Willow has a special way with the children, including those she teaches. I've caught the end of her classes when I've picked her up, and I've observed how she doesn't just interact with them—she truly understands them. She is patient, intuitive, and vibrant, which draws the kids to her effortlessly. She ensures that they are listened to, that their voices are heard, and that each one feels equally important.
She makes it look beautifully effortless.
It's made me feel a possessive need to get rid of her birth control at times and throw it down the toilet.
I don't, though, because at the end of the day, it's her body, and when she decides she wants a family with me, I'm all on board.
She won't be leaving my bed till I get her good and pregnant.
“Are you still feeling okay?” I ask, concern threading through my voice.
She just tilts her head and nods. “You don't need to worry so much about me. I’m fine.”
“You don't know me at all if you think I’ll ever stop worrying about you.”
Her green eyes shine, catching the sunlight, and she slides her fingers through my hair. The brush of her touch makes goosebumps prickle across my skin.
“I know, and I love you for it. But if you keep worrying, it will give you more worry lines.”
“Are you insinuating that I look old?”
“Nooo,” she trails off, lips twitching. “I think you're very handsome… lines and grey hairs included.”
I growl low, playful, lifting her slightly in the water. Her laughter bursts out as she clings to me tighter. The water splashes around us, glittering in the sun.
“You're beautiful.”
Sometimes I still can't believe she's mine.
“Even when I look like a drowned rat?” she counters, her lips hovering just a breath from mine.
“Especially then.”
I mean it. I’ll spend every second, every minute, every hour making sure she knows it—until it's no longer something she questions, but something she carries with certainty.
Something shifts in her then, the playfulness softening into something more tentative.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
She goes quiet.
“I don't know how you'll take it.” Her eyes drift away from mine. “I was going to wait until we visited my dad, but… I feel sick keeping it from you. Like I can't breathe, and I keep thinking you're going to hate me or leave me.”
She's definitely nervous now. I can tell when she starts to ramble on.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
Her head snaps back to me, eyes wide with disbelief. “What—no, you idiot. Why would you even think that?”
I shrug slightly, a faint smirk tugging at my mouth. “Well, it got you to stop shaking.” Her lips part, but I don't give her the chance to spiral again. “And for the record, there's nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Not a damn thing. Unless you suddenly decided my brother was better than me—which we both know isn't true.”
She snickers, some of the tension easing, and I lean in, resting my forehead against hers so she can't look away this time.
“Tell me, baby.”
Our breaths mix, warm and uneven, the distant sound of waves and voices fading into nothing. It's just her. It's always just her. And I can feel it—how hard, how deep I've fallen. Like there's no bottom to it, and there never will be.
