She knew that walk, could picture it in her head—purposeful strides with command over the muscled machine that was his body.
Decker was coming.
She tried to steady her breathing, but he appeared in the doorway, his stare landing on hers for a scorching beat before he tore it away. He took in her laptop and paperwork, a disapproving frown puckering one brow.
“Working on a Sunday?”
The flat tone put her hackles up. “I’m just catching up on a few things. The vendor contracts won’t review themselves and—”
“Rest is not a luxury. It’s required for sustainable growth,” he interrupted, crossing his arms.
Her brain blanked to the words as she totally zoomed in on the bulge of his biceps. The man looked about to burst the seams of his shirt by just…standing there.
“Pretty sure that’s a direct quote from the book you bought at Felicity’s.”
A flush crept up her throat. She had bought a book about rest and renewal, thinking she might actually read it someday. If she ever got time. But the fact that he’d noticed, and apparently knew the content, was both embarrassing and oddly touching.
He stepped farther into the nook, swallowing up any inch of space. “I thought you were going to start working on self-care.”
She bit down on her lip and stared at the spreadsheet until the numbers danced across the pages. When she glanced up again, Decker wasn’t looking atherexactly.
He was staring at her mouth.
A dark, sensual shiver started low in her stomach.
“I am.” Her voice came out as a husky rasp that made his gaze dart back to hers. “This is self-care. Getting caught up so I don’t feel behind all week.”
“That’s work-care. Different thing entirely.” He pulled out a chair across the desk from her and sat, those deep brown eyes studying her with a disquieting intensity. “What does Willow want?”
The question didn’t just throw her, it hurled her into another hemisphere. “What do you mean?”
“Simple question. What does Willow want? Not what does the ranch need, or what do your brothers need, or what does the therapy program need. What doyouwant?”
She opened her mouth to answer and found she didn’t have one. The realization was more unsettling than she expected. No one had ever asked her a question like that, not in her whole life.
And she hadn’t asked herself either.
“I…” She trailed off, feeling foolish, pink climbing from her throat to her cheeks.
His gaze burrowed deeper into her. “Think about it,” he said gently. “Right now. What would make you happy?”
She tried to access some part of herself that had been buried under years of responsibility. What did she want? The question felt foreign, almost selfish.
She huffed a sigh. “This is silly.”
His stare dipped to her lips again. “Humor me.”
His tone—patient but insistent—made her stop and revisit the question.
What would make her happy right now? What did she crave that had nothing to do with business or family obligations?
“I missed breakfast.” She felt ridiculous for admitting it. “I know it’s stupid, but I haven’t had a proper brioche french toast in forever. Thick and custardy in the middle, with real vanilla…” She groaned. “Chef only makes it one Sunday a month, and I’ve missed it three months in a row.” She stopped, shaking her head. “See? Silly.”
“Not silly at all.” He stood abruptly, chair scraping across the hardwood. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She blinked, then he was gone, leaving her staring at the mounds of work in front of her. “Little danger of that,” she muttered to herself because he was already gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway with the same purposeful pace.
Willow sat there, completely bewildered. What just happened? She tried to refocus on her spreadsheet, but herconcentration might as well be the mountain wind stirring the light dusting of snow outside the window.
