“Yeah, it’s probably sleeping now. Worn out from all the excitement.” I didn’t miss the way Willow curled one arm protectively around her belly. I wondered if she realized she was doing it. “Baby’s first New Year’s Eve—in utero, that is.”
“Oh, my God—that reminds me. What time is it?” I looked at my watch. “Eleven fifty-eight! Hand me the remote quick, please.”
As the hosts traded quips, Willow and I were sitting closer together than before. When the ball dropped and clock struck twelve, she turned to me.
“Happy new year, Dean.”
“Happy new year, Willow.” For a moment, I was tempted—so fucking tempted—to hold her face in my hands and kiss her lips. I could still remember what she tasted like, how she felt, and the memory was killing me by degrees.
But in the end, I chickened out and leaned forward to kiss her cheek before I pulled her tight against me, our baby between us. My heart was thundering. Here in my arms, I was holding two very precious beings. It was an odd feeling, brand-new, and it made me more than a little nervous.
“Well.” Willow eased away from me, her hands still resting on my shoulders. “I guess you probably want to head back to the barracks now that the big moment’s passed.”
“Actually, I’m staying here.” I patted the sofa. “Your dad is surprising your mother with a night at the Thayer. They’ll be home after brunch tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, she’ll love that! And she needs it.” Willow’s smile faded. “She’s been so worried about me since—well, all fall, I guess. They could both use a break.” She tilted her head. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re sleeping on our sofa.”
“Coach asked me to stay.” I grabbed a pillow and patted it. “He just said it’ll make your mom feel better about staying out if she knows you’re not alone.”
“And you didn’t mention this until now because . . .?” She raised one brow.
“Uh, because I didn’t really think of it?” I suggested. When Willow narrowed her eyes, I sighed. “All right. Because I figured you’d be pissed, and I didn’t want to ruin tonight.”
“Oh, really?” She stared me down and opened her mouth to say something else . . . but then, she smiled and sighed. “Okay, fair point. And I understand why my dad asked you to stay. It does make me feel better to know I’m not alone in the house.” She paused. “But if you want to go back to the barracks, I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Nope.” I stood up to stretch before offering Willow a hand and pulling her to her feet. “Getting to sleep here, in a real house, is a treat. I have no desire to walk back to the barracks in the cold and dark.”
“All right.” She gazed down at me. “Do you like waffles?”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “Do Ilikethem? Waffles are only my favorite breakfast food of all time.”
“Well, you’re in luck, then, because I’m making them in the morning.” She hesitated. “Do you need anything? Mom keeps extra towels in the bathroom, and there are toothbrushes in there, too.”
“I’m fine.” I pointed to the stairs leading to the main floor. “Go to bed, woman. You’re sleeping for two.”
“That’s not how it works, pal.” She rolled her eyes and made her way to the steps. With her foot on the first one, she turned around again.
“Happy new year, Dean.”
I smiled. “Happy new year, Willow. Sleep well.”
But as her footsteps retreated, I sank back to the sofa and covered my face with my hands.
I was falling in love with Willow. What the hell was I going to do?
ChapterFourteen
Willow
“Honey, that was delicious.” My dad polished off the last bit of chicken on his plate and set down his fork. “You outdid yourself tonight.”
Mom pointed at me. “Now that you’ve given dinner your seal of approval, I’m allowed to tell you that Willow made it all. She found the recipe herself and did the shopping and the cooking.”
I felt a little like a six-year-old. “And someday, Mommy’s going to let me use the real knives and turn on the stove allllll by myself.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m glad you liked it, Dad. The whole meal turned out better than even I expected.”
“I’m sure your mother appreciates a break in the kitchen.” My father tapped his finger on the edge of the table. “Come to think of it, you know, with my hours being shorter this time of year, I could handle dinner prep a couple of nights a week, Patty. Between Will and me, we could take that off your plate.” He smirked. “See what I did there? Off your plate?”
Mom and I both groaned. “Of all the dad jokes . . .” My mother shook her head. “But I think I’ll choose to forget the joke and remember the offer. Yes, a thousand times, yes—I’d love for you both to take over some of the evening meals. That sounds like a mini-vacation for me.”
