by Brooks, Abby
February
Harry stared at a diamond ring in a plush black box, the dark velvet making the glinting stone stand out all the more. He couldn’t wait to see it on Willow’s finger. It would pale in comparison to her beauty, or maybe she would amplify its beauty, or maybe, knowing that wearing the ring meant she was his for the rest of forever was the most beautiful thing in the world.
He didn’t know how or when he was going to ask her.
Not now, he knew that much.
Not while she was so focused on Romeo and Juliet. And not while he didn’t have a plan for how they would be together.
He’d looked into some locations for a restaurant in the city, but nothing stood out as the spot, yet. It needed to feel right. The same way spending the rest of forever with Willow felt right. The way he knew the ring he wanted when he’d decided to pop the question. It had belonged to his grandmother and considering he shared a birthday with Willow’s grandfather, it seemed only right that she wear it.
* * *
Even through the grainy connection of their video chat, Harry could see exhaustion etched into Willow’s face. “You look pooped. Do you need to hang up and get to bed?”
She pushed a stray hair out of her face. “No way. I looked forward to this conversation all day. In fact, it was the one thing that kept me from losing it completely.”
While they talked, Harry kept glimpsing the little black box on the table and it warmed him from top to bottom. “What happened, my angel? Tell me all about it.”
“It was just a hundred little things, you know?” Willow sat back and propped an ankle on her knee so she could rub her foot. “I got a painful blister that bled on and off all day. I got in an argument with the guy playing Romeo about one of our lifts. I spilled my coffee in the bathroom. Rehearsal didn’t go well. And all I wanted all day was you.”
“I wish I could rub your feet for you.” He meant it. He wished he could draw her a bubble bath with candles. While she soaked, he would cook them a wonderful dinner.
“I’d kill for that.” She sighed and he could see how much she really meant it.
“What went wrong in rehearsal?”
She pouted. “My Romeo sucks.”
Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean I don’t have to worry about him stealing you away from me?”
“God no.” Willow shook her head. “He doesn’t even like the music. And we can’t agree on the tempo—”
“Wait.” Harry’s eyes widened incredulously. “He doesn’t like the music? Does he not have a soul?”
“Exactly! And he wants all the wrong parts fast and all the worse than wrong parts slow, and his hands are always super sweaty.” She grimaced. “And not only is that gross, but I don’t feel safe. I take his hand and actually slip. I’ve lost my balance twice now because of it. And then, there’s this one really challenging lift and if he doesn’t wipe his hands before he grabs me, I literally slide out of his grasp, which sucks because I’m upside down and over his head and falling is really scary that way.”
“I don’t like that. Not at all. What can you do about Sir Sweaty Palms? Can you bring it up to your boss?”
“I guess I could, but I’m not sure what to do about it. It’s not like they can fire the guy because he sweats.”
“If he hurts you, he’ll end up wishing he was fired.” Harry heard the threat in his voice and dialed it back a notch. “You’re my girl and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”
“The truth is, I thought that getting this part would be the happiest moment in my life, but in reality, it’s just work. And I still want you more than anything. All the rest feels hollow.” She made a gesture that Harry guessed was supposed to mean her life in New York. There was a genuine sadness in her eyes, one he’d seen hints of that very first day she arrived in Bliss, but he didn’t think she realized it existed. As he watched her loose a heavy sigh, it looked like the realization had hit like a freight train.
Harry smiled as brightly as he possibly could. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Enjoy it, my love. Don’t let missing me taint it. I’d feel awful if you couldn’t bask in the glory of your accomplishments because of me.”
Willow shrugged as a tear slid down her cheek. “I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t mean to be a downer.” She leaned in toward the camera and damn if she didn’t look like part of her was breaking. “I love you.”
“Oh, Willow, my sweet, sweet girl. I love you, too.”
“I’m gonna go,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I need a long bath and a long sleep and I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I think that sounds like a great idea, but let me add two more things to your list, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, though it looked like the idea of two more things to do before bed was more than she could handle.
“First, make yourself something decent to eat. No protein bars. Something warm and filled with sustenance.”
She nodded her head in concession. “That’s probably also a really good idea.”
Harry smiled. “Of course it is. That’s the only kind of idea we Moores have.” He waited for her to laugh and was thankful when the sound was genuine. “The second thing is the most important one. You ready?”
“More than you know,” she said and it felt like she was answering more than the question he just asked.
“Okay, the second thing, the biggest most important thing I want you to do is…” Harry paused and lifted an eyebrow. Waited for the smile on her face to grow until it reached her eyes. “Remember that I love you more than anything in this world.”
Willow covered her mouth and her eyebrows drew together as tears glistened in her eyes. “I love you, too,” she said, moving her hand to her chest and trying to smile.
They said their goodbyes, each of them touching the screen as if they could touch each other’s face. Harry took a deep breath as he put down his tablet and picked the little black box off the table. He opened it and pulled the ring out, stuck it as far as it would go on the tip of his finger and studied the gem.
He hated to see Willow so sad.
He only wanted to bring her happiness.
Knowing she was struggling was difficult, but knowing it was because of him weighed on his heart and soul.
If it wasn’t for him, she would be experiencing the most amazing part of her life, with everything lining up in just the way she’d planned.
Dancing the role she had waited her entire life for at the company of her dreams, in front of an audience who—judging by the comments on the YouTube videos he kept watching—loved her almost as much as he did.
Instead, she was exhausted and crying.
Would she still be crying if he hadn’t fallen into her life and knocked over her carefully constructed tower of plans?
If he had never kissed her, would she be worrying about sweaty palms and the speed of the music?
