Good To Be Bad (Good Love #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,32

to join us, and the gentle way he accepts the invitation, and a warm fullness spreads through my chest.

He’s not an evil tea-peddling trickster human. He’s kind and funny and gracious and heroic, and when he turns to me with a smile—clearly happy to join Willow and me—it’s all I can do not to jump into his arms and pepper his big, sweet, sexy face with kisses.

Instead, I hitch my bag over my shoulder and nod toward the top of the Park. The sun sinks near the horizon as evening sets in. “Should we walk up by the museum? Avoid the subway?”

Willow nods. “There’s a great diner up there. Amazing curly fries.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m sliding into a shiny red booth next to Willow while West settles across from us. We order burgers and extra curly fries and chat about Brooklyn, trading stories of our favorite quirky natives, from the unicyclist couple who go for romantic, one-wheeled jaunts every night to the woman who brings her pet duck to the park in a baby carriage so it can visit with the wild waterfowl.

Willow nibbles a fry, then says, “And now this is one of my favorite stories about Brooklyn. I’m so grateful to the two of you.” She takes a shaky breath. “That could have gone…really badly.”

“Our pleasure,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Don’t think twice about it. Wasn’t a big deal at all.”

“But it was. You took time away from your dishes to help me, and I appreciate your kindness so much.”

Something in her voice makes me think she’s not used to kindness from strangers. Which is sad. Kindness is one of my favorite things.

“Well, I appreciate your cupcakes.” I squeeze her hand then shift my attention to West. “You simply must try the cinnamon roll cupcakes at her shop. They’re the best.”

He seems delighted, his lips crooking into a grin. “Are they now? I’m a big fan of cinnamon.”

My stomach rumbles with the memory, and I hum happily. “Then you’ll love them. Absolutely delish. But she only makes them on weekends, so keep that in mind.”

“Or let me know ahead of time that you’re coming,” Willow says with a smile. “I can make some special. We chefs have to stick together, right?”

“Except Hawley.” West’s smile vanishes as clouds sweep in behind his eyes. “Don’t turn your back on that one. Especially if there are any knives around. You’ll end up with one right between the shoulder blades.”

I’m about to ask West to spill the goods on Mr. Slimeball when Willow’s phone barks.

Literally barks.

“Oh, that’s Daisy, my dog sitter.” She grabs the phone from her purse and opens it at cheetah speed. “What? Wait, slow down, Dee,” she says. “Sparky made a nest of my—”

Willow breaks off with a sigh, dropping her head to rest in her hand. “He does that sometimes. He grabs them all from the laundry. He has…a thing.”

I meet West’s eyes and mouth fetish?

Underwear fetish, he mouths back.

I bite my lip, stifling a giggle.

“Sure thing, Daisy, don’t worry, I’ll be right there.” Willow pauses, then continues, “No, he usually doesn’t eat things he shouldn’t. When he starts gathering socks, it just means he’s ready for me to put him to bed. He likes to be tucked in. So do the others. But I’ll come home and keep an eye on him to make sure he hasn’t been chewing on things he shouldn’t.”

West’s mouth forms an O. Socks, of course.

Willow ends the call, her brow furrowing as she turns back to us. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. My chihuahuas. The sitter thinks Sparky might have eaten a sock while she wasn’t looking. But I’ll pay the check, and you guys can stay and finish,” she says, gesturing to our half full plates.

I wouldn’t mind finishing. I’m still famished.

“Are you sure?’ West asks.

“Of course. Stay.” She smiles as she slides out of the booth. “Thank you again—for the help and the chef talk. It was so fun. But Skippy, Salty, Stringbean, and Sparky aren’t used to me being out after seven or eight. They get anxious.”

“You have four dogs?” West asks.

Willow just shrugs and smiles. “Dogs like me.”

“Smart dogs,” I say.

She laughs—actually laughs without covering her mouth or hiding behind her hair—waves, pays the bill at the cashier, and heads out into the thickening twilight.

And then I’m alone with West again.

Just West. Gorgeous, kind, thoughtful fireman West.

But I’m not technically alone. Since we’re in a restaurant. I’m safe from myself here. It’s