by Stacey Lynn
I give her a few minutes to decide and when she finally tells me about a nearby restaurant with a southern fiesta salad she likes, I make sure it’s something DoorDash will deliver. After a quick flip through the menu, I place her order along with more salads she can save for later, a chicken dinner she can easily reheat tonight or tomorrow, and a burger and fries for me. Fortunately, the delivery time is less than an hour.
“Why don’t you take a break and go shower?”
If glares could set me on fire, I’d be a pile of ash. “Are you suggesting I look like crap, Trey?” There’s a spark in her words that’s been missing all day and I’m barely able to beat back a grin.
“No. You’re beautiful. But you do look like you could use a break and some time to relax.” I toss my arm out and her glance surveys the remaining shelves. We’ve made progress, but there’s hours to go in his room alone, and I’ve stayed to one side so she didn’t feel crowded. But if she leaves, I can get a lot more knocked out. “I’ve got this, Willow. Go get cleaned up.”
Her lips twitch, the closest I’ve gotten to a smile out of her all day. But I’m not kidding about my offer, either. Her mom might be getting help for her depression but Willow shouldn’t be alone, either. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let all this burden fall on her shoulders so she can exhaust and ruin herself while trying to help her mom.
I take a step toward her, slowly, allowing my lips to spread into a panty-melting smile. The kind that made her lean in closer and kiss me just last weekend. “I’ll carry you if I have to, Willow. Maybe join you? Stand behind you in the shower…” I let my threat trail off. The images I’m conjuring aren’t conducive to my long-term plan or giving her the rest she needs.
She holds up a hand and takes a quick step back, almost tripping over her half-filled box. “I’ve got it. I’m going.”
“You sure you don’t need help?” I tease, because her cheeks are flushed, showing a hint of color, and a break for me might not be such a bad thing. And now I’m remembering the morning in the shower and it doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all.
“I’ve got it. Shower. Relax.”
I’ve reduced her to one-word sentences, which makes me grin wider. Still, I’m moving toward her because she’s frozen in place. “Go, Willow, before relaxing is the last thing either of us do.”
She turns and hightails it out of the small room so fast I almost don’t see her go. I’m smiling, though, and I swear she was, too, and I’m also pretty sure I hear an echo of her laugh following her through the house.
Which means when I turn back to the boxes and shelves, I feel better and more settled than I have all week long. I hope like hell I’m doing the same for her because being around Willow isn’t just something I want—I’m beginning to think she’s someone I need.
I don’t plan on letting anyone ruin it or take it from me, least of all her.
* * *
—
The food has been delivered and I’m thankful Willow is still upstairs when it comes so I can place all the extra meals in her fridge without her giving me a side-eyed glare.
She still hasn’t come downstairs, even after I’ve called her name several times, and the water from the shower stopped running a while ago. I debate for half a breath and go in search of her, adoring her parents’ home with every step and every room I enter. It’s a decent-size family home, and even though many of the rooms are cleaned out, I can tell there’s a lifetime of clutter and memories stacked and stored that have been on display for years. I itch to dig through the boxes, find mementos of Willow’s childhood, see what she looked like as a ballerina or if her preteen stage was as awkward as mine.
Shudder at the thought.
I make my way up the staircase, grinning at nails sticking from the wall on one side where a bevy of frames had to have been hanging but are now all missing. The classic family photo wall on a staircase that even my own mom has in our small home.
The hall splits in half at the top of the stairs, three doors to my left and two more to my right. I take a turn to the right, assuming Willow’s room will be far from her parents’, but stop at each door to knock quietly and check.
As suspected, all the rooms are vacant, save for neatly made beds, bare walls, and boxes marked as clothing and other items.
“Willow?” I call out several times as I enter each room, my voice getting louder as I near the room at the end of the hall I suspect is hers. I’ve checked almost every other room plus a bathroom, and I knock at the closed door. “Willow? You in there? Lunch is here.”
Behind the door, soft music plays. I can’t make it out, but she has to be there.
I call her name again to no response and slowly open the door.
“Willow?” I soften my voice and enter quietly, but there’s no need, and as I close the door behind me, my heart skips and runs all over the place.
She’s on her bed, hair splayed out all over her pillow, wet from her shower and draped in a towel either she hadn’t fully removed when she sat down, or that had opened when she collapsed onto her bed.
She’s on her side, long, tan legs on full display, the curve of her breasts visible from above the pale purple towel loosely draped over her. Her chest, her beautiful chest I’ve touched and tasted and dreamed of, raises and lowers with every sleeping breath she takes.
Peacefully sleeping, or passed out from exhaustion. I almost don’t want to wake her, but I figure she’s been sleeping for at least a half hour already. She needs food as well. I take quiet steps toward her bed, admiring her body, unable to help it. The weight of her worry doesn’t press down on her shoulders making her slump forward in her sleep, and she looks so damn comfortable, so beautiful, so peaceful I almost grab my phone to snap a picture of her so I can remember her as she is right now. Pure and naked, save for the towel, and still the most incredible woman I’ve met.
