by Brooks, Abby
“Says the man who—” Ellie hiccupped and buried her face in her shoulder, panic widening her eyes. “Excuse me,” she said, struggling to get up from the table.
James slid his chair back and helped her stand. “Her morning sickness can’t tell time,” he explained with an apologetic grimace. “Come on, sweet Ellie. I’ve got you.” And with that, they left the room.
“Injury must be a constant worry for you,” Harry said to Willow, his voice sending whispers of adrenaline through her veins.
“It is.” She fiddled with her fork, afraid to meet his gaze in case she fell into his eyes and lost her train of thought again. Focus, Willow. You can talk to this guy without making a fool of yourself. “Just last week, I found a girl curled up, sobbing in the dressing room. She’s young. Brand new to the company. Her hip was really bothering her, and she didn’t know what to do.”
Frank grimaced. “What were her options?”
“I suggested she talk to the physical therapist, but I knew she wouldn’t. The PT would tell her to take time off and time off is the kiss of death for us. Especially when you’re new.”
“Have you ever been injured?” Harry asked.
Their eyes locked and once again, everything else in the room dimmed. The gentle conversation from the rest of the family. The sounds of forks on plates and ice in glasses. All of it faded away until it was just Willow watching Harry, watching her. Her answer was taking too long, so she broke eye contact to give herself a chance to think.
Maybe you can’t talk to this guy without making a fool of yourself.
“Luckily, I’ve made it this far without anything career threatening.” Willow licked her lips and tried to come up with a question to shift the focus away from her, but Harry continued.
“I bet you’d be devastated to stop dancing.”
“I would.”
It was the answer she always gave, the one people expected from her…even if it wasn’t completely true. It wasn’t quite that she’d be devastated, but more that she’d be lost.
Her life had been dedicated to dance and she didn’t know what she’d be without it—much less, what she’d do for a living. Sometimes those questions haunted her, taunting her from some fear-based part of her brain. But other times, there was a flame of curiosity about leading a normal life. A flame she took care to extinguish the moment it flared into existence.
To be the best at what she did, she couldn’t afford to have doubts.
Only dance.
Harry put his fork down and captured her with his eyes again. “What about your family? Do they support you?”
What the hell was happening? Not one time, not once, not ever in her whole life had anyone been interested in her career longer than a few obligatory questions.
“Both my parents are dancers, so they’re utterly thrilled I’m working for ACB.”
Harry shook his head, not understanding. “ACB?”
With a growing surge of dread, Willow became aware she had the focus of the entire Moore family trained on her. Sure, she could be onstage in front of thousands and not bat an eye but to have everyone’s complete attention in the middle of a dinner party? That was a fate worse than death.
She took another sip of wine to buy herself a chance to calm down. “American City Ballet. It’s the company I work for in New York City, and it was my parents’ dream company.”
Juliet scoffed and held up a hand. “Don’t let her humility fool you. ACB is every dancer’s dream company. People will actually move to the States for the chance to dance there—even if they don’t speak a word of English. And Willie is a soloist. On her way to becoming a principal.” She turned to Ian. “It’s kind of like rank in the military. Principal is the top rank, and soloist is just under that.”
Ian raised an eyebrow, staring at Willow with a new level of appreciation. “On your way to becoming a four-star general, are you?”
“I don’t think I’m nearly bossy enough to be a general.” She caught Harry’s eyes and smiled. Then bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the table when he smiled back.
What was it about the guy that had her so completely undone?
James and Ellie returned and took their seats, James pulling her chair out and helping her to scoot back in toward the table. Ellie gave the family a sheepish grin. “Sorry, about that.”
“My sweet girl has really been suffering.” James shook his head and patted her tummy. “I guess this little guy’s already taking after his dad. Giving his mom a hard time before we even make it to day one.” James shot a look at Diane who took a long breath in through her nose.
“If that’s really what’s happening,” she said to Ellie, reaching across the table and taking her hand, “then just remember, I’m only a phone call away. I may not have all the answers, but at least I can commiserate.”
The family laughed and lost themselves to conversations about people Willow didn’t know and events she hadn’t been around for. Under normal circumstances, she would remember to laugh when it was appropriate and smile when someone made eye contact, but these people were so enthusiastic, she found herself laughing because the story was funny and smiling because she was happy.
She didn’t need to put on a show for the Moores.
She could just be herself and enjoy them being themselves. It was so nice it felt surreal.
And then there was Harry.
He didn’t say much else during dinner, though his laughter filled the room and his gaze fell warmly on whomever was speaking—when it wasn’t falling on Willow. Because mostly, it fell on Willow. Every time she looked his way—which was often—she caught him watching her.
As dinner finished and the family carried their dishes into the kitchen, she caught his eye and offered a sweet smile, and was stopped in her tracks.
It was nothing and everything wrapped into one heartbeat.
His eyes lit with a bright warmth as he shuffled his plate into one hand so he could touch her arm.
