Not.
“Quite the evening,” Mark says, boxing up leftover pastries. “You kissed her in front of God and everyone.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And I want to do it again. And again. And keep doing it until she believes she’s worth loving.”
Mark stops working and looks at me seriously. “Henry. You barely know her.”
“I know enough. I know she takes her coffee black and orders the same breakfast every day because routines make her feel safe. I know she flinches when doors slam. I know she lightsup when she talks about her patients. I know someone hurt her badly enough that she moved across the state to escape.” I meet his eyes. “And I know that I’m falling in love with her.”
“After three days?”
“After three months of watching her walk through my door looking lost. Three days of actually getting to know her. And yeah, it’s fast, and yeah, it’s crazy, but Mark...” I glance at Willa, who’s now helping Liam wipe down tables. “She’s it for me. I know it.”
Mark shakes his head but he’s smiling. “Then go get her, you idiot. And take her for a walk or something. Talk. Because kisses are great, but you need to actually communicate.”
He’s right. I know he’s right.
I scoop up sleeping Ben and carry him to where Willa is gathering her coat.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Can I walk you to your car?”
She nods, something uncertain flickering in her eyes. “Yeah. That would be nice.”
We step out into the cold February night, and the sky is clear and full of stars. My truck is parked next to her sedan, and I settle Ben in his car seat before turning back to her.
“Willa—”
“That was probably a mistake,” she says quickly, wrapping her arms around herself. “I mean, kissing you in front of everyone. I don’t do... that. Public displays. Fast relationships. Any of this.” She looks panicked.
My heart sinks. “Okay.”
“I should go. I have early rounds tomorrow and?—”
“Willa. Stop.” I step closer but don’t touch her, giving her space. “What are you really scared of?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her breath fogging in the cold air. When she speaks, her voice is small. “That this is too good to be true. That I’m going to wake up and you’ll be just like him.”
Him. The ex. The one who hurt her.
“But I’m not him,” I say firmly. “I don’t know who he is or what he did, but I’m not him.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know me well enough to promise that.”
“You’re right. I don’t know everything about you yet. But I know you’re brave. I know you’re kind. I know you make my son smile in a way he hasn’t since his mom left.” I take a risk and reach for her hand. She lets me hold it. “And I know that I want to know everything else. The good, the bad, the scary parts. All of it.”
Tears shine in her eyes. “Henry, I’m a complete mess. I have scars.”
“Good. So am I and so do I.” I squeeze her hand. “We can be a mess together. Chicks dig scars, right?”
She laughs, but it’s wet and shaky. “This is insane.”
“Probably. But is it working?”
She looks at me, really looks at me, and I see the moment she decides to trust. To try.
