Midnight Lessons (Midnight Falls, Texas)

3. Willow

Chapter 3

Willow

“Willow, those sugar cookies need frosting!” Carol calls from the back.

“Got it!”

As I pipe orange icing onto pumpkin-shaped cookies, I can’t shake the odd feeling creeping up my spine again. I’ve been on edge for the last few days as if someone is walking over my grave.

Glancing up, I catch snippets of hushed conversations. There are an unusual amount of men in The Bewitched Bakery today, heads ducked together, eyes darting my way before quickly skimming away. Men are weird .

“Have a nice day, Willow,” one of them calls out with a smirk as he leaves.

I narrow my eyes at the other customers as unease settles heavier in my stomach. Whatever’s going on, it’s not sitting right with me.

But my troubled thoughts scatter as the bell above the bakery door jingles again, and a man I haven’t seen for six long years strides in.

I blink.

Twice.

Owen Callahan was gorgeous in high school, but now he’s downright devastating. Ugh, why couldn’t he have lost all his hair and gained a hundred pounds?

Instead, he's grown into his looks in a way that seems almost unfair. He’s taller and broader, with an effortless confidence that radiates from every inch of his well-built frame. His dark hair is slightly longer than I remember, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that gives him an air of casual dishevelment. And he has a beard now, neatly trimmed to shape his defined jawline. It suits him. Of course it does. He looks as if he woke up like this—perfectly rugged.

And those eyes. Damn, those eyes. They’re still the same piercing shade of blue, like a clear sky on a crisp autumn day, holding a depth and intensity that made my knees weak when I was eighteen and apparently still do.

He’s dressed casually, but everything about him screams polished city life—a fitted leather jacket over a simple black t-shirt, dark jeans that hug him in all the right places, and boots that look expensive and well-worn at the same time. He carries himself with an ease I’ve only ever seen in people who’ve found their place in the world.

He sweeps the bakery with a glance, and for a second, our eyes lock. My heart lurches in my chest, caught between a sprint and a freefall. For a moment, the bakery and everyone in it fade away, leaving the two of us standing on opposite sides of an unbridgeable chasm.

I swallow hard, trying to remember how to breathe, how to move, how to speak. But my mouth goes dry, and all I can do is stare .

Owen Callahan, the boy who shattered my heart and took off for the city, is back. And he looks better than ever. Damn him.

“Hi, Owen,” I say, keeping my voice steady and my customer service persona firmly in place despite the fierce fluttering in my chest.

“Hey, Low, how are you?”

Four words and the nickname he gave me when I was ten uttered in that deep timbre, and my knees threaten to buckle.

Hold firm, knees! He doesn’t get to waltz in here and turn you to butter, no matter how stunning he is.

“I’m good. I didn’t know you were back in town,” I reply, pleased at how steady my voice sounds.

“Yeah, got in a few days ago,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I heard this place makes the best cookies this side of the Mississippi. Figured I'd stop by and see for myself. What do you recommend?”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore my racing pulse. “Depends on what you’re in the mood for. We’ve got classic chocolate chip, or if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s the new pumpkin spice Snickerdoodle. Perfect for fall.”

Damn, are we really having a conversation about cookies after all these years?

Owen glances around, taking in the familiar surroundings. “The place looks great. You’ve made your dream a reality.”

“Thanks,” I say, a bit more clipped than I intended. He doesn't get to compliment the bakery and pretend he didn't leave me behind without so much as a backward glance.

He gives me a small, almost hesitant smile. “You always did know how to make the best cookies.”

His words hang in the air, a subtle reminder of the times he sat in Mom and Dad’s kitchen sampling whatever I whipped up.

I force a smile, the kind I give difficult customers when they demand discounts on day-old bread. “Thanks. So, you here for business? Or a walk down memory lane?” I ask, unable to keep the bite from my question .

He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that tugs at something deep in my chest. “A bit of both. I’ve taken a teaching position at Midnight Falls High School. Biology teacher. And, well, there’s also my parents’ house to deal with.”

Oh. Not a flying visit, then.

The mention of his parents sends a pang through my heart. Leah and Henry Callahan were always warm and welcoming to me. Their sudden death in a car accident a year ago at the hands of a drunk driver shocked the whole town. I went to their funeral, kept my distance, and left without saying a word to Owen. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time to protect my heart and avoid reopening old wounds.

But now, I wonder if I should’ve at least put aside past hurts to offer Owen my condolences. Losing both his parents like that must have been devastating.

“I'm sorry about your parents,” I say softly, my eyes dropping to the counter. “Leah and Henry were always so kind to me. ”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice tight. “They thought the world of you.” There's a beat of silence, heavy with the things we’re not saying. “I wish you’d said hello at the funeral.”

I look up, meeting his gaze head-on. “You know why I didn’t. I wanted to pay my respects, but I thought it was easier if I stayed in the background.”

He nods slowly, his jaw clenching. “Easier,” he echoes like he’s tasting the word and finding it bitter. “Right.”

