“You look like you want to punch him out.”
The fire leaped into his eyes again. “For a start.”
Without thinking Willow rested her hand on his forearm. His muscles were taut, restrained. He was startlingly warm, just as he had been when their hands brushed at the coffee shop. And…Willow did not want to withdraw her touch. In fact she wanted to move closer, run her palm up and over his prominent bicep, then down his chest…
Whoa. Cool off, girl.
Her hand had, of its own volition, curled tighter around his arm, her fingers grasping. She snatched it back, hid it along with her other hand behind her back. “Sorry. I—that was—I just thought you might need—you looked sort of distraught? You don’t need to be.”
“I know.”
She giggled. “He bolted like a panicked sheep.”
Ezra didn’t smile. Right, no joking about the moron. She shouldn’t either: Keith just might tell his folks about this, who would surely tell her folks. Shoot.
“Ezra, could we…move on? He’s gone, and there’s more booths to see.”
Another slow blink, soft blond eyelashes brushing his cheeks, and then he nodded, seeming to return to himself. “Yeah, let’s move on.”
She had meant the words colloquially, but Ezra meant them literally. They left the taco truck without food, which was worse than tragic, and ate at the burger truck instead. She couldn’t complain though, not really. For one thing, the burgers were more delicious than she expected. She got the traditional toppings along with her favorites, bacon and onions. Ezra got two burgers, both of them double patties, and mounded them with so many toppings she couldn’t keep track. The burgers dripped sauce and lost lettuce as he devoured them. Ezra Sterling was quite the carnivore.
For another thing, Keith did not reappear. Ezra might have scared him into the next county. Oh, she hoped so. Never again to feel her chest tighten when he walked into the coffee shop with his assured grin and slicked hair. Never again to search for the words to convince him how uninterested she was without hurting the friendship between their parents.
“Hey,” she said as they threw away their trash, “we haven’t seen the glass blower yet.”
Ezra’s eyebrows rose, and his mouth curved. “Nathan Corrigan?”
“Yeah, he’s so good, and he’s just a kid. I think he’s like nineteen.”
“Twenty-two.”
“Oh, do you know him?”
“Yep.”
They walked quietly for a few minutes, the hum of strangers’ conversations wrapping around them but not between them. She’d been on enough dates to know how she usually felt: nervous, self-conscious, awkward, hopeful. Ambling with Ezra between art booths, dust on their shoes and sun on their skin, she felt none of those things. Not even hopeful, which was odd. More settled than that. Oddly settled and calm. As the thought surfaced, Ezra glanced down at her and smiled.
This was surreal. First dates didn’t go like this for anybody, much less for Willow.
Enough analyzing. Thank goodness, ahead on the left stood the glass blower’s booth.
Nathan Corrigan waved at their approach. He was tall and unexpectedly muscular, a young artist with bright ginger hair. She’d have sworn he was more than one year her junior. The kid was positively beaming. Willow glanced up at her date and found Ezra’s smile the most unrestrained she’d seen it yet.
“A good friend?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Hey, Ezra,” Nathan said when they reached him. “Hey, Ezra’s girl.”
Willow froze. All the normal on-a-date awkwardness rushed back into her body at once.
Nathan’s ginger eyebrows shot up. She must be doing a miserable job hiding her discomfiture. He looked from Willow to Ezra and back again. “I mean, unless I got that wrong?”
“This is Willow,” Ezra said. He glanced down at her as he said, “And yeah, she’s my…date.”
He gave her time in the pause to redirect or contradict, but Willow nodded. Yes, his date. What she was and wanted to be.
“Oh, cool,” Nathan said, his smile returning. “It’s nice to meet you, Willow.”
