The possibility plagues my thoughts until I knock on Willow’s apartment door a few hours later. When she opens the door with a beaming smile, my worry evaporates like morning dew under the sun, and conviction grows in my heart—she’s the real deal. Genuine and sweet. Not a disingenuous bone in her curvy little body.
My mind should require more proof, yet it agrees with everything my gut’s telling me.
“Come in!” Willow waves me inside where warmth immediately envelops me along with the scent of steak. “Would you like something to drink?”
Damn, I should’ve offered to bring wine or something.Or flowers.But it slipped my mind amidst all of my concerns about a serious relationship with Willow, not to mention my inexperience when it comes to proper dating protocol. Usually things never progress to the point where the knowledge is necessary.
Because flowers or candy are unnecessary when you’re just fucking?
I sound like an asshole.
A sliver of shame twists in my gut, and I wonder if King didn’t have a point when he accused me of being the problem instead of the women I dated. Maybe I’ve been taking this whole avoidanceof love and romance thing too far when all I really needed to do was be open-minded and use common sense.
It feels like I’m on the verge of realizing something important—life-altering—until the train of thought is lost because of a purring cat at my feet. Lowering to my haunches, I smooth a palm down its silky fur, eliciting an even louder purr of contentment.
“He likes you.” Willow bends down to scratch behind the feline’s ears. “Carrot, this is Rhys. Rhys, Carrot.” Her formal introduction of us is adorable, and I can’t help wrapping a hand behind her neck and tugging her close enough so my lips can brush across hers.
“Thanks for the intro, kitten. I like him, too. Do you need help with anything in the kitchen?” Perhaps I can make up for not bringing anything as an offering.
“Nope, I’m good. Just relax while I plate our food.”
Studying Willow’s home, it’s obvious she wasn’t kidding when she listed the top three priorities in her life: working with brides, Carrot, and reading. Bookshelves line one wall, some shelves dipping under the weight of colorful titles, and I make a note to come back to reinforce them before they completely fail. Photos of her and Carrot grace several spots around the room along with group shots with her friends.
Her personality is written into the space—an undeniable expression of Willow.
“You’ve got a nice place,” I say, moving toward the dining table once I see she has everything set for dinner.
“Thanks! It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do. Growing up, we moved around a lot, so it kind of felt like a waste of time to hang pictures and personalize a place,” she explains while cutting her steak into manageable pieces. The spread before us is way more than I expected but definitely appreciated. Thick steaks, baked potatoes, corn on the cob—a smorgasbord ofcomfort food awaits me, a home-cooked meal like I haven’t had in ages.
“Why’d your family move so much?” I’m curious about her parents and their relationship. She said they weren’t the model couple on our first date, but what exactly did that mean?
“My dad was a campaign consultant. We were always traveling to his next candidate’s county or state to help them win their election. It didn’t matter how big or small it was either.” Willow chews slowly, a resigned look shadowing her usually optimistic features. “That’s a lot of elections and a lot of uprooting our lives.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Reaching across the table, I squeeze her fisted hand. “Did you have siblings to ease the burden of starting over so often?”
“A younger brother, Jacob. He followed in Dad’s footsteps, so I hardly see him anymore. My family and I aren’t super close, which is why I love Suitor’s Crossing. Everyone declares you family once you’re accepted into the fold.”
She’s right. While we have a couple small town cliques, for the most part we accept people into the community as long as they’re friendly.And sometimes when they’re not,I admit to myself, remembering the times I’ve dismissed an invitation or ignored a phone call.
Geez, I really have been an asshole.
I don’t think I realized how much of an impact my mom’s leaving had on me outside of romantic relationships. Sure, I’m not the most outgoing guy, but have I really distanced myself from the people of my hometown because of a misguided belief they’d turn on me? Abandon me?
Fuck. This is too heavy to deal with now.
“And you’ve built your own little support system here, too, with Hannah and Luna, right?” She’d mentioned in an earliermessage how she’s friends with the eclectic creator of Suitor’s Sparks.
“Yep, along with Shannon, who’s technically my boss but feels more like an older sister most days.”
“I’m glad you’ve found your people, and now you can count me among them.” Because no matter what happens, I don’t foresee being able to let Willow go. There’s a deep-seated knowledge in my gut that she’s it for me. Some may call it aheart spark, but I know those are too unpredictable to be what I’m feeling.
This intuition is too real, prompting all sorts of ideas of possessiveness, of the need to protect her at all costs, to fulfill her every desire. It’s an instinct written in immovable stone.
When Willow begins to clear the table, I try to take over since she cooked, but she refuses to accept my help—just continues to the kitchen sink where she starts rinsing off our plates.
“It’s only fair I clean when you cooked,” I mutter, caging her against the counter with my hands on either side of her hips. Water splashes on her shirt as she jerks, and the cotton fabric quickly adheres to her round tits.
“This… This isn’t about fair.” The stuttering sentence spills from her mouth in a nervous warble. “You’re my guest, and I don’t mind cleaning up. It’s just rinsing these off to put in the dishwasher.” Her hands tremble as she grabs another plate beside the sink and runs it under the rush of warm water.
