“Willow!” her manager barked. “I asked for a slice of carrot cake to go.”
Wishing she could disappear, Willow ruffled her bangs so they fell over her eyes, rushed to the display case, and squatted behind it. Her arm shook as she slid the spatula under an icing-coated wedge, and she barely managed to wrangle the cake into a plastic container before she heard the voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Margaret,” Mrs. Turano snapped. “I thought you had better judgment.”
Reluctantly, Willow stood and met pale blue eyes—the same shade as the woman’s late son Daniel’s—lined with a road map of red. Mrs. Turano had been drinking again.
“I refuse to be served by the girlfriend of a murderer!”
A hard silence descended on the room, every set of eyes darting between Willow and the poor woman who’d lost her son. Which, by default, made Willow the villain.
She longed to defend herself, to yell that she’d had nothing to do with Daniel’s death. That she’d never been Ashton’s girlfriend. But she knew from experience that denial wouldn’t help. The woman would only insist that Willow admit Ashton’s guilt. Demand that Willow denounce the only true friend she’d ever had. And Willow would walk away without saying a word. As always.
“Claire, I—” Willow’s manager sputtered, her face flushing a deep red.
“There’s no excuse, Margaret! If she works here”—Claire Turano pointed a trembling finger at Willow’s head—“then you’ve lost my business. Which includes catering the annual art fund-raiser and the Sleepy Hollow Ball!”
The panic attack in full force, Willow’s airway constricted as if she were breathing through a straw. Wheezing, she backed away from the counter.
Margaret glanced over her shoulder. “Willow, take a break, now.”
Gladly.
Willow spun on her heel and ran through the kitchen and out the side door to the shaded patio. She could feel people staring holes in her back, but she didn’t care. She fell into a chair and searched for her focus color. Directly across from her, above a sign advertising the CC Café, she found a sky-blue flag with a peace symbol in the center. It would have to do.
Gasping for breath, she concentrated on the blue fabric and blocked everything out. The loud chewing of the woman beside her. The scrape of iron chairs against cobblestone. The mumble of voices . . .
Inhale through your nose.
1, 2, 3 . . .
Fall into the blue.
Exhale through your lips.
After three repetitions, the fog in her brain began to clear, but the pain in her chest persisted. Her shrink had given her a “panic script”—phrases to talk herself down. Unfortunately, it only worked when she said it aloud.
“Here goes nothing.” Still focused on the flag, Willow recited, “This is an opportunity for me to learn to cope with this problem.”
Cue the furtive glances and scurrying away.
Deep inhale.
“I have survived this before, and I can survive this time too.”
Slow exhale.
The slam of her heart gentled to its normal beat. She could feel eyes on her, hear them gathering their things and whispering to one another, but she didn’t dare look. She knew what she would see—condemnation and fear with a sprinkle of pity that equaled nothing but ignorant judgment.
Willow stared up at the fluttering green and yellow leaves and then drew a strong, clean breath before chancing a glance at the woman beside her—the only one who didn’t leave. But the old lady’s unwavering gaze made her swallow and look away.
“It’s all right, dear. I talk to myself all the time.”
Willow didn’t respond, hoping the lady would get the hint and go away like everyone else.
The woman lifted half of her sandwich in arthritic fingers. “Want some? It’s ham and cheese.” The woman grinned, her cheeks plumping and eyes glittering in sweet enticement.
Willow blinked. Everyone knew you didn’t accept food from strangers, especially not old women with stained dentures, but she’d made the sandwich herself not ten minutes ago and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Her stomach growled like an angry beast, making up her mind for her. “Sure.”
Accepting the offering, she peeled back the paper and sank her teeth in for a bite. The salty ham and creamy cheese melted in her mouth, dissolving the last of her anxiety. Willow slumped against the back of her chair.
“So, why are you so upset?”
Willow chewed, her eyes darting in search of an excuse not to talk to a complete stranger about her screwed-up life. But they were the only two left on the patio. When she glanced back at the woman’s