Midnight Lessons (Midnight Falls, Texas)

9. Owen

Chapter 9

Owen

I wake up to Willow’s body curled against mine, her breathing soft and rhythmic. The early morning sun filters through the semi-closed blinds, casting a warm glow across her red hair sprawled on the pillow. It feels like I’m waking from the best kind of dream, but it’s all real.

Last night may have started clumsily, but it ended incredibly. Sex with Low was warm and messy and wonderful. More than that, it was a revelation. I want it again and again with a ferocity I can’t quite comprehend.

As I watch her sleep, emotion hits me hard. I’ve been in love with Willow for as long as I can remember. And now she’s mine .

I ease out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb her peace. She mumbles something unintelligible and turns, hugging a pillow to her chest. A smile tugs at my lips. I pull on my jeans from last night and pad barefoot into the kitchen.

The kitchen space is small but filled with Willow’s personality. Cute colored magnets adorn her fridge. A teal, modern mixing stand with an antique look sits on the counter by the coffee maker with the same design and color. She likes to make everything fun, my Low. But then, I’ve always known that about her.

While Willow sleeps, I pull out my phone and call Mark.

“Any news on who set up the betting pool?” I ask, getting straight to the point as soon as he picks up.

“Hey, buddy. Good morning to you, too,” Mark replies dryly. “And yes, I’ve been working on it. But I don’t have a name yet.”

I grit my teeth, bracing a hand against the counter. “What have you got? Give me something.”

“I’m getting closer, but they know a thing or two about covering their tracks. I’ve traced the betting pool back through a couple of IP addresses, but they’re using VPNs, bouncing the signal off random servers to mask their location. One minute, it looks like they’re in Ohio, the next, it’s Beijing.” He pauses, and I hear the faint clacking of a keyboard in the background. “The betting platform itself is a custom-built subforum nested within a regular social media site—basically, it’s hidden within a hidden page. It’s not visible unless you have a direct link. Even then, you need a login and access key.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. “So what does that mean?”

“It means they’re not an idiot goofing off on the internet. Whoever set this up is methodical. They know enough to avoid basic tracking techniques, which tells me they have at least a working knowledge of cybersecurity.”

“Is there anything you can do?” I ask, frustration simmering beneath my skin.

“I’m not completely in the dark,” Mark assures me. “I’ve been cross-referencing timestamps on their posts, tracking patterns, seeing when most of the activity spikes. There’s a narrow window of time when the highest volume of bets gets placed—typically between 8 and 11 p.m. on weeknights, which suggests whoever’s running this is local and has a regular day job.”

“Okay, that narrows it down. What else?”

“Then there’s the language,” Mark continues. “I ran some analyses on the phrasing in their posts—there’s a unique use of slang and abbreviations common in this area, probably someone born and raised in Midnight Falls. But the kicker is that many of the comments use specific terminology for sports betting, not something your average person would know. Whoever this is, they’ve been involved in betting before, maybe even professionally.”

I digest this slowly, the pieces clicking together like some fucked-up puzzle. “So, we’re dealing with someone local who has a good understanding of tech and knows how to set up betting pools. Someone who’s careful.”

“Exactly. I’ve also been running keyword searches across other local forums and chat groups, looking for similar language or cross-posts. There’s one username that keeps cropping up.They’ve been posting anonymously, but the digital signature is the same as the one used to set up the betting pool. It’s a handle that’s also been active in other sketchy forums—mostly sports and fantasy leagues.”

“Can you trace it back?”

“I’m trying, but this guy’s slippery. He’s using burner emails and spoofed MAC addresses. Each time I get close, he swaps to a new account. But I’m narrowing it down. I’ve set up some honeypots on a few of the pages he frequents. If he takes the bait and logs in, I can triangulate his location and get a fix on him.”

“Jesus, Mark. You’re a goddamn genius.”

There’s a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Let’s hold off on the accolades until I’ve got something solid. But we’re getting there. This person isn’t infallible. One slip-up, and he’s mine.”