I can't tell if he’s mad at me or hurt. Maybe both. Not that he has any right to feel either. My temper flares.

I’m not the one who left. You’re the one who threw us away.

I want to shout the words at him, but they get stuck in my throat, tangled up with years of hurt and regret. “You had enough to deal with that day. I didn't want to make it about us,” I say instead.

He closes his eyes briefly, a muscle working in his jaw. “Willow, about what happened?— ”

“It's in the past,” I say before he can continue. “You can’t change it.”

We both know I’m not talking about his parents’ funeral.

“Maybe.” He watches me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine like he's looking for something he’s not sure he’ll find. “Maybe not.”

What the hell does that mean?

He shifts, glancing at the cookies on display as if they hold the answer to all the questions hovering between us. “I’ll take a couple of those pumpkin spice snickerdoodles,” he says, his tone casual again, like we haven’t dug up a graveyard of old feelings.

“Sure.” I grab a bag and carefully place a few cookies inside. My hands are steady, but inside me, a storm is brewing. I hand him the bag, and our fingers brush for the briefest moment, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “That’ll be five dollars.”

“Thanks.” He hands me the cash, his eyes lingering on mine for a second longer than necessary .

Instead of leaving, he stands there as if he wants to say something. I don’t trust myself to speak. My throat is tight, and a strange hollow ache settles in my chest that I recognize all too well—loss and all the things left unresolved.

I reach for the tray of cookies I was working on before he walked in to give me something to do. My hands are steady, thankfully, as I lift a witch's hat cookie and place it carefully on the display.

His gaze follows my movements. “I guess a lot has changed since I left.”

I snort softly, unable to help myself. “Not really. Midnight Falls is as predictable as ever. You know how it is—people stick to what they know. Especially around here.” Unlike you. The unspoken words hang in the air between us, charged and heavy.

He nods, his expression unreadable. “I suppose some things do stay the same.” His eyes flicker to the cookies, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your decorating skills, for one. These look incredible, Low. ”

I summon a smile. “Thanks. Who would’ve thought baking in my mom and dad’s kitchen would lead to this?”

“Me,” he says immediately. “I always knew you’d make a success of whatever you put your mind to.”

The compliment is so unexpected I’m almost left speechless. Almost. “Thanks,” I mutter as warmth spreads across my cheeks. Damn him for still being able to make me blush. “Halloween's my favorite time of year.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his voice wistful. “I remember.”

Something unspoken passes between us, something that makes my heart stutter. For a second, I allow myself to remember too. The nights we spent planning our Halloween costumes, how he used to sneak into Mom and Dad’s late at night to taste-test my latest creations, his eyes lighting up with every bite. But I quickly shove the memories away, locking them back in the box where they belong.

I force myself to look away, to focus on the next customer waiting in line behind him. “Well, I should get back to work,” I say, the words more for my benefit than his. “Welcome back to Midnight Falls, Owen.”

“Thanks,” he says, his voice lingering in the air like a caress. “I’ll be seeing you around, Low.”

Why does that sound like a promise?

“Yeah,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “See you around.”

He turns and walks out, the bell above the door jingling in his wake. I watch him go, relief and longing swirling inside me.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Owen Callahan is here in Midnight Falls, teaching at the high school. The man who once owned my heart is now a part of my everyday world again. And I have no idea what that will mean for either of us.

I’m standing on the edge of something vast and empty, a chasm that’s grown between us over the years. I thought I had made peace with him leaving, with the way things ended. But after seeing him, I realize that some wounds never truly heal—they simply get buried under layers of time and silence .

I stare at the spot where he stood, the scent of his aftershave blending with cinnamon and sugar to create a new, deliciously addictive aroma.

Taking a shaky breath, I force a smile onto my face and serve the waiting customer. Then, I return to the counter, the cookies that need decorating, to the life I’ve built without him. But it’s not so easy to push him out of my mind. His presence lingers like a ghost in the bakery, reminding me of everything I tried so hard to forget. My heart’s been down that road, and it ended in tears and a heartbreak I never truly got over.

And as I pick up the frosting bag again, my hands aren’t as steady as before.

The front door creaks as I step into my parent’s home, the scent of my mom’s pot roast wafting through the air. It’s always been comforting, this house filled with warmth and the aroma of slow-cooked dinners.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Mom calls from the kitchen .

I clutch the tin of cookies tighter, the ones I baked as a distraction from the turmoil of seeing Owen again. Dad’s already seated at the table, a newspaper spread out in front of him. His gaze lifts when I enter, and I swear his green eyes hold a tinge of wariness.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, giving him a smile that feels a little tight.

“Sit down, honey,” Mom urges, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “I just pulled the roast out of the oven. I’ll grab us some wine. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

I sink into the chair, the familiar grooves of the old wooden seat fitting me like a well-worn glove. “It’s been… interesting,” I murmur, setting the tin of cookies on the table. Dad glances at it, his brows raising.

