Chapter 22

"Aunt Marsha, stop cleaning! The house looks perfect!"

Marsha looked up from where she was wiping the kitchen counter—for the second time. She exhaled and laughed a little bit. "I know—but cleaning makes me feel better." She'd gotten the news two hours earlier that Willis was coming over that night to help her with making their costumes. Her stomach had been racing with butterflies ever since, and she'd immediately started to wipe down and polish everything in sight. The house had been basically clean to start with, and by that time it was immaculate.

"Cleaning a spotless house makes you feel better, huh?" Olivia teased, leaning against the counter and grinning at her aunt. "You know, if you want, I can make it messy again. Sprinkle cookie crumbs on the table. Drop some dirty socks on the living room carpet."

Marsha threw her head back laughing. "Don't you dare. I'll stop soon, I promise. I just—well, I'm restless."

"Because your crush is coming over!" her niece sang out gleefully.

"I—he's—"

"You're blushing!"

"Oh my goodness." Marsha laughed breathlessly, lifting her hands to her cheeks. "Am I?"

"Stop cleaning, and put your nervous energy toward something more constructive," Olivia suggested affectionately. "Like making snacks. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." She winked.

"Oh, that's a good idea, Olivia. I already have the crullers I made earlier today, but I could make some sweet potato fries and pop them into the oven before he gets here."

"Perfect." Her niece grinned. "And then he'll smell the fries cooking when he arrives. Instant great impression. So good he wouldn't even notice a dirty house." She winked again.

"Oh hush." Marsha laughed. "Let me stress clean if I want."

"Don't be stressed!" Olivia opened the refrigerator and took out a large, sweet potato. "There's no need to be so worried. Just let things flow."

"I feel like a love-sick girl again," Marsha admitted, tucking her cleaning supplies underneath the kitchen sink.

Olivia was quiet for a moment, getting out the cutting board while Marsha began to peel the sweet potato. "Are you still in love with Willis, Aunt Marsha?"

"I—I don't think Willis could ever open up his heart to me again, Olivia." She smiled gently at her niece, and then turned her eyes back to her work. "I chose to abandon our relationship all those years ago. That showed him that my love for him could be overpowered by pressure from others. How could he trust me again after something like that?"

"I didn't ask you about him. I asked you about you." Olivia's eyes were soft with kindness. "Are you still in love with him?"

Marsha sighed. "Yes," she admitted, her hands slowing down as she confessed it. "I never stopped loving Willis. Never all these years. I think that's why none of my other relationships ever worked out."

Olivia hurriedly crossed the kitchen and gave her aunt a warm hug. "Keep your mind open, Aunt Marsha. I believe true love always finds a way—at least, that's what I'm hoping, considering I sure haven't found my soulmate yet." She laughed wryly.

Marsha was about to assure her that she had plenty of time to find happiness with someone, but at that moment there was a knock on the door, and she felt herself going pale.

"I'll finish up the fries!" Olivia assured her. "I'll tell him it's your recipe!"

"It's not my recipe—"

"Shush! Go answer the door!"

Feeling her heart fluttering, Marsha hurried toward the front door. She opened it, revealing Willis standing there wearing a spotless blue dress shirt, clean jeans, and his black restaurant shoes.

"Good evening, Marsha," he said, sounding even huskier and deep-voiced than usual.

"Good evening, Willis." Her voice sounded even higher and breathier than usual. "Thanks for coming over."

"Of course." He winked. "I can't ask you to do all of the work yourself."

"Would you like some refreshments? I have iced tea, and crullers—and Olivia is making some sweet potato fries right now."

"That all sounds wonderful. I'd take a cruller and some iced tea to start, and then maybe we can take a break when the sweet potato fries are done?"

"Sure. We can eat while we discuss our plan." She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"Your house is enchanting," he said as they walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, thank you." She felt thrilled to no end that he'd praised it so highly. Enchanting!

They talked amiably with Olivia in the kitchen for a while as they started to drink their tea and bite into the delicious crullers. After a few minutes, Olivia popped the fries into the oven and excused herself.

"Have fun, you two!" she sang out cheerfully as she left the room.