I take a seat on the side of her bed, in the crook between her thighs and stomach, and place my hand on her shoulder, rubbing her soft skin to wake her slowly. “Hey, Willow.” I give her a gentle shake, although my craving for her is urging me to wake her in a different way. Like my hands on other parts, tugging the towel away from her body, warming her with my hands and my mouth, my body heat.
Now’s not the time and I’m gentleman enough to know it. “Hey, sleepyhead,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over her cheek. Her eyes flutter open and closed, open again. “Lunch is here, honey.”
“What?” Her voice is raspy from sleep and it takes her a moment to adjust, but as she does, recognition and awareness click together. Her hand goes to her chest, to her towel and she cringes. “I fell asleep.”
“A while ago, I’d guess, and I’d let you sleep but your food is here. I’ll give you time to get dressed, but come down and eat, okay?”
She hides a yawn behind her hand and then runs it through her hair, grimacing when she realizes it’s wet. “I just sat down for a minute after my shower to put lotion on. I don’t even remember lying down.”
“You’re tired and overworked, it happens.”
“Thank you,” she says, and blinks slowly. “Thank you for being here today, Trey.”
She opens her mouth like she intends to say something else, but I stand, putting space between us. “Get dressed. I’ll feed you. If you want to talk then, we can, okay?”
“Thank you.”
I’ve been thanked enough, so I walk out of her room and head downstairs. I’ve made a sizable dent in my fries by the time she comes down, waltzing into the kitchen in a pair of super-short running shorts and a long-sleeve top, with her hair once again piled on her head. She looks refreshed, either from sleep and shower or maybe a small amount of makeup to hide the circles beneath her eyes.
When she slides into her seat at the table, I slide a bottled water toward her. She gives me a shy smile and tucks into her salad, eating several bites
while I start on my burger.
“Feel better?” I finally ask, when it seems as if she’s determined silence is the best way to pass the time.
“I do. Feel like I could sleep for weeks, but better.”
“You have a long job ahead of you. Pace yourself, honey. You wear yourself out too quick and who’s going to be there to help then?”
She makes a face and I’m pretty sure I’ve gone too far but she doesn’t argue, and after a few more bites of her lunch, she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Why did you come today?”
“Because I told you last week that I want to see more of you, and for me, that hasn’t changed.” I pause and take a drink. I almost don’t want to ask the next question but I push on. “Has-has that changed for you?”
I cringe at the brief stutter that shows my nerves. Except for her first meeting with my parents, I haven’t done it around her since before the trip.
She picks at her salad, pushing tomatoes and onions off to the side, and stabs a cucumber. “I think I need time, Trey. With everything going on…”
Needing time isn’t a no. It’s not even close to it. Time I can give her. What chills my blood is the way she won’t look at me. That has to stop. There’s no reason for her to be ashamed or embarrassed or whatever else she might be feeling around me.
“Hey.” I reach across the table and take her hand in mine, squeezing it firmly but gently. Mostly I just want to touch her. It’s been too long. “I get that, Willow. Things are hard for you and there’s a lot going on. I can give you all the time you need.”
I’ll also be there every step of the way to remind her I’m not going anywhere.
She peers up at me, and there is so much regret in her eyes it’s almost a punch to the gut. “All I can offer you right now is friendship.”
Friend-zoned, my ass. That’s not going to happen, but I can give her peace of mind with the illusion of it. I take a large drink from my own water and smile.
“I’m a patient man, Willow. You need that from me, you have it, and when you’re ready for more…I’ll still be here.”
Because there’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere. Not until I have everything I want, and number one on that list is the beautiful blonde sitting across from me, blushing madly at my promise.
Chapter 28
Willow
It took three days, four hours, and twenty-nine minutes to regret even attempting to place Trey in the friend zone.
That revelation occurred in small doses. Like the day of his first visit, when he’d left my mom’s house, the office completely packed up, and kissed the top of my head like I was a sister or cousin and promised he’d be back to help.
I hadn’t bothered arguing. I know Trey enough to know he’s going to come and go as he pleases, so I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he’d returned Monday night with a gallon of ice cream and two bottles of wine. He was apparently determined not only to give me rest, but also to feed me, based on the food he’s continued leaving in the fridge.
But that third day? That was the day after so much help from Cara that I started feeling like I had a better grip on what needed to be packed in the house. When Trey had shown up, asking me where I wanted him, I sent him outside to help clean up the yard instead of telling him where I really wanted him to be.
In my arms. My bed. On me. Under me. Anywhere I could have him. I’ve missed the hell out of his touch and he’s kept to his promise to be my friend, and damn it all to heck, it seems like he really means it.
But the day he was doing yard work in the back was almost my undoing. I was upstairs, stripping beds of their sheets to donate all the bed coverings when I glanced out the window.
It was my first mistake.
My second mistake was lingering at the windows, watching him pull weeds in the garden, hoe the ground, and carry bags of mulch to the beds to freshen them up, and doing it all without a shirt on.
Muscles for days and more character than any man I’d ever met, and I was practically drooling onto the window when I finally yanked myself away. Every night since then I’d gone to bed alone, wishing I had the guts to invite him to stay.