“You brought us more treats?” he teases lightly. “Or are you just using us as taste-testers again?”

I laugh softly, the sound a little strained. “Something like that.”

“Everything okay at the bakery?” Mom asks, her tone careful—too careful. “You seem… preoccupied.”

I hesitate, chewing my bottom lip. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you guys.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself. “Owen came by the bakery today.”

Silence falls, thick and charged. Mom and Dad exchange a glance, something unspoken passing between them. Then, to my surprise, Dad sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“We heard he was back,” he admits quietly. “Small town, you know. Word gets around.”

Of course. Of course they knew. Midnight Falls is like that—a tiny, gossip-fueled place where nothing stays secret for long.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, more curious than angry.

“We weren’t sure how to bring it up,” Mom says softly, reaching over to place a gentle hand on mine. “After everything that happened between you two… We didn’t want to upset you. ”

“I’m not upset,” I lie, staring down at her fingers curled around mine. “It’s… strange seeing him again after so long.”

Dad shifts, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” I reply, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “He’s back for good, apparently. Teaching at the high school. Biology.”

Dad snorts softly. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Right?” I murmur, still trying to wrap my head around it. Owen Callahan, Midnight Falls’ newest biology teacher.

Mom gently strokes her thumb over my knuckles, drawing my gaze back to her. Her expression is cautious, her eyes filled with concern. “How did it feel, seeing him again?”

The question catches me off guard, and I struggle for an answer. “I… I don’t know. It was hard. I thought I’d moved on, but seeing him—” I break off, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It brought everything back. ”

They don’t need me to elaborate on what everything means. They know the story as well as I do—the cruel words he said to his friends that broke my heart and how I retaliated by running straight into Matthew Crane’s arms. It was a rash, stupid decision, but I was so hurt, so angry. I wanted to push Owen away, to keep him at a distance. And Matthew… Well, he made it easy.

“You were devastated,” Dad says softly, his voice filled with that quiet, fierce protectiveness he’s always shown me. “But, honey, you were both so young. And young people… they make mistakes.”

Mistakes. That’s putting it lightly. “Dad, he said horrible things about me. Things I’ll never forget.”

“I know,” he says gently. “And I’m not excusing that. But he tried to apologize, didn’t he? He tried to make it right.”

I stiffen, the old anger flaring back to life. “I didn’t want to hear it. He had his chance. He threw us away.”

“He was immature,” Mom interjects softly, squeezing my hand. “Hurtful, yes, but you two were barely out of high school, honey. It was a difficult time for both of you. And then Matthew…”

Her voice trails off, and the familiar prickle of guilt settles in my stomach. They never liked Matthew. Not from the beginning. But they put on brave faces and supported me anyway, knowing I was using him as a shield. And they were right—Matthew was never really who I wanted.

“He wasn’t good for you,” Dad says bluntly. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I admit quietly. “But he was… safe. Predictable. And he hated Owen, which made it easier for me to stay away.”

“Easier, maybe,” Mom murmurs. “But not better.”

My chest tightens painfully. “I don’t know what to think now. He’s back, and it’s like no time has passed, and I’m terrified that if I let him in, he’ll break me all over again.”

“That’s a risk,” Dad agrees. “But, Willow, people change. He was a boy back then, and now he’s a man. ”

“A good man, from what I hear,” Mom adds. “He’s doing well for himself. But, more importantly, he came back. And he’s still grieving for his parents. We all are. Leah and Henry were good friends. Maybe it’s time you gave him another chance.”

I stare at them, stunned. “Are you saying I should forgive him?”

“No,” Dad says slowly, choosing his words with care. “We’re saying you shouldn’t let the past keep you from seeing who he is now. You’re stronger and smarter. If he hurts you again, you’ll know how to handle it.”

“Keep an open mind,” Mom says gently. “You deserve happiness, Willow. If Owen can give that to you, don’t shut the door on it because he was careless and thoughtless with his words.”

Emotion wells up, thick and overwhelming. “You think he regrets it?”

Dad shrugs. “I think he said those things about you in a moment of madness. Peer pressure and hormones do crazy things to teenagers. I’d hate for you to throw away a second chance at happiness because of something that happened when you were both kids.”

I take a deep, shaky breath, absorbing their words. A second chance. The very idea is terrifying and exhilarating. Can I let myself try again? Can I risk my heart on him once more? Does he even want me in that way? Or does he simply want to apologize and move on?

“You’re not obligated to do anything,” Mom says softly, stroking my hair. “Just think about it.”

I nod slowly, my mind spinning. “I will.”

“Good,” Dad says firmly. “And if he so much as looks at you wrong, you send him to me. I’ve still got my old baseball bat in the shed.”

Laughter bubbles up, easing the tight knot in my chest. “Deal.”

Mom pulls me into a warm hug, and for the first time since Owen walked through the bakery door today, hope stirs anew. At the very least, we could be friends again. But no matter what, I won’t let him break me again.

If Owen wants a second chance, he’ll have to prove he deserves it.