Willow crouches near the shoreline, brushing sand from a shell she's just picked up like it's a rare treasure she's just picked up. The wind lifts strands of her copper hair as the last of the sun sinks towards the horizon, turning the sea into a shimmering gold.
The whole scene looks like something out of a postcard. The ocean, the snow, the sunset.
None of it holds a candle to her.
Leon's letter is still rattling around in my head.
I've been turning it over and over like a puzzle I can't quite solve. Parts of it made me laugh because, honestly, I wouldn't put it past him to haunt my ass. Probably already is for fucking his daughter.
What doesn't sit right with me is that he mentioned that he tried calling and messaging me.
I didn't receive anything of the sort.
I could ask Willow about it, but today was already hard for her. Watching her break down and blame herself at the graveyard nearly broke something in me. The way she crumbled as the guilt poured out of her—it's going to stay with me for a long time.
So I keep it to myself.
Before we left, and Willow waited in the car for me, I stood there beside Leon's grave for a minute.
Just the two of us.
I told him that I will look after his daughter for the rest of my life. That I’ll be there for her through whatever the world throws her way.
And if he wants to haunt my ass, he's welcome to.
I just hope he doesn’t mind the view.
After that, we went out for dinner and spent hours at the arcade.
She absolutely annihilated me.
Seriously, the woman destroyed me at nearly every game we played. No mercy, no sympathy, just pure competitive joy written all over her face.
I didn't mind losing, though. Not even a little.
Every time she won, she laughed heartily, complete with a cute little snort at the end. Her face lit up, making her eyes shine bright, and the sadness disappeared.
And that?
That is worth losing a thousand stupid games.
“Tell me something you like about me.”
Willow's voice pulls me straight out of my thoughts.
She doesn't even look at me. Instead, she flicks the shell in her hand out toward the sea, watching as it skips across the surface a few times before disappearing beneath the water.
I don't think she realises that while she's been gushing about the view for the last few minutes, I haven't really been looking at all.
The ocean stretches endlessly in front of us. Most people would be soaking it in, but I’m not.
All I see is her.
The soft curve of her cheek as she watches the sun dip down. The faint scatter of freckles across her skin. The way the evening light wraps around her hair, turning it into something warm and bright against the winter air.
“Like?” I repeat quietly.
The word feels wrong. It doesn't even come close to touching what I feel for her.