Yet after that day he promised he could be my friend and wait for me, I’d received nothing from him that even hinted at more being an option if I offered.
Sure, he said he’d wait for me. But for how long?
And when will I feel completely ready?
It means that tonight, of all nights, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m alone in the house, and the only things left unpacked are what I absolutely need to live with. My mom’s belongings to save are all in storage. Everything that hasn’t sold in the garage sale has been loaded onto a moving truck by local movers, courtesy of Trey Kollins, and taken to high-end secondhand-boutique stores to sell. I’ve been able to sell enough items, including my mom’s car, to pay off most of our debt, and the rest will come when the house sells.
Tomorrow, my childhood home goes on the market, and while there’s nothing I want more than to climb into bed and sleep the night and maybe another month away, I have plans with Trey.
He’s taking me to dinner.
In fact, we’re all going. Trey. Caitlin and Jonas, who are now back from their honeymoon. Cara and Braxton. Even Teagan and Corbin are coming.
When Trey first floated the idea out to me, I resisted as hard as I could. But when I mentioned it to Cara, she insisted and invited herself and her husband.
Slowly my defenses were pulled down and I agreed, Cara and Trey both insisting I needed a night out with nothing to do but have some fun.
I’d relented after speaking to my mom earlier this week. I was able to visit her last weekend, and was amazed at how well she seemed. Quiet and reflective, but also calm. She was relaxed and steady. I’m finally hopeful my mom will find the path and therapy and team she needs to help her be the best she can be. After leaving her last weekend, the weight pressing down on my shoulders the last several months began lifting. I feel lighter, despite the sadness at seeing my childhood home finally go on the market and my mom not being close to me.
The home will be sold to a new family. My mom being gone is temporary. Which means it’s finally, finally time I get to concentrate on me, truly, for the first time in a long time without the heavy weight of worry pressing down on me.
Which is the final reason I agreed to Trey’s and Cara’s insistent demands for a night out. My guess is neither wanted me to wallow alone. We’re headed to Dirty Martini’s, Jonas’s bar and restaurant, and while I’d told Trey I could meet him there because it’s so close to his building, he’d insisted on picking me up.
Like a date. Which means maybe there is hope for us.
I’m outside on the front porch and waiting for only a few minutes when Trey’s car pulls to the curb. He’s out of the driver’s seat and opening my door before I’m barely off the front step.
“You look beautiful.”
I’m in white jeans that are distressed at the knees and a simple, bright-blue tank top, strappy, gold, flat sandals on my feet. I went for casual and fun since I’ll be with friends at a casual bar. Getting dressed up seemed like too much work but I did pay special attention to braiding my hair and putting on more makeup than I usually wear.
As with every compliment Trey has ever given me, I can feel it in my toes.
“Thank you.” He’s dressed similarly casually, in jeans and a gray polo shirt that cling to him like a second skin. “You look good, too.”
“Just good?” He leans in and kisses my cheek. He’s teasing me and there’s a flirtatious glint in his eyes. My pulse picks up speed. He hasn’t flirted with me in weeks.
This is a return of the Trey I saw in San Diego and, oh, have I missed him.
I press my hand to his cheek, unable and unwilling to stop myself from touching him. Feeling him. Kissing him back. “No,
Trey. You’re better than good. You’re the best.”
He tenses for a moment and then his mouth is at my ear. My neck. Sliding along my jaw and pressing his weight to me. I don’t know if this is the green light he’s been waiting for, but I’m not backing down.
I never should have told him I wanted to be just friends. I should have trusted him the day he showed up, ready to help, willing to listen, wanting to give me everything I need. Yet I’m thankful he’s taken the time to prove he’s the man he’s always claimed to be, too.
His mouth travels back to my ear, his journey slow and painful, causing goosebumps to erupt all over my skin. “I think you’re the best woman I’ve ever met in my life, Willow. And while I’m happy to stay your friend, give you more time, please tell me you’ve made me wait long enough.”
Before I can get the words out, his hand skims my neck and, at the back, tangles into my hair, loosening my braid, which I couldn’t care less about, and he tilts my face up to meet his.
“Are we still friends?” he asks, eyes bouncing back and forth between mine, reading everything.
I push through any lingering worries. “I think I’d like to be more.”
His eyes widen, his lips part, and he leans in. I brace myself for his kiss. For the tease of his tongue against mine and the scent of his cologne washing over me. But instead, I’m pulled to his chest. His face shoves into the crook of my neck and I’m wrapped in strong arms, holding me tightly. Safely.
“Good,” he groans into me, eliciting another round of goosebumps. “Good. Let’s go celebrate with our friends then, yeah? And later…” he pulls back and that delicious and sexy-as-hell smile appears. “Later we can have a celebration with the two of us.”
“Oh. Yes. I think that can be arranged.”
* * *
—
As soon as we step inside Dirty Martini’s, my hand is wrenched from Trey’s as I’m wrapped in a hug from a newly married, gorgeous redhead who holds me as tight as a boa constrictor incapacitates its prey. Good Lord, Caitlin is strong.