"Your home really is wonderful," he said again, smiling at Marsha. "It's—well it's just the kind of place I would have expected you to live in." After he said the words, his face fell.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently.

"I'm glad you ended up doing what you love to do. I'm glad you have a life like this. I always wondered what you ended up pursuing, since your mother had some very specific plans for your life." There was an edge in his tone, and the words themselves held a twinge of bitterness.

"I did what my mother wanted for a long time," she admitted. "It took me years before I really stood up for myself. But at least I did finally stand up for myself! Better late than never, right?"

Her eyes lingered on his face as she said it. He cleared his throat in a way that seemed to imply he wasn't sure that "better late than never" was true in their case.

"I'm glad you pursued your passions, Marsha. I really am. I'm proud of you, and I'm glad you've made your own way in the world." He smiled warmly at her, and she beamed back at him.

As soon as they'd finished their crullers and iced tea, she proudly showed him her craft room and what she'd done on the costumes so far.

"Marsha," he said, gazing in awe at the sketches she'd made and the finished skirt of her dress, "these are incredible."

"Thank you," she said, blushing. "I love to sew."

"I would too, if I could sew like this!"

She laughed, and he grinned at her. In a few minutes, they were chatting and laughing as they worked. They discussed ideas for the details of the costumes, such as where to put the words describing what rebuilding meant to various members of Blueberry Bay. As they stitched and cut and pinned—with Willis being guided by Marsha's kind instructions—they relived their memories of entering the costume contest together, along with other memories from their past. Some memories made them nostalgic, but most of them they couldn't stop laughing over.

"Do you remember the time Bart Anderson left a banana peel in the back seat of my truck, and I didn't know about it? We both got into my truck on that hot day—"

"And I was too polite to tell you that it reeked in there!" She clapped her hands.

"And I thought I was getting sick or something. I didn't know why I was smelling something so awful. And then as soon as we parked you just quietly reached around and picked the banana peel off the floor."

"Most disgusting thing I've ever touched, to this day. It was slimy by then." She wiped a tear of amusement away, and he continued to chuckle.

"Oh boy," he said, with a charming lilt in his voice, and her heart swelled. She hadn't heard him say that in years—it was something he said after laughing a lot. Warm feelings filled her. She knew that Willis didn't want to rekindle their old love, but it felt wonderful to talk and laugh with him. She didn't want to get too attached to spending time with him, however, since she was probably not going to see him anymore after the Summer Smash Festival. Her heart sank at the thought, but she told herself to just enjoy the moment and not get too far ahead of herself.

They kept pausing in their work to talk with each other, swapping memories and chuckling together. She realized they were spending much more time than was needed on their costumes, lingering unnecessarily over details and fixing small mistakes that easily could have been left alone. Halfway through the evening they took a break to enjoy the delicious fries that Olivia had made, dipped in ranch dressing.

Finally, when it was getting late, Willis stood up. "I really should get going," he said, his tone sounding reluctant. He looked into her eyes and smiled tenderly. "Thank you for a very enjoyable evening, Marsha."

"You're more than welcome," she said, standing up and shaking his hand. She felt an urge to hug him, but she didn't want to make him uncomfortable. She wanted to say something to him, expressing the truth of her feelings—she wanted to tell him that she'd loved him all this time, and she didn't want to stop seeing him when the costume competition was over. But her heart thumped so hard in her chest when she thought of no longer holding back that she didn't think she'd be able to speak if she tried to get the words out.

"When will I see you again?" he asked, his voice soft.

For a moment, they stared at each other. It was a sentence he'd said to her many times in the past, and it had always meant that he couldn't wait to see her again. The air between them seemed to hum with something unspoken, and Marsha felt her whole body tense up with a sweet kind of tension. Her heart was racing.

"I don't know," she stammered. "Later this week?"

"We'll figure it out," he said, and leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

A warm feeling flooded her, and she felt herself blushing.

"Goodnight, Marsha."

"Goodnight, Willis."

She walked him to the door and watched him walk away into the night, feeling the butterflies in her chest dance, and dance, and dance.