring at me with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“What did you wish for?” I ask him, needing something lighthearted. Thinking it will be something ridiculous. Something frivolous.
Instead, he delivers a gut punch.
One soft cheek hitches up, and he glances back down into the dark well. “I wished for Willa to come back.”
My eyes burn when I pull him into me, feel his tiny arms clutching at my waist.
And my voice cracks when I say, “Me too, pal. Me too.”
35
Willa
Willa: How is Cade?
Summer: Full hermit-mode. Back to hating everyone. Please come fix him.
Willa: I’m on my way.
With a positive blood test in hand, I get in my Jeep and start the drive back out to Wishing Well Ranch.
As city streets morph into freeways that morph into country roads, I let my mind wander to how things have changed since the last time I drove out here. How I flew out here on a whim, wind in my hair and not a single responsibility on my radar.
Yeah. Things have changed. Drastically.
But I’m oddly at peace.
I’ve shed tears the last couple of days, and I am not a crier. I’ve made plans for myself, and I am not a planner. I have fresh perspective. Took the space I needed to process.
I’ve realized I’m better with Cade than I am without him. And I think he’s better with me too. I intend to tell him as much and then watch him roll his eyes at me.
It’s going to be so romantic.
As the drive wears on, I get lost in my thoughts and my anxiety grows. What-ifs pop into my head. I listen to the most upbeat ’80s music I can find and chew nervously on my nails, hoping that he wants this as much as I do. Hoping I haven’t made him feel stuck.
When I reach the long driveway, I put my Jeep in park and take some deep breaths and shift in my driver’s seat and start doing the drunk-girl pep talk again. Except I’m dead sober and my concerns are way bigger than if I look sweaty or stumble in front of a hot guy at the bar.
I’m a smart, capable adult. I have family and friends who love me. This is just another opportunity for me to start a new chapter in my life. I’m a hot fucking mess.
Shaking my head at myself, I put the Jeep back into drive and head straight for Cade’s little red house.
The little red house with a freshly poured sidewalk out front.
The little red house with a sweet dark-haired boy strumming his guitar on the front step.
The little red house with a man who makes my heart race and my cheeks heat just by scowling at me the way he is now.
And I have to wonder if it’s not a scowl at all. Because the expression is so full of love, so full of longing, that the muscles in my chest seize and I rush to park so that I can be out of this vehicle and breathing the same air as them.
My boys.
“Willa!” Luke’s quickly forgotten guitar rests on the step as he tears across the front lawn toward me. “I’m so glad you’re back!”
“Me too, pal. Me too,” I say as I wrap my arms around him. But my eyes fixate on his dad, who’s standing there, wearing a pair of jeans like a second skin, hands casually slung on his hips. Fucking hat turned backward.
A country boy who looks as good as Cade Eaton should be illegal.
But instead, he’s mine.
“Hi,” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away.
“Hi, Red,” he replies but he doesn’t move. His son stays latched onto me like a little barnacle.
“How are you?”
His jaw pops as he stares back at me, and I get nervous. Maybe in doing what I thought was best for Cade, I shot myself in the foot.
But when he says, “Better now that you’re here,” I know that’s not true.
Giving Luke a little pat on the back, I say, “Luke, can you head inside for a few minutes? I need to have a private chat with your dad. And I’ll know if you’re eavesdropping.”
The sheepish grin he gifts me has me smiling back at him. His bright blue eyes, sun-kissed cheeks from a summer spent in the sun . . . I’ve never fallen harder or faster for a single person in the world than I have for Lucas Eaton.
“Okay. But first I want to show you the sidewalk we made.” He threads his small fingers through mine and pulls me off the gravel driveway to the freshly poured walkway. Like, I think it might actually still be wet.
When we get closer, the wet concrete confirms my suspicions. I can smell that chalky scent permeating the surrounding air, but it’s what’s decorating the walkway that stops me in my tracks.