Tequila Rose (Tequila Rose #1) - Willow Winters Page 0,25
when I told her we were starting fresh.
“You might want to know this.” His fingers tap anxiously on the edge of the computer, folded shut in his lap.
“Go ahead, spit it out,” I say casually, grabbing the beverage so my back is to him when he says, “She’s got a daughter.”
I pause in the middle of opening the can, letting the news sink in and then ask the necessary question, “But she’s single?”
“Yes.”
“And the dad? Is he in the picture or still have feelings or something?”
“Nope,” he says and shakes his head, “she’s a single parent.”
I never thought I’d feel an easiness come over me at that statement. The can fizzes in my hand and I take a drink, really thinking about it. A miniature Magnolia. She’s probably a cute kid. That’s when it hits me.
“I bet that’s why she freaked. She’s a mom now, she can’t be running around and having flings.”
Damn. I rub the back of my neck but a smile creeps on my face. “That makes so much sense now. And her friend’s all protective because of the kid.” I’m practically muttering and thinking out loud at this point, but Griffin still hears me and nods.
“Okay so, date this Friday. Sailing on Sunday.” Done and done.
“Yeah and you need to get dressed because we have a meeting in an hour for the permits.”
“Who’s the meeting with?” I ask.
“Some guy close to your age, so I’m thinking he’ll be able to pull some strings to get this bar open. Sam said he’s a friend of Magnolia’s too.”
Magnolia
Two and a half years ago
“There’s money on the counter,” I tell Robert with tears in my eyes, leaving the front door wide open as I cover my face and turn my back to him. Bridget won’t stop crying. Every moment she wails, my heart breaks more and more. She cries almost every night around eight and I don’t understand why. There are no teeth coming in, she already had a full bottle, and all her naps have been right on schedule. She cuddles when I hold her but still she doesn’t stop.
The baby app tells me it’s the witching hour. I just want it to stop. My hands tremble when I reach down for her, picking her up out of the pack and play and shushing her even though the white noise machine is on full blast.
“It’s okay, little one,” I whisper but my poor baby can’t hear it anyway over her cries.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” I say and breathe out in frustration with tears streaming down my face. I don’t know that Robert’s heard me until his hand comes down on my shoulder. It honestly startles me. Maybe because I’m exhausted, maybe because I’ve been alone in this apartment for three days straight, maybe because I feel like I’m going to pass out after lying next to the pack and play for the last half an hour crying right along with Bridget.
“You all right?” he asks and I burst into a laugh that’s not a laugh, right before letting out the ugliest sob imaginable.
“This is not your problem,” is all I can tell him. “The rent is on the counter,” I point out again. That’s what he came for. The settlement money I was counting on receiving from my father’s estate is being held up and I don’t know how I’m going to pay next month’s bills if that last property doesn’t sell, or if they have to take that money to pay off more debts my father lied about.
“I’m still your friend, Mags. I’m still here for you,” he says and his tone is kind, the same as it has been for the last year. Through the pregnancy, through the first weeks after I became the town pariah. He may have left my heart broken, but I’ll be darned if he hasn’t tried to help me pick up the pieces.
Part of me is grateful for that; part is still angry. And a big part of me wants him to put the pieces back together and hold on to everything. Oh, Lord, the tears are coming back.
“My world is a mess and I don’t know what to do.” My inhale is staggered and I have to sit down to try to calm myself, but Bridget’s screams get louder so I shoot back up.
“Okay, you’re doing good, Mags,” he says, but his encouragement doesn’t help.
“I’m a bad mom,” I say, whispering the painful words aloud and then heave