Because unlike the women of my past, I don’t want to dismiss Willow or continue searching for the right woman.
I wanther.
Even if it means hammering out how to work together when I’m ninety percent sure she probably believes the exact opposite of me. I mean she told me she works at a damn bridal boutique when our food arrived. It doesn’t get much more obvious that she’s a strong believer in everything Suitor’s Crossing is known for.
“Sorry for springing the love thing on you so soon. Didn’t mean to get into such heavy shit on our first date.” I try to gauge where her head’s at, but her expression remains carefully neutral as she finishes the last bite of her burger.
“I’m glad you told me. I’m just trying to process what exactly it means.” She piles her used utensils and a balled-up napkin on top of her plate before setting it aside and leaning forward. “My parents weren’t the model couple for relationships, and I'venever been in love before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in it.”
“But you weren't actively avoiding it,” I point out.
“No, more like it was avoidingme… Though you bring up an interesting point.” Willow rests her chin on a closed fist and bends even closer, forcing her tits to swell above the neckline of her blouse. Unable to resist the tempting sight, my eyes drop down for a moment before I force myself to raise them again and listen to what she’s saying. “To avoid something, you have to believe it exists. And you said you don’t believe in love at all.” She smirks as if her knight just took my queen to make checkmate, and I shake my head, preparing to disabuse her of the notion.
“I don’t, but I avoid women who do.”
“So I won’t be seeing you again after tonight?” Willow challenges.
She’s got me there.
“That’s up to you.” Not entirely true, but it sounds better than sayingI’m keeping you no matter what. “Are you okay being with someone that doesn’t fit the fairytale in your mind? Because even if I can’t promise youheart sparks, I can promise respect, fidelity, and more—tangible things that matter.”
Willow’s teeth bite into her bottom lip, and I stare transfixed as the soft pink slowly turns a darker red. Goddamn, she’s pretty. My cock’s been hard throughout our entire dinner, and I wish we could forgo the topic of love and head straight toward the subject of me pinning her against my truck, claiming that pouty little mouth of hers for my own.
“First of all, you don’t know what I’ve envisioned for my future. Yes, I work with lovestruck brides, and maybe I love fairytales, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Real life and relationships require work,” she huffs, putting me in my place, which only serves to rouse my desire higher. “So, how about wecompromise? We agree to not rule out the possibility of love or the possibility of a successful relationship without it. After all, we’re still practically strangers. This could all be a moot point once I learn you like pineapple on your pizza,” she teases, a sparkle of mischief diffusing some of the seriousness filling her blue eyes.
A reluctant chuckle rumbles from my throat. Normally, if a woman suggested a compromise, I’d refuse, knowing full well it was a ploy to try and get me to change my mind rather than for her to come around to my way of thinking. But with Willow, I’m willing to try whatever she wants to make this work.
Besides, she’s right. We don’t know each other well—even if my gutistelling me to lock her down for the long haul.
It’s not like I’ve never been wrong before.
An unwanted comparison to my parents pops into my head. How they met and my dad fell instantly.
You’re not a dumb high schooler. You’re not naive enough to equate lust with love just because of a stupid town myth.
No, I’m a grown man who’s attracted to Willow. Physically, yes, but also to her sense of humor. Two things that are already more sensible than romantic love.
“Deal. Should we shake on it?” I offer my hand over the table, and she confidently shakes it before gathering her purse. The strap is wedged between her chair and the person behind her’s seat as the crowd at Daffodil’s has swelled over the past hour. Yanking it free, Willow turns back to me with an exasperated puff of breath.
“Now that we've settled one thing tonight, why don’t we pay for this and take a walk down Main Street? It’s pretty with all of the Valentine’s Day decorations lighting it up.”
“Pretty’s not how I’d describe it but sure.” She reaches for her wallet, but I wave her off, dropping a few folded bills on the tableto cover our tab along with a generous tip. Our waitress deserves it with all the customers she’s dealing with tonight.
A brisk gust of wind hits us in the face once we exit the warmth of Daffodil’s, and immediately, I’m questioning our decision to meander outside with Willow in a skirt. “Are you going to be warm enough for a walk? We can probably find someplace to sit inside. Or you can take my coat for extra protection.”
“I’m good, thanks. Walking will keep me warm enough.” She stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets and smiles as I move between her and the street.
Red hearts grace every lamp post, while pink streamers and Edison lights crisscross the street. The tinny sound of a ballad echoes in the air, the hidden speakers set in planters losing their battle against a wintry howl.
“You must hate this time of year,” Willow observes from my side as she takes in all the over-the-top decorations before sparing a glance of sympathy my way.
Shrugging, I study the familiar adornments lining each shop on Main Street. “Hate’s a strong word. It gets annoying sometimes, but that’s why I stay at home or in my forge most of the time. Tell me more about yourself. All I know is that you have a cat named Carrot and work at the bridal boutique.”
“Because those are two of the most important things in my life. Blushing Brides Boutique is where I found my passion—helping women look and feel their best for one of the best days of their lives. In fact, I helped Hannah find her wedding dress this morning. Other than that, there’s not much to tell. I love working with brides, adore Carrot, and read in my spare time.”
“I don’t know Hannah super well, just what I’ve experienced when she worked at the hardware store, but King’s obsessed, so it’s obvious she’s a good one. What about Carrot? Did you adopt him?” I ask, thinking about my dad’s old cat, Elmer. He was dropped off at the shelter with a broken leg that neededamputation, and Dad couldn’t resist the three-legged rascal after deciding he wanted a companion at home when I moved out.
“He is. They said he was about three years old when I got him, and it’s been two years since then. He’s basically all about food and cuddles.”