That was it. One touch. That was all it took to change the course of her life.
All things considered, it was the briefest of contact, just a shiver of his fingertips grazing her elbow, but she felt it through her entire body.
Like nothing more important had ever happened to her.
And to make it all the more intense, the look in his eyes said he felt it, too.
That somehow, in that simple gesture, he knew his path had been forever changed in the same way she knew hers had.
And then Ian bumped into him and quipped about blocking the doorway, prompting Harry to move into the kitchen, leaving Willow to wonder what the hell had just happened.
Maybe love at first sight isn’t so preposterous, she thought, then laughed at herself for being ridiculous.
Chapter Six
Harry
Willow Tamran felt like an epiphany, but Harry wasn’t even sure what that meant. His brain kept offering him that statement like it explained everything and he kept right on being confused.
How could she be an epiphany when nothing about his reaction to her made sense?
From the moment he entered his brother’s kitchen and found her leaning on the counter, her hands delicately framing her face, her blonde hair streaming across her shoulders and glittering in the long light of the afternoon sun, he’d been unable to get her off his mind…
…or his eyes off her.
Her beauty astounded him. Everything about Willow was simple, yet stunning. She wore little makeup, but her face took his breath away. Her eyes were a sparkling blue, filled with a happy intelligence that made him feel like he could look into her and find himself.
Then there was her body. Trim and muscular, she was somehow fragile and strong at the same time. So thin and angular, yet softened by grace, and the femininity of her movement.
Willow was entrancing, a dichotomy of everything, and all Harry could do was watch and wonder what it would be like to know her. To let his hands explore her body and his mind dissect her t
houghts. To drag his tongue across her luscious lower lip, then draw it into his mouth and capture it between his teeth.
He studied her at dinner, listening carefully as she talked about her job. Her smile was constant and for as confident as she sounded, Harry caught the shadow that fell across her eyes, the one that made him want to ask what she wasn’t saying.
When they touched, a jolt of need surged through his body. It was a simple thing. He put his hand on her elbow and stared into her eyes as they wandered from the table to the kitchen.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal.
It definitely wasn’t anything important.
But still, in that one brush of contact, his heart reprioritized every other thing to make room for Willow, and he could see the echo of his feelings written all over her face.
He wanted to say something witty. Something meaningful. Something worthy of that somehow monumental moment. As usual, he said nothing until Ian interrupted.
“You’re in the way, little brother.” With a bump of his shoulder, he shoved Harry into the kitchen, away from Willow.
He looked over his shoulder and watched her blink in shock as Juliet took her plate. Ian gave him a funny look and Harry shrugged it off.
Get a hold of yourself, man. You’re acting like an idiot.
The rest of the family surged into the kitchen, cleaning plates and refilling wineglasses before gathering on the deck to enjoy the sunset. James clapped him on the back. “Everything okay in there?” He tapped Harry’s forehead. “You’re even quieter than normal.”
Over his brother’s shoulder, he watched Willow attempting to wipe any trace of judgement off her face as Lilah cornered her and forced a conversation. “I’m fine.” Harry heard how distracted he sounded and forced his attention back to the man in front of him. “Better than ever.”
James followed his gaze, then laughed, a knowing grin curling his lips. “Go get her, Tiger.” With that, he joined the rest of the family on the deck, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen.
Lilah must have said something horrible, as only she could, because shock dropped Willow’s jaw. She recovered quickly, masking her surprise with a smile and a gentle flare of her fingers, but Harry could see the distress in her eyes—a fleeting glance over Lilah’s shoulder in the hopes Juliet might materialize and save her.
His feet were moving before he’d even decided what he was going to say. He appeared at Willow’s side and took her elbow, his heart racing like a gull after a piece of food.
“As best man, I feel like it’s my duty to get to know the maid of honor.” As excuses went, it was pretty weak, but considering the one and a half seconds he had to prepare, it was better than nothing.
He led her past Lilah, onto the deck, tossing an apologetic look to his sister who glared before turning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction. She’d be mad at him, but she lived for drama, so it was almost like he’d done her a favor by giving her a reason to get up in arms over something.
“I felt obligated to save you from my sister,” he said as they drew to a stop at the end of the deck. “And I’m sorry for whatever it was she said to you.”
Willow smiled and it was like watching a sunrise. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
A lock of hair blew across her forehead and Harry fought the urge to brush it off her face. Get a grip, Moore. At least pretend to be cool. “I know Lilah and there’s plenty to apologize for. But you’re sweet for being polite.”
Willow’s laugh was the same contradiction of textures as the rest of her. It was deep and low, warm like whiskey, yet soft and sweet like apple pie. She gave a small shrug and tilted her head, her hair sliding over her shoulder in an avalanche of golden light. “My mom always said if I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all. So, I’m staying silent on the matter.” She pinched her fingers and twisted them in front of her lips as if to say ‘locked up tight.’
“Wise women, you and your mama.”
