“Willa…” He wheezes, tipping his head back against the door frame. “I—” Another laugh rips from him, and he covers it with his hand. “Shit, no wonder you’re always giving me stink eye.” His chest heaves, stifling titters while he struts back to the bed. “Willa, I haven’t been calling youJim. I’ve been calling youGem, like a jewel.”
“Gem? Why the hell are you calling me Gem?”
“Gems in the ocean,” he says with a bright smile.
“Is that a song or something? I’m confused…”
“A few years ago, after Chase and Kayla’s wedding, you told me about the history behind Crystal Beach—how the ocean transformed the glass. It stuck with me. And the more time I spend with you, the more facets you reveal.” He reaches down and tweaks my nose, snorting as I jut my head back in surprise. “After that revelation, I’m convinced. You’re precious, Gem, and I refuse to believe otherwise.” Trevor lets one more chuckle slip before he turns and walks from the room, calling out, “I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.”
The bathroom door shuts down the hallway, and I collapse on my pillow. For years I’ve been so irked by him calling meJim, sometimes avoiding him in annoyance. I thought he was doing some juvenile grade school teasing, but never once considered he was saying something else. Something completely cute and sweet. Something that has me biting my lip as butterflies trample all over my reasons not to like him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WILLA
Coming back to Fort Bender is always bittersweet. Cozy and familiar, but rifling with conflicting memories. Home is where I realized I was more than my textbooks. Where I fell in love with photography. Home is not my parents’ house. That’s why I’m at Sam’s flower shop—phone turned off—instead of suffering through Thanksgiving meal prep.
Forget Me Nots has come a long way from the flower arrangements Samson sold out of the bed of his truck in high school. A large garden window is filled with a fall themed spray underneath the illustrated logo of a singular forget-me-not on the glass. The muted green walls of his updated shop are a stark contrast to the bubblegum pink they used to be when the building was Ye Old Candy Shoppe. He’s doing some rebranding, and I offered to take his promo pictures while I’m here. With the amount of support he’s given me through the years, I’m honored to.
We met in high school and became fast friends. I was the Type A bookworm tutor, and he was the lanky, misunderstood loner who was unapologetically obsessed with botany. He followed his passion and taught me how to follow mine. He’s the only one who saw my love for photography back then. Encouraged me to hone my craft, even if it was just for myself, and helped cover forme when I dropped the accounting club to take photography lessons under the table. He was there when I chose myself and left my strict household. Even when I stayed away from town for all those years, he made it a point to keep in touch. Sam was the only one who showed up to my graduation from TAILA—him and his flowers.
“This place really looks great, Sam.” I adjust the camera strap around my neck. “Turn to the left and prop your elbow on the counter.” He fiddles with the curly brown man bun at the top of his head, then adjusts the blue flannel under his charcoal vest.His hipster lumberjack aesthetic, full beard included, might seem too rough around the edges for a flower shop owner at first. But one flash of his disarming smile against his brown skin pulls everything together. In a town as small as Fort Bender, everyone already knows who he is. Between the shop and running the town’s only Christmas tree farm, Samson’s the go-to plant guy in town.
“I really wish you’d let me pay for this,” he says, still adjusting his clothes.
“Absolutely not. And if you bring it up again, I’ll swap out those dahlias in the background for carnations.”
“That’s offensive, Will.” Wrinkling his nose, he settles against the butcher block counter behind him. “Carnations are the ruffled tuxedo shirt of floristry. They should have gone out of style decades ago.” They’ve been his least favorite flower for as long as I’ve known him. “Speaking of flowers, how’s your Phalaenopsis?”
“Whooo?” I ask with a playful rise to my voice.
“Please don’t make me say it…”
Laughing, I move the wooden step stool to the center of the room and climb up. “Clittercunt is a dramatic bitch. Too much water, then not enough. And her roots are growing out of the pot. I don’t know what the hell she wants anymore.”
“Phalaenopsis are the easy orchids, and those are the air roots… Did you even look at the care sheet I sent?”
Nope.“Yep.” He doesn’t need to know I accidentally drownedher when I got her, and she’s lost all her flowers. I think I just need to let her dry out…
“So… How’s the fam?” he asks.
I snap a couple of test shots, then step down and move the stool farther back. His tall, burly frame—bulked up since the last time I saw him—is still just a bit high for me to get a good shot. “They’re doing what they do best. And that’s why I’m here.” My tight-lipped grin makes him laugh, giving me the perfect opportunity to take a candid shot. My parents “tried” to be more hands-off a few years ago, which only lasted a couple months before they were back on their overly critical bullshit. They haven’t let up since, and coming home is an automatic lecture down high school memory lane.
“You’re always welcome to come up to the farm. Dad’s already planning to make way too much food. Claire and Maci would love to see you too.”
“Hmm,” I say, adjusting the focus with a twist of my hand. It’s tempting, the thought of joining Sam for Thanksgiving. Escape is exactly what I want right now. I’ve done it before on holidays, when the scrutiny of my family was too much to handle. Hiding out in the redwoods is always perfect. The sense of peace that washes over me when I think about keeping this big news from my parents and walking away for good is immense. I don’t tell them details about my life anyway, and they don’t ask. It would be the easiest thing to keep this to myself, but as much as I want to accept his offer, I came into town for one reason. I need to go through with it no matter how much I’m dreading it. “As tempting as that is, I have to tough it out this year.”
“What’s special about this year?”
Hiding behind the camera, I freeze. I haven’t told anyone yet—not even the girls at work. A few people know, sure, but I haven’t said the words out loud to anyone except Trevor. It’s not like I’m waiting to tell my parents—I don’t want to give them that much power. But as soon as I say the words to someone else, it’ll feel real. More real than the morning sickness that has petered out the lastcouple of weeks. As tangible as the ultrasound pictures sitting in my backpack in the corner. Pursing my lips, I lower the camera, letting it hang as I stare at my best friend. Telling Sam might be the comforting embrace I need before ripping off the bandage with my family. Air seeps from my lungs as I clutch my fingers. “I’m?—”
A chime over the door sounds, and in strolls Super Dimples…without his usual smile? His eyes widen when he sees me, quick steps bringing us eye to eye. Sighing, he squints at the step stool. “You really shouldn’t?—”
“Yeah, yeah. What are you doing here? Did my mom send you?”
“Nope.” The word comes out clipped, but he softens it with, “Ash said you’d probably be here.”
Snitch.I roll my eyes and turn back to Sam, who holds his pose at the counter while his eyebrows do their best impression of the wave. “Sam, this is Trevor. He’s…we’re…I’m pregnant.”That wasn’t so bad.A little messy, but it’s done now.
