Page 47 of Still A Cowboy
Cal opened the passenger door for Willa, waited until she slid in, then circled around and climbed behind the wheel.
The rain had thinned to a drizzle, misting over the windshield as he started the engine.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.
Then Willa let out a breath, her voice soft but steady. “We know the truth now.”
Cal glanced at her as he turned onto the road. “Yeah. We do.”
“But that doesn’t fix everything,” she added, her gaze distant, her words landing heavy in the quiet car. “It can’t.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wild Rose Point sparkled with Christmas decorations, every shop window glowing with twinkle lights, every lamppost wrapped in garland and oversized red bows. A giant, slightly lopsided tree stood in the middle of the town square, its ornaments swaying in the ocean breeze. Even the driftwood sculptures along the beach had been draped with shiny tinsel, thanks to the town council’s and her mother’s relentless holiday spirit.
Willa tugged her coat tighter around her as she walked the stretch of cold, damp sand, her boots crunching softly over scattered sand dollars and shells. The air was crisp, salty, and sharp with the promise of rain, but she didn’t care. The beach had always been her place to think.
A sharp cry overhead made her glance up just in time to see Edgar the seagull sailing by, a tiny string of Christmas lights clamped in his beak. He flapped his wings proudly like he’d stolen atreasure.
“Leave it to you to loot the decorations,” Willa muttered, watching as he disappeared into the cloudy sky.
Her smile faded as her thoughts circled back to Cal.
He had left shortly after Thanksgiving, returning to Dallas to repair the damage to his business and calm the shitstorm Eden had helped stir up. He’d promised it wasn’t goodbye, just a pause, but she couldn’t shake the fear that he was gone for good.
He texted her every day. Multiple times. Funny notes. Sweet check-ins. A picture of his office’s sad little fake Christmas tree that barely stood straight. But she had also seen photos of him online, smiling at charity galas, shaking hands with important people, wearing tailored suits and a tux—yes, an actual tux—that somehow fit him as well as his jeans ever had.
Well, almost.
Those jeans of his set a very high bar indeed, and they’d become her benchmark for all such attire.
Willa shoved her hands deep into her pockets and kicked at a piece of driftwood. He belonged to that world just as much as he ever belonged to Wild Rose Point. Maybe more.
And maybe she had been foolish to think a cowboy like him would ever really stay.
Some movement caught her eye. Not Edgarthis time but her mother. Delia came trudging across the beach toward Willa, and she wasn’t empty handed. She held out a steaming mug, the sweet smell of cocoa rising up.
“Brought you this,” her mom said, slipping an arm around Willa’s shoulders. Despite both of them wearing coats, they were shivering. “Though I should warn you, the Santa-shaped marshmallows are now just sad blobs.”
Willa looked down and gave a small smile. “Santa’s had a rough night.”
“Santa’s had a rough season,” Delia muttered, tightening her hold just a little. She looked out toward the waves, the gray sky brushed with soft pinks as the sun worked its way up. “Eden’s leaving. Packing up and moving to Portland.”
Willa’s heart gave a small, almost meaningless twist. She lifted the cocoa, blew on it, and took a sip.
“Her name’s mud now. Brent might recover eventually, but Eden?” Delia shook her head. “Not here. Not after what she did.”
Willa didn’t feel sorry for Eden. Not one bit. Not after what she had done to Cal’s business. His reputation. His peace.
The Seaglass, on the other hand, had weathered the scandal just fine. If anything, business had gotten busier. Locals and tourists still flocked to the bar, especially after her grandmother had come up with a new legend.
Any couple caught kissing on the beach atChristmas, right after sharing a Midnight Kiss cocktail from the Seaglass, would find themselves tangled in a love story too big to outrun.
The drink had become a holiday hit almost overnight, and so had the legend.
Her grandmother had wasted no time tacking that legend onto the growing pile of soulmate folklore surrounding the Seaglass. And the town, of course, had eagerly latched on. There were already whispers about a Christmas Eve kiss being the most powerful of all.
Willa had another sip of her Santa blobbed cocoa, feeling the sting of the wind and the ache of missing Cal more than she wanted to admit.
