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Row: Nah, there are so many bedrooms in this place, we’ll find him one. Tell him he can drive out tonight if he wants to.
If I do that, Brooks will drive straight over here immediately. I don’t know if I want to deal with him tonight.
Me: I just texted him. He’ll head out first thing tomorrow.
Row: Perfect.
I wait a few minutes before I send a text to Brooks.
Me: Drive out here tomorrow morning. They’ll be expecting you.
Brooks: Thanks, man. Will do. Hopefully Iris won’t be pissed.
Me: I doubt she will. At least then all of us can pair up.
Brooks: Meaning you and Willow?
Me: Definitely.
Brooks: Niiiice.
I jerk my head up when I hear hurried footsteps coming down the stairs, light enough that I could almost believe they weren’t there at all. Slowly, I rise from the chair, pocketing my phone as I carefully slip out of the nook.
It’s Willow dressed in all black, her hair flowing down her back and not in its usual ponytail. She pauses on the second to last step, scanning the area, her head slowly moving.
My chest aches at seeing her. This feels like a moment that I’ve been waiting for forever is finally coming true and I’m suddenly nervous as fuck.
I don’t want to blow this—my chance with Willow.
She finally takes those last two steps and rounds the stairwell, her soft voice reaching me.
“Rhett?”
I appear out of the shadows, startling her, but she doesn’t make a sound. Her eyes go wide when she spots me, and she reaches for my hand, quietly leading me toward the back of the house. Until we’re outside on a massive patio with statues and giant planters full of flowers.
“This house is unbelievable,” I murmur as I look around.
“Come on, we’ll go downstairs where the gardens are.” Willow tugs on my hand and I follow her down the stairs. I can smell the lush fragrance of roses before I even see them, mixing with the nostalgic scent of fresh cut grass.
That smell always makes me think of a football field. When I was younger, there was no better scent in the world.
“Where exactly are you taking me?” I ask Willow when I realize we’re still on the move.
“Iris’s mom had a maze put into the gardens last spring. I like to get lost in it,” Willow explains.
We do exactly that—get lost in the maze. The shrubbery walls tower over us and they’re narrow, making me feel boxed in. We come across the occasional bench or statue as we make our way through it, and at one point, I tug on Willow’s hand, pressing her against the vegetation wall with my body.
“What are you doing?” She’s breathless, her chest rising and falling with each breath, brushing against my own.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” I lean in close, my mouth at her neck as I breathe her in.
Willow’s scent is far better than any fresh cut grass.
She rests her hands against my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my sweatshirt. “I don’t know. Having fun?”
“Torturing me.” I pull away from her neck to stare into her eyes, my gaze dropping to her lips. Lingering there. I dip my head, about to kiss her, but she presses her hand against my mouth, stopping me.
“Not yet,” she murmurs. “Let’s wait until we find the center of the maze.”
