The thud in my heart bangs against my rib cage with more force. I take the biggest gamble of my life and add, "That's what I want, Willow. I want to make love to you all night, ringing in the New Year and figuring out how to move forward. So I'm leaving the keys in the truck. You can join me or leave me. It's up to you, but I hope you come inside."
She arches her eyebrows and holds her breath.
I hop out of the truck before I lose my nerve, grab the bag of dessert, and tease, "You don't get to keep the dessert or the whipped cream if you don't keep me."
A soft, barely audible laugh flies out of her mouth.
I wink. Adrenaline builds in every one of my cells. I shut the door and move toward the building, but every step I take away from her is a shot of dread.
My hand fumbles with the lock. I eventually shove the door open, and a brick of memories hits me.
The room has barely changed. The lilac paint and matching faded floral wallpaper are the same, but both are peeling now. The comforter is worn thinner. A groan from the heater makes me jump, and dry air pushes out of it.
Get a grip.
On the oak table, next to a coffee-stained armchair, sits a tiny plastic Christmas tree with blinking red and green lights. Gold tinsel wraps around its base, and a gold foil star sits on top, but it's bent.
A yellow glow from the decades-old lamps makes everything look dingier. But when we were kids, we didn't care. It was our safe haven where we didn't have to hide or keep our voices down.
I should have brought her to a nicer place.
Where is she?
I sit on the bed, my forearms on my knees, staring at the tan carpet. The original texture has long faded into a patchwork of threadbare spots and flattened fibers. Soil marks shade the high-traffic areas.
The loud tick of the clock echoes in my ears as the minute changes.
She's going to drive off.
What am I doing?
I can't let her leave without me.
I jump off the bed and reach for the door right as it opens. The wood bangs into my head. "Ooof! Hell's bells!"
"Oh my! I'm so sorry," Willow frets.
She came in!
Relief overshadows the pain.
I rub the spot. "Damn near knocked the cowboy outta me!"
"I'm sorry," she repeats, tossing me a sympathetic but semi-amused grin.
I blink through the throb in my forehead, and my grin explodes. "Hell, sugar. If it's for you, I'll take a concussion and call it foreplay."
She bursts out laughing, then puts her hand over her mouth.
It's all it takes to release the tension.
Her laughter trails off, and her gaze darts around the room. "It's…um…"
I chuckle. "Guess they still have their Christmas spirit."
Her smile gets bigger as she does a more thorough scan.
I offer, "I should have taken you to a nicer hotel. This is dingy, isn't it?"
