Her eyes harden, cruelty flashing through the cracks. “You’ll regret this.”
“So you keep saying. Now, fuck off.” I snap.
She pivots on her heels, a dramatic huff leaving her lips, storms off, and pushes Willow into the doorframe in the process.
Shit. I didn't even hear her come in.
I’m on her in an instant, my hand settling on her bare shoulder, rubbing the spot I know took the hit. “You okay?”
She looks up at me, eyes soft but knowing. “I should be asking you that.”
I swear under my breath. “You heard that?”
Her lips pull into a faint, crooked smile, and she holds my gaze. “Every word,” she says quietly.
I scratch thoughtfully at my chin and step back, letting my hand fall away from her shoulder so I can finish plating up the food. “Rose has a real talent for getting under my skin.”
Willow slips beside me, reaching up to snag something from the cupboard. “Seems like she's got that gift with everyone,” she says lightly. “Do you think she'll be back tonight?”
I really hope not.
“Probably not.” I flick the cooker off and shrug. “Wouldn't surprise me if she’s gone to find some poor bastard to fuck in exchange for a bed.”
Willow makes a small sound as she pours herself a drink. I catch the way she glances at me over the rim of the glass.
“That doesn't bother you?” she asks curiously, but there's something else there too. Hope, maybe.
I shake my head once. “No. Hasn't bothered me in a long time now.”
Especially not since you walked in and quietly turned my world on its axis.
I offer her a small smile. “Enough about her,” I say, deliberately changing course. “I heard you made a friend today.”
“I did,” she says happily as she turns, resting her hip against the counter. “River isn't exactly thrilled about it.”
That's putting it lightly. I love my son, but he can be a child at times and has a habit of throwing tantrums.
I hum low in my throat. “So I've Heard. I don't think you realise how long he's been crushing on that girl. First time you meet her, and she's claimed you as her best friend." I plate the spaghetti, the clink of cutlery loud in the quiet kitchen.
Willow takes a slow sip of her drink, eyes following the food—and then drifting back to me.
Honestly, I don't blame the girl. Having Willow in your life is a privilege. She's fierce, kind, and beautiful not only on the outside, but inside, too. Anyone who gets to call her a friend is the luckiest person on the planet.
I know I’m glad she's in my life, but I also want her to be mine in every way.
I’m a patient man.
“Might be because she's not into guys.”
I pause, just briefly. “Huh.” That explains River’s mood earlier. It wasn't just because Willow made a friend. I can't help but wonder what kind of girly conversations they had to have without him hovering nearby.
“Makes sense. He's upstairs nursing his broken heart.”
She pulls the glass from her lips, her tongue gliding over the rim, catching the last droplets. My pulse tightens. Every instinct in me wants to lean in, taste, kiss—claim those lips myself.
“I invited her… well, she invited herself to that meal Rose is hosting in a couple of weeks. If that's okay.”
Ah, that fucking meal. The one I never agreed to, the one Rose is trying to set Willow up with that fucker. A flash of irritation curls through me.