“Keep digging,” I say, my voice hard. “And when you find something, I want to know. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning. Call me.”

“You got it,” he replies seriously. “And Owen? Be careful. If this guy knows you’re onto him, he might escalate. People like this don’t fold when they’re cornered.”

“I’m not worried about me,” I say softly, glancing toward the bedroom door where Willow sleeps, blissfully unaware of the shitstorm swirling around her. “I’m worried about what this asshole will do if he feels threatened. Just get me something I can use.”

“I will,” Mark promises. “But until then, keep this quiet. Don’t go busting heads because you’ve got a lead. We need to be smart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, more to placate him than anything else. I’ll be smart—for Willow’s sake. But if I get even a whiff of this asshole going near her, all bets are off.

“I’m serious, Owen,” Mark presses. “Let me do this my way. He’s hiding behind anonymity, but nobody’s completely invisible online. I’ll find him. But if you act too soon, he’ll go dark, and we’ll lose him.”

I clench my jaw, hating every word because he’s right. The need to protect Willow surges like a tidal wave. But all I can do for now is wait. And watch. And pray that the bastard behind this makes a mistake. Because the second he does, I’ll be ready.

“Fine. But don’t take too long,” I grunt.

“I’m on it, buddy. Sit tight.”

“Before you go, there’s, uh, something else I wanted to ask,” I say, feeling awkward.

“Oh? Would this be about you and Willow, by any chance?” Mark asks, hazarding an educated guess.

“Yeah, actually.” I clear my throat, pushing down my embarrassment. “You’ve always been confident with women. I was, uh, wondering if you had any advice… you know… in the bedroom.”

I wait for Mark to laugh and give me a hard time, but instead he says, “About fucking time, Callahan.”

“Yeah, it is,” I say sheepishly.

Mark chuckles. “Aren’t you supposed to know these things? You being a biology teacher and all? ”

“Dry facts and reality are two different things.”

“If you say so. You want romantic and sensitive or smutty and dirty?”

“Uh, both?”

“Okay, check your phone in a few. I’ll send you a couple of links.”

“You’re not sending me porno vids, are you?” I ask suspiciously.

Mark laughs. “No. Links to a couple of books. Don’t panic, they’re only short books, but very educational. You can thank me later.”

“Educational. Right.”

We say goodbye and hang up. While waiting for Mark to send me the links, I fill the coffee maker with water and scoop in coffee from a brand I’ve never seen before but smells amazing. The rich scent fills the kitchen as it brews, a promise of comfort to come. I know Willow likes her coffee strong and slightly sweet, no milk.

My phone pings, and I open it to see Mark has texted me two links. Pulling up a chair, I click on the first one. How to Seduce Your Partner. It’s more of an instructional guide, and Mark’s right, it’s not a long book. I quickly scan it for tips before clicking on the second link. This one is an explicit erotica story, and ten minutes later, my cock is straining against my jeans, reading about the antics the two characters get up to. Fuck, I can’t wait to try all of it with Willow, although I’ll need to work on my flexibility.

I hear her stirring in the bedroom, followed by the shower running. Pocketing my phone, I rummage through her fridge. Eggs, bacon, and some leftover veggies; it’ll do for an omelet.

I crack eggs into a bowl, whisk them with a quiet vigor, and turn on the stove. The sizzle of bacon joins the chorus of morning sounds. I chop vegetables with practiced ease, focused on creating something worthy of the smile I hope to see on Willow’s face when she joins me.

I set the table with mismatched plates and mugs, each holding a story of flea market finds and impromptu shopping trips. It’s all so Willow, quirky, warm, inviting. As I spread butter over toast, I realize this is exactly where I want to be. Right here in Midnight Falls, making breakfast for the woman I love.

I glance toward the bedroom door, happy to see her walking out, her hair still wet from her shower.

“Good morning.” I greet.

She gives me a pleased smile as she wraps her arms around my waist. “Is that coffee I smell?”

I kiss the top of her head, inhaling her unique scent. “Yep. How are you feeling? Sore?”

