I hesitate for a moment before shaking my head and placing a hand to her jaw, tipping her head up so she’s looking into my eyes when I speak next.
“Willa. You’re a once-in-a-generation musical genius. Do you really think I’d tie myself to you and not know that would be a part of my life?” Her eyes go wide, and her bottom lip quivers. “Do you really think I would ever stop you from chasing that, from doing something that so clearly makes you the most magical, talented person I’ve ever met in my life? I told you before, and I’m telling you again, I will never—and I mean ever, Willa—get in the way of the career you were born to follow.”
“You’re tied to me?” she murmurs, clearly still stuck on the beginning of what I said. I grin down at her.
“Knotted so tight, I don’t think I can ever undo it,” I say before pressing my lips to hers, tipping my head. “Go pick a spot. I’ll go get your guitar and anything else you might need. Just text me what you want and where it is, then I’ll bring it to you. I’ll sit outside and answer some emails while you work. Just let me know when you’re done, but no rush. I’ve got things to do.” She stares at me, long moments passing as her eyes glisten.
“I might be up late,” she warns.
“I have nowhere to be in the morning.”
Another beat passes before she speaks again, eyes glistening. ‘You’re perfect for me.”
“We’re perfect together,” I reply, then step away to grab my keys.
That night, Willa writes “Tied to You,” the second single for her next album.
TWENTY-SIX
LEO
After the rainstorm, I don’t spend a single night without Willa in my bed. While we haven’t had a formalmoving-inconversation, I think we both can feel the clock ticking before our private little bubble pops, and neither of us wants to waste any more time than we already have. In September, things will change when she starts her next marketing cycle, and during that time, we’ll have to keep things under wraps for both my job and her career. Until then, I want her as close as possible.
When I think of the future, my gut clenches at the conversations we’re going to have to have, the fact that I’m going to have to watch her pretend to be in love with another man and stand back as she does, but that’s a hurdle I’ll have to tackle later. At the end of the day, I would never do anything to stop Willa from having what she wants, and I’ll do everything in my power to give it to her. If she wants another number one album and the kind of media storm that captures the entire world’s interest, then I’ll make sure she has it.
In the past two weeks, during quiet moments in bed, on the back patio, or on her porch swing, we’ve had many conversations, and she’s mentioned here and there that thefew relationships she’s attempted outside of her fake ones have crashed and burned because the man didn’t understand her need for success, her need to follow her dreams. After a while, she stopped trying and just gave herself to the fake relationship, deciding that her career was the more important aspect of her life and that the disappointment from others wasn’t worth the headache.
I refuse to fall into that category for her.
Our days grow routine, waking slowly and, more often than not, making love in the early-morning light. After Willa does some kind of workout, sometimes a video of Pilates, where I have to leave or else get too tempted to interrupt, and sometimes we go for a hike around the property. We have breakfast together, and she writes while I work before we start on the house for the better part of the day. Most nights, we have dinner at home before Willa gets some more writing in, and we spend the evening out on the back patio.
Some nights, we end up working later than others and fall into bed exhausted, but we always end the night with me inside of her. After one of those long days, when we spend the day in the pounding sun finishing up the front walkway, I’m too exhausted to cook.
“Fast food, fucking you hard, then sleeping with you in my bed,” I grumble as we step into the house. In this moment, I’ve never been more grateful that the air conditioning works, because the sharp hit of it is a relief against my heated skin.
“My dream day,” Willa grumbles, and I look over at her with a smile. “But I need a shower too.” I lift my eyebrows in suggestion, and she glowers at me, making me smirk. “You can join, but I’m not fucking you until I’m clean, rested, and fed.”
“Okay, then, a quick dinner it is. Junk food,” I say. “What’s your favorite fast food? We’ll grab that.” There’s a moment of hesitation before she responds.
“I… I don’t know.”
Turning fully towards her, I attempt to read her face, confused.
“What?”
“I don’t know my favorite fast food.” Her eyes drop to pick at her nails, the red polish replaced by a pretty yellow that Nat picked out during girls’ night last week at Wren’s house, while I went to Jesse’s place for poker night.
“You don’t…”
“I’ve never really had fast food.” I blink at her for a moment before a blush reddens her cheeks. “I just…you know. I’ve always had things that fit into my nutrition plan. Chicken nuggets and French fries weren’t really in that typically. And if they were, they weren’t fast food.”
Understanding hits, and with her discomfort, a newly familiar feeling moves through me: the excitement of knowing I’m going to get to give Willa another first.
“Okay,” I say, moving to grab my wallet and the keys to Willa’s SUV, an idea brewing quick. “Let’s go. We’ll figure out what you like.” She moves, following me out the door. I open the passenger side door, letting her slide in before jogging around the driver’s side and driving off.
I drive to the main highway on the outskirts of Holly Ridge, where, along a half-mile stretch, there are four different fast-food joints. “Fries?” I ask at the first stop, and she gives me a soft smile.
“I do know I love French fries.”
