She’s right. I wish her easy demeanor were catching. I like Willow White, despite the whole lock-changing thing. I probably would have changed the locks right away myself.
“So what else is different about Snow Creek?” I ask her.
“The biggest difference is that nothing is open on the weekends. That is the strangest thing.”
“A lot of them are open on Saturdays. But you’re right, not Sundays. That’s family day around here.”
“I noticed there are only two churches in Snow Creek, and both of them are very small.”
“Yeah. There’s the churchgoing crowd and the non-churchgoing crowd. But we all seem to get along pretty well.”
“Yeah. I have to say, small-town life is certainly worth getting used to. Everyone’s been very welcoming.”
“Snow Creek’s that kind of town. Most people who come here never leave.”
“I certainly don’t plan to. Ashley and Dale are here, of course, plus… I just needed something different, you know?”
“I know. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I’m slowly healing. Dennis and I… Well, we just didn’t have a chance. We had only known each other for about six months when we got married, and then… Who knew we were fated to only have a twenty-four-hour marriage?”
“I know. It’s not fair.”
She sighs. “Life rarely is fair, Rory. I should know.”
I’m not sure what she’s referring to, but I do understand. “I hear you. Me too.”
“I’m really sorry about the fire that destroyed your family’s property,” she says.
“Thank you.”
More pity. Of course, I just gave her sympathy over her late husband. I like this woman, but I sure as heck don’t want to spend the afternoon in a mutual pity party. Time to get out of here.
“I’ll just get my boxes in the back,” I say.
“Of course. Nice to see you.”
I head to the salon storage area. Not much of this was ever mine, but I did loan Raine some artwork for the salon. Just a few small paintings, which she boxed up when she moved her stuff out. At the time, I couldn’t bear to come in and take them.
Even now, I’m not sure I want them. They’ll be a reminder of Raine and our failed relationship. One more person who couldn’t deal with my bisexuality.
Funny, though. I don’t miss her that much. Near the end, all we seemed to do was argue—mostly about me looking at a man. Strange that she didn’t mind me checking out other women. Maybe because she did it too. If we were truly happy, would either of us be checking others out? I mean, people don’t stop being attractive just because you’re in love. True?
I have no answers. Twenty-eight, and I’m still as confused about relationships as I was at eighteen.
It’s probably best for me to be myself by myself for a while. Kissing Brock Steel was fun—amazing, actually—but I’m sure not ready for anything else.
Which means… I’m probably not ready to ask him to have sex with me so that I can conceive a child.
Of course, I don’t have to tell him that’s the purpose of it. All I have to do is seduce him when I know I’m ovulating.
But that’s dishonest. I’m not that woman. I’ll never be that woman.
And then I know what I’m going to do this afternoon.
I grab the box of my artwork and walk to the front of the salon. “I think that’s all of it,” I tell Willow. “Thanks a lot for letting me keep the studio. We need to decide on some reasonable rent.”
“Don’t worry about that, Rory. I don’t plan on charging you rent.”
“I’m certainly willing to pay my way.”
“Look,” she says. “I’ve been through hard times. I know what it’s like, and it would’ve really helped me out if someone had just given me a little bit of a break.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Willow. We’re not destitute.”
“I know that. But I am now in a position to help someone else—pay it forward, you know?—and I’d like to do it if you let me.”
I can’t lie. It would help me out. “That’s very generous of you. Thank you. But I’m afraid I just can’t accept. We Pikes pay our own way. Always.”
“I understand.” She smiles. “How does two hundred a month sound?”
“It sounds like you’re giving me a hell of a deal.”
“Am I? I guess I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to things like this. I never imagined myself as a landlord. What do you think would be fair?”
“Five hundred,” I say, lowballing her just a bit. “I think five hundred is what the studio is worth on a monthly basis.”
“We’ll make it three hundred, then,” she says, “and I won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t want to rent it for three hundred, I’m sure I can find someone who will.” She smiles.
I can’t help a chuckle. “You drive a hard bargain. Three hundred it is. And thank you, Willow.”