“A little,” she mumbles, and I don’t need to see her face to know she’s blushing.

“Need some painkillers?”

She shakes her head. “No. The hot shower helped.”

“Hungry?”

Willow tips her head back to look at me. “Starving.”

I drop a kiss on her lips, which are swollen from last night. “Good. Sit, and I’ll feed you.”

Willow sits at the table, her right foot hooked on the chair beside her. I slide her omelet onto her plate from the pan and place her mug of coffee in front of her.

“Thanks, O. You’re spoiling me.” She looks at me, her green eyes sparkling with some undefined emotion. Could it be… love? I want it to be more than anything.

The want is so strong I turn away, not wanting to pressure her. I’m afraid of pushing things too fast.

“Did I hear you talking to someone?” Willow asks, taking a bite of her omelet.

“Mark. I wanted to check-in. See if he’d found anything about the online betting pool,” I reply, filling her in on our conversation.

“Wow. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to make my life miserable,” she says, looking a little hurt. “It’s not like I have any enemies in Midnight Falls. Or I thought I didn’t.”

“Whoever it is, we’ll find them and report them to the sheriff,” I promise.

Willow grins. “Well, the bet is null and void now. Probably some stupid stunt that got out of hand.”

“Yeah, but still inappropriate at best and fucking immoral and disgusting at worst.” I scowl as I sit opposite her with my omelet and coffee.

“True,” she agrees.

“What are your plans for today?” I ask, changing the subject to something more positive.

“It’s Sunday, so I was hoping to spend it with you?” It comes out as a question, her expression uncertain.

I grin. “I was hoping that too. Fancy a visit to Midnight Falls flea market?”

Willow’s face lights up. “Treasure hunting?”

I nod. “Just like the old days.”

Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and I can't help but grin.

“You know my eye for bargains is superior. I always find the best pieces,” she teases, her voice light and playful .

I chuckle. “Oh, I think we remember things very differently, Low. You seem to have forgotten that old record player I snagged for five bucks. You were so mad when I found it first.”

She rolls her eyes but laughs. “You got lucky. What about the vintage lamp I found for a dollar? You were the one pouting then.”

“Yeah, yeah. You got me that time,” I admit, leaning back in my chair.

Our easy banter is as natural as breathing. It feels good, this back and forth we’ve always had. Feels like home.

I smirk. “But today? Today’s my comeback.”

She bites her lip, holding back a smile. “We’ll see about that.”

The thrill of our old competition stirs. “Game on.”

A few hours later, we’re at an indoor flea market, dressed for the cold air that permeates the building that isn’t quite as “indoor” as it proclaims.

We stroll inside, the buzz of haggling and laughter filling the air instantly. Rows upon rows of stalls stretch before us, each a miniature world brimming with oddities and curiosities.

“Check this out,” Willow says, tugging me toward a stall draped in handmade scarves and knit hats. She picks up a scarf, its yarn dyed in a kaleidoscope of colors, and wraps it around her neck. “What do you think?”

“Brings out your eyes,” I say honestly.

Her smile tells me it was the right answer. “Put that charm to use and help me haggle,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart,” I reply, stepping up to barter with the vendor, a woman with silver bangles jingling on her wrists.

We barter back and forth, Willow’s laughter spurring me on until we walk away victorious, the scarf now hers at half the price.

A rubber chicken, of all things, catches Willow’s eye next. She can’t resist giving it a squeeze, and the absurd squawk bounces off the walls of the crowded flea market. Her face lights up with mischief, her green eyes sparkling with an invitation for mayhem .

“Go on, O. Give it a try,” she challenges, holding out the ridiculous toy.

“Seriously?” I snatch it from her hand and, in a moment of pure silliness, I give the chicken a hearty squeeze.

It emits a sound like a loud wet fart. It’s so unexpected and hilarious that we both double over with laughter. People nearby glance our way, and I catch someone shaking their head with a smile. Yeah, we’re those people right now.

“Okay, okay, you win. We’re getting this,” I concede, still chuckling.

