I head to the kitchen, rummage through the junk drawer until I find what I’m looking for.
Kelly gave me the lavender-scented rice pack years ago, swore it helped aches and pains.
I microwave it, then head back.
“Come on, Baby Girl,” I murmur. “We’ll finish this in bed.”
She follows me without question.
I turn on the TV in the bedroom and tell her to lie down. She does.
I slide in behind her, spooning her close, my arm tucked under her head, my chest pressed to her back.
Her body fits mine like it was built for it.
I grit my teeth against the rush of want, then place the warm rice pack gently on her lower belly.
She gasps.
“What—what is that?”
“It’s me taking care of my woman,” I say simply. “Now hush and watch the movie.”
I kiss her neck.
She smiles.
And that smile does something deep and permanent inside me.
I’ve been the man who wasn’t enough before.
The one who lived too rough, too far from the world someone else wanted.
But this?
This feels right.
And for the first time in a long damn while, I’m not afraid to want what I want.
I want Willow.
And I’m not letting her go.
CHAPTER 38
WILLOW
The rest of the week rushes by in a blur of snow flurries, icy windshields, invoice reminders, and half-frozen thermoses—but I love it.
No, scratch that. I live for it.
Okay, maybe not all of it.
Because what I really love?
Working with Thatcher.
I love the way his voice sounds when he’s problem-solving.
