He’s starting to feel like more than a fling. More than a mistake.
Thatcher McCrae is starting to feel like mine.
And more? I want to believe I could be his.
What’s so bad about that, anyway?
CHAPTER 33
THATCHER
Idon’t have much in the way of groceries in my house.
Not yet.
I’ve lived alone a long time.
You get used to eating whatever fills your gut and keeps you moving.
But that’s going to change.
I already know it is.
Next trip to the Supercenter, I’m fixing that problem.
Tonight, though, we’ve got leftover soup and a couple of sandwiches wrapped up from lunch, and we’re sitting at my small kitchen table like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And somehow, it’s the best damn dinner I’ve had in years.
“Sorry I haven’t gone shopping for home in a while,” I say, scratching at the back of my neck. “Didn’t expect company.”
Willow looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“What are you talking about?” she asks.
I shrug. “I mean, you made this, so you know it’s good. I just wish I had something better here for you.”
She sets her spoon down and looks at me—really looks at me—and something in my chest tightens.
“Thatcher,” she says quietly, “this is perfect. Besides, it’s the company that matters.”
“Yeah? You like the company?”
“I like being here. With you. It’s nice.”
“Nice? Ouch.”
She laughs like I wanted her too.
“Fine. Not nice, it’s—it’s kind of perfect, actually,” she replies.
And that word shouldn’t mean much.
But coming from her, it lands heavy and warm, right behind my ribs.
“It is nice and perfect,” I agree.
We finish eating, and I tell her she can change if she wants.