Willow dances a little victory jig. “Of course we are,” she agrees, tucking the chicken under her arm like a prized possession. “This is going to look perfect in your kitchen.”

“Only if you come over to make it squawk every morning,” I bargain, and the warmth in her laugh tells me she might take me up on that offer.

She waggles her eyebrows. “Not before I’ve made you squawk. ”

I burst out laughing, and for a moment, a heartbeat, everything else fades away. It’s only Willow and me.

Then she grins, breaking the spell, and tugs me toward the aroma of fresh popcorn from a nearby food vendor. “Come on, let’s take a break. My treat.”

“Deal.”

We find a cozy spot to sit and talk, surrounded by the comforting chaos of the flea market. Here, with Willow, I’m not only back in Midnight Falls. I’m where I’m meant to be.

Willow tosses a kernel of popcorn into her mouth, then glances at me with a mischievous smile that makes my pulse skip a beat. “So, how’s that comeback of yours going?” she asks, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

I grin, refusing to admit defeat. “Oh, it’s far from over. I’m just warming up.”

She laughs, the sound light and free, and I can’t help but be pulled in by her energy. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’ll need more than a squeaky chicken to win today. ”

“Who says that’s all I’ve got up my sleeve?” I shoot back, leaning in closer. “Just wait and see.”

With a gleam of determination in her eye, Willow brushes the crumbs from her hands and stands. “You’re on, Callahan.”

We finish the popcorn and dive back into the maze of vendors, shoulder to shoulder, the playful competition between us sparking like live wires. The air is filled with the murmur of haggling, the clink of metal trinkets, and the occasional burst of laughter. Booth after booth, we scout for treasures, egging each other on and bantering like we used to when we were kids.

At one booth overflowing with old vinyl records, Willow gasps. “Owen, look!” She holds up an original Beatles album, its cover art faded but still vibrant.

“Don’t tell me you’re a Beatles girl,” I tease, leaning over her shoulder.

She shoots me a look that could melt steel. “Please. John Lennon was a genius. And this album? It’s a classic.” Her eyes gleam with excitement, and I can see her fingers itching to make it hers.

I fight the urge to hand over the cash right there just to see her happy, but this is a competition, after all. “Think you can get it for a steal?” I challenge, crossing my arms.

Willow’s lips curve into a wicked smile. “Watch me.”

She saunters up to the vendor, all confidence and charm, chatting casually as she gently nudges the price down, bit by bit, until—somehow—she’s holding the album with a victorious glint in her eye. The vendor is also smiling, shaking his head like he knows he’s been outmaneuvered but can’t be mad about it.

“Five bucks,” she sings, waving it in my face as she returns. “What was that about your ‘superior eye for bargains,’ hmm?”

I shake my head, impressed despite myself. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But don’t get too cocky, Low. We’ve still got the whole place to cover.”

She laughs, the sound rich and full of challenge. “Bring it on.”

We weave through more stalls, each offering a strange array of items. I spot an old globe, its surface faded and worn, the countries marked in languages I can’t even recognize. It’s beautiful in a nostalgic sort of way, and it reminds me of how Willow used to talk about traveling the world one day, back when we were teenagers with stars in our eyes and dreams bigger than Midnight Falls.

“Look at this,” I say, lifting it gently. “It’s got character.”

She tilts her head, studying it thoughtfully. “It’s gorgeous, but... don’t think it’s worth much. What’s your angle, Callahan?”

“Sentimental value,” I admit softly, catching the flicker of understanding in her gaze.

“Ten bucks, and I’ll call it my victory piece,” I say lightly, setting it back down. It’s not about the win—not with this one.

Willow’s expression softens, and she nudges my arm. “You sure you’re not just letting me win?”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “In your dreams.”

We continue wandering, fingers brushing every so often, our laughter mingling with the hum of the market. I spot an antique pocket watch at a tiny booth tucked away in a corner. It’s tarnished, and the chain’s a bit bent, but it has charm. I can practically feel its history humming beneath the surface.