With a gentle nod, she gave her attention to the darkening sky stretching out over the water. “It’s beautiful here. So open. So…” She flared her long fingers as she searched for the word. “I don’t know. I’m used to hustle and bustle. To buildings packed so close together there’s nowhere to go but up. I’m used to strangers crowded against me. And so much noise.” She peeked at Harry. “All this wide open space is pretty, it really is, but it makes me feel vulnerable somehow.”
“That’s funny. I’ve been to New York a few times and always love the energy for the first day or two. After about a week, I end up feeling claustrophobic.”
Willow offered a smile, then fell quiet, lost in her thoughts. As much as Harry appreciated the silence, he wanted to know more about her. The only way to do that was to get her speaking again.
“Did you grow up in the city?”
“I grew up in a city, not the city.” The wind tossed her hair across her face again. She tucked the stray lock behind her ear before leaning her back against the railing. “My parents danced for Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre and that’s where I grew up. I trained in the school as soon as I was old enough. Grew up in the theater. The whole deal. Ballet’s in my blood. I had no choice in the matter.” She shrugged and ducked her chin into her shoulder, then glanced up at him with those blue eyes, and his heart melted. “I moved to New York when I was sixteen.”
“By yourself!?” He was simultaneously incredulous and filled with respect for the kid who could do something so brave.
“Yep. My mom had already retired from performing and been promoted to Ballet Mistress…” Willow paused, pursing her eyebrows together. “Someone who helps the company learn the ballets,” she explained.
“So, not some classical dominatrix then?”
She snorted laughter, covering her mouth with her delicate hand. “No. Not some classical dominatrix. Although, I’ve had one or two Ballet Mistresses who fit that description.” Giggles consumed the rest of her statement.
And then it happened again.
Willow placed her hand on his arm.
How many times had a woman touched him that way? For that matter, how many times had she touched someone else in that same way? Such a simple gesture…
Except nothing about what happened between them was simple. From the moment he saw her, she’d consumed him. He’d been drawn to her. He couldn’t drag his eyes off her or his mind around her.
His mission had been Willow Tamran from the second he stepped into the kitchen.
Chapter Seven
Harry
The wind blew Willow’s hair across her face again.
Tentatively, Harry lifted a hand, and, using only the tips of his fingers, slid it off her forehead, and tucked it behind her ear.
She sighed into his touch, her eyes sliding closed for a fraction of a second before she pulled back and swallowed, nervously turning away. “So...” She cleared her throat. “You’re a chef, huh?”
The question was a bucket of cold water dropped right over his head. Despite the chemistry sizzling between them, Willow was a stranger from New York, and he was dedicated to his job in Bliss. Whatever it was that just happened needed to stop happening.
He put some careful distance between them.
“Kind of.” He leaned both elbows on the deck and looked away from her beautiful blues. “I went to culinary school, but the reality of life in the kitchen wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded.”
“How so?”
“Oh, lord. On your feet all day long. Dealing with overly sensitive and dramatic personalities. Climbing up the ranks and kowtowing to the almighty Head Chef. Rush, rush, rush, work, work, work, and nothing is ever good enough.”
“Boy, that sounds familiar. Just like trying to survive in the ballet world.” As she spoke, a shadow of regret darkened her eyes again and had Harry wondering what put it there. “Sounds like you did the smart thing and skipped all that by opening up your own business?”
“Basically, yeah
. I started out working for a restaurant a few towns over. Two things happened. I learned making a living off my passion wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And then, I realized Bliss didn’t have any nice places to eat. It was a no-brainer at that point. I opened my restaurant and never looked back.”
The conversation moved on, covering more topics than Harry could count. All of it felt natural…and that was saying a lot because small talk had never been his thing.
After a break in a discussion on the merits of sustainable gardening, Willow turned to him, gnawing at her lip and studying him intently. “This might sound totally strange and out of the blue,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But when’s your birthday?”
“My birthday?” Of all the questions in the world, that was the last thing Harry expected her to ask. He sounded as incredulous as he felt.
“Told you it was out of the blue.” She laughed lightly and shrugged, the bones in her chest shifting as she lifted her shoulders. “I know it’s weird. But I’m into astrology and all that. I’m just curious.”
Harry shot her a skeptical look. “Astrology?”
“Humor me?”
The lilt to her voice said she knew she’d get what she wanted, but Harry wasn’t one to give up easily. He might have been a quiet man, but he was still a Moore—the bossy gene hadn’t skipped him. Not by a long shot. “My birthday is in July. But you’re gonna have to guess the date.”
Her face went slack. “The twenty-eighth. You were born on July twenty-eighth, weren’t you?”
Harry’s breath rushed past his open jaw and goose bumps threatened. “How did you know?” For a split second, he was seriously weirded out, but then, understanding dawned on him. “Juliet told you, didn’t she? That’s how you knew I opened a restaurant, and that’s how you know my birthday.”
He laughed, disappointed in himself for believing she plucked that number out of the air. He must have looked like an idiot there for a second.
