Willow came downstairs expecting an ordinary morning.
She'd earned that expectation, hadn't she? After yesterday — the clubhouse, getting to meet the club members, learning their names she still couldn't keep straight — today was supposed to be simple.
Open the tavern. Wipe the counters. Pretend, for a few hours, that her life belonged only to her again.
She made it as far as the bottom of the stairs before she heard it.
Not the familiar clatter of Meredith setting up the register or Ava humming along to whatever played on the radio. This was different — the clink of glass bottles knocking together, cardboard scraping against wood, footsteps moving in and out of the front entrance, someone outside calling for another case.
Willow stopped cold in her tracks. What the hell was happenin