“Now this,” I say, holding it up for her inspection, “is a find.”

Willow raises an eyebrow. “It looks like it’s seen better days.”

“Like most good things,” I murmur, turning it over in my hands. “But it’s solid. Got some life left in it.” Just like us, I want to say, but I don’t. The words feel too heavy for this playful back-and-forth.

She watches me, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “You always did have a soft spot for things that needed a little TLC.”

“I guess I do,” I say, clearing my throat. “What do you think? Can I snag it for under five bucks?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “If you manage that, I’ll be impressed.”

Challenge accepted .

I haggle with the man behind the counter, pushing my luck with a grin and a wink until—miraculously—he agrees. Five dollars for the watch.

I turn back to Willow, holding up my prize. “What do you think now?”

She’s staring at the watch, her expression soft. “I think… you might have won this round.”

Her smile, warm and genuine, is worth more than any victory.

“Guess I’ve still got my touch,” I say lightly, slipping the watch into my pocket.

She nudges me with her shoulder. “Don’t get used to it, Callahan.”

I grin. “Oh, I’m definitely getting used to it, Winters.”

As we continue through the maze of stalls, our hands find each other almost without thought. It’s natural, the way my fingers lace through hers, how her palm presses against mine. The firmness of her grip is a silent promise, more felt than spoken.

It’s not long before we stumble upon a stall full of handmade candles, each one boasting its unique scent.

Willow picks up a candle that looks and smells like candy corn. She inhales deeply before passing it to me. “This smells like Halloween,” she declares with satisfaction.

“Your favorite time of year,” I acknowledge, knowing her love for the holiday rivals that of the entire population of Midnight Falls.

“Non-stop cookie decorating and all the horror movies I can handle,” she confirms.

“Sounds perfect.” I buy the candle without a second thought as a small token, a future shared memory.

We buy little things here and there—a pair of funky sunglasses for her, a leather-bound notebook for me. Each purchase is punctuated with laughter or a gentle squeeze of hands, simple gestures that weave the fabric of our connection tighter. It solidifies with each shared smile, each touch, each moment spent together.

The sun begins its descent outside, casting a golden hue over the flea market. As we make our way toward the exit, hand in hand, a sense of contentment settles over us. And with every step we take, I’m increasingly certain of our bond, one quirky flea market find at a time.

“Let’s head home,” I suggest, offering my hand to Willow.

“Sounds good,” she replies, slipping her fingers into mine.

We stroll side by side, carrying our ridiculous rubber chicken, her Beatles album, and my pocket watch.

“We should do this more often,” she murmurs as we approach my truck. “Feels like… old times.”

“Yeah,” I agree, glancing sideways at her. “Except better.”

She blushes, looking down at her feet, and I can’t resist reaching out, tipping her chin until she meets my gaze.

“Thanks for today, Low.”

Her smile is soft, almost shy. “Thank you for making me feel like myself again. ”

I lean in, brushing my lips against her forehead. “You never stopped being you. Even when I was too blind to see it.”

Willow’s eyes shimmer, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just us in the parking lot, the world around us a blur.

“Game on, huh?” she whispers.

“Always,” I murmur back, sealing the promise with a kiss that tastes like all the lost years between us… and all the time we still have ahead.

The drive back to Midnight Falls is quiet and comfortable. The town welcomes us with its familiar streets and the warm glow of porch lights. Willow’s laughter fills the car as I recount a ridiculous story from my teaching days in Houston, and I can’t help but feel like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

“Stay with me again?” Willow asks as we walk up the stairs to her apartment above the old hardware store.

“Nothing I’d rather do,” I answer without hesitation .

We walk into her place, our steps in sync. Inside, Willow flicks on the lights and the cozy room greets us, inviting and intimate. We smile, anticipation humming between us.

“Round two of horror movies and cookie taste-testing?” she teases, kicking off her shoes.

“After,” I growl, making her shriek as I scoop her into my arms. “There’s only one cookie I wanna taste right now.”