Page 100 of Just The Way You Aren't

An idea forms, crystallizing with surprising clarity. I think of what she told me last night—six siblings, financial struggles, parents who tried their best but couldn't always provide. I think of her describing herself as "the clown," the one who diverted attention to protect her younger sister.

I think of Wyatt's joke last week at Ambrosia, about me joining her on a family visit. When he’d said it then, I’d recoiled at the idea of being paraded in front of Willow’s parents and siblings—which had been the whole point of my friend’s suggestion. But now I’m actually considering it.

No, not considering. Deciding.

"Why don't I come with you?" I suggest, the words emerging with more confidence than I feel. This is uncharted territory for me—I've never met a woman's family before.Never wanted to, truth be told. But I want to know this part of Willow's life, to understand the people who shaped her.

The silence that follows is so profound I briefly wonder if the call dropped. “Willow?”

"You… you really want to come to the Catskills with me?" she finally asks, her voice pitched higher than usual. "To meet my family?"

"Unless you'd rather I didn't," I say, suddenly aware this might be moving too fast.

"No! I mean, yes, I'd love for you to come." Her excitement is palpable. "I just didn't think... I mean, it's not exactly The Plaza Hotel. My parents' place is pretty rustic."

"I've stayed in rustic accommodations before." This is technically true, though my definition of "rustic" might differ significantly from hers. "Don't worry about me. I’d love to come if you want me to."

"Wow. Okay." She laughs, the sound equal parts delighted and incredulous. "So... we're doing this? You're coming to meet my family?"

"I am." The decision feels right, even as I acknowledge the complexity it adds to our relationship. "Text me the details and I'll drive us up."

"Are you sure? It's about a three-hour drive, and?—"

"I'm sure, Willow."

"Okay." Her voice softens. "I'm really glad, Damien. They'll love you."

Will they? I wonder. Will they see a corporate CEO, a man whose world couldn't be more different from theirs? Or will they see what Willow somehow sees in me?

"I should get back to Mrs. Reynolds," she says. "But thank you for calling. And for... well, for wanting to meet my family. It means a lot."

"I'll see you Saturday morning, then."

"Saturday morning," she confirms, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "I can't wait."

After we hang up, I sit for a moment, processing what I've just committed to. A weekend in the Catskills, meeting Willow's sprawling family. It's a significant step, one I've never taken with anyone before.

But as I turn back to my computer, preparing to open Alfred’s forwarded memo, I realize I'm looking forward to getting away. Not just to spending time with Willow, but to seeing this other part of her life. To understanding more about the woman who's managed to work her way past every defense I've built.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message. It's Willow, already sending the weekend details. I can't help but smile at her efficiency, so at odds with her usual chaos. At the end of her message is a single heart emoji.

I stare at it for a moment, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spread through me. Then, after a brief hesitation, I send one back before setting my phone aside and refocusing on the work demands awaiting me.

The weekend can't come soon enough.

CHAPTER 32

WILLOW

"No, Rufus, that isnotyour new bed." I scoop the cat out of my weekender bag for the third time while simultaneously lunging across the bed to grab my bra from Tiny's mouth. "And you—give that back!"

Tiny dances away with his prize, tail wagging as if we're playing the world's most entertaining game of keep-away. I'm already dressed in my yellow sundress with tiny white daisies—the nicest thing in my closet that isn't a boho skirt or jeans and a T-shirt—but I'd really like to pack my good bra for the weekend.

"You're not making this easy," I tell Tiny, who responds by wagging harder as I advance on him. Meanwhile, Mingo has decided my hairbrush is the perfect toy, batting it across the dresser and knocking over my perfume bottle in the process.

My phone buzzes with a text. Abby:Outside your door. My hands are full. Let me in!

I abandon both cat and bra retrieval efforts and hurry to the door, stepping carefully around Spike, who has positioned himself directly in my path with the uncanny ability unique tosmall dogs. When I open the door, Abby stands there balancing a cardboard tray with two large coffees and a paper bag that smells gloriously of fresh bagels.

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