Or would she just be sitting in her apartment each night, shaking her head in wonder at what she’d accomplished?
And there he sat with a ring, ready to swoop down on her again and mess up the future. What if she was meant to live in New York? Could he see himself living there? Could he open a restaurant there and deal with the ridiculous costs and stupid cold winters and people living practically on top of him?
For Willow, he would, but what if he got bitter and pushed her away because he wasn’t meant to live in the city? What if, for all their hoping and dreaming, the whole thing was just an exercise in futility with no way out but a broken heart?
With those questions sickening his stomach, Harry took the ring off his finger, stared at it for a long moment, then put it back in the box and closed the lid.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Willow
Willow sat on the floor outside the studio, her dance bag open, leg warmers and pointe shoes strewn around her. Her first rehearsal had been crazy hard and she didn’t expect the next one to go any easier. Her feet ached
already and for some reason, the pointe shoes she’d worn for the first time that morning were already wearing out. With the state of her poor, aching feet, she didn’t feel like breaking in a new pair in a rehearsal that was sure to prove challenging enough on its own. For that matter, she didn’t feel much like wasting her lunchbreak sewing on the ribbons and elastic that fastened them to her feet, but that was exactly what needed to happen.
“Willow?” An older woman swathed in a voluminous flowered dress that skimmed the floor appeared from the hallway leading back to the elevators.
Willow looked up, pulling her needle through the satin of her shoe. “That’s me.”
“A package came for you in the main office downstairs.” The woman held out a medium-sized brown box.
“For me?” Willow put down the pointe shoe and reached for the box, only to push up off the floor when it became obvious that the woman wasn’t able to bend down. The package was lighter than it looked, and Willow thanked the woman for taking the time to find her.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, wringing her hands and smiling. “It’s absolutely my pleasure.” Recognizing a fan, Willow smiled and waited patiently for her to say something else. After a few awkward moments of eye contact, the office worker suddenly became aware of herself, dropped her hands to her sides, then lumbered down the hall in an explosion of movement and color as her dress swirled around her.
“That wasn’t awkward at all, was it?” Sasha had an appointment with the physical therapist and was sitting at a nearby table, her crutches leaning against the wall beside her and her foot propped up on a chair. “Does that happen to you a lot?”
“Around here.” Willow shrugged. “Usually they say something or ask for an autograph so that’s why I just stayed quiet. I didn’t mean to weird her out and make her run away. I’ll have to figure out who she is and send a note or something.”
Sasha adjusted the Velcro on the air cast stabilizing her ankle. “Are you going to open that or not?” she asked, gesturing toward the box.
Willow studied the plain exterior. “I wonder what it is. You think it’s from a fan?”
“You know the best way to find out?”
“How?” Willow looked up, expecting a genuine answer.
“Open the damn thing!”
She wrestled with the packing tape for a few seconds before she remembered her sewing kit was somewhere in the pile of stuff on the floor around her. She dug into the box and found a note that simply said protecting what’s mine. Still confused, she pulled out one of several white boxes labeled as athletic chalk.
Sasha grabbed one of them and frowned as she turned it over in her hand. “What the hell is that all about?”
“Harry taking care of me.” A smile stretched long and wonderful across Willow’s face and suddenly, she didn’t feel so bad about having to sew a new pair of pointe shoes.
Sasha shook her head. “What is it?”
Willow threw a few quick glances over her shoulder to make certain no one was in earshot. “Remember that sweaty palm issue I told you about?”
Sasha leaned forward, nodding. “Yeah.” She turned the box over again and read the label. Her eyes lit up. “Harry sent you athletic chalk? Like, for his hands?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. The note just says protecting what’s mine.”
Sasha sat back in her chair and put her hand to her heart. “Oh, wow. That’s so romantic.” She sighed and closed her eyes before hitting Willow with a knowing look. “And totally practical.”
That was her Harry. Totally romantic. Perfectly protective. Sweet and caring and practical as all hell. Feeling better about the day, Willow finished sewing her pointe shoes with a smile and went to work breaking them in.
Maybe the next rehearsal wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
* * *
“Not like that.”
The pianist played a few more notes before she lifted her fingers from the keys while Willow pulled her hand out of Giuseppe’s grasp and swiped at the streaks of chalk on her leotard. She threw an apologetic look at the director who crossed his arms over his chest.
Rehearsal had not been going well.
“I’m really not trying to be difficult,” she said and meant it. She was never one to be fussy with her partner and always waited for the director to stop them if things weren’t going well. “It’s just that he can’t take my hand like that.”
Giuseppe sat back on his heel and dropped his jaw. “Why can’t I take your hand like that?”
“When you grab me like that it hurts, but that’s not really the problem,” she said, mostly to the director. “It’s just that, you need to take my hand like it’s the most precious thing to you. Almost reverently, you know? But in the same instant, you need to claim it as yours. A woman needs both tenderness and strength from her man.”
“Honey,” said Giuseppe, jutting a hip and arching one highly groomed eyebrow. “I know how to touch a woman.”
Willow highly doubted that was true but didn’t comment. “Just try it.” She held out her hand.
Giuseppe pursed his lips and rolled his eyes before sighing and looking at the director. He flared his hands as if asking for help. When the director waved him on, Giuseppe blew into his palm and shook it in the air to dry the sweat. He looked at Juliet’s outstretched hand and put the sappiest look of need all over his face. Reached out slowly, as if he were afraid to touch her, then at the last moment, snatched her hand and pulled her toward him. Willow actually stumbled a few steps and yelped in surprise.
“Like that?” Giuseppe asked and Willow couldn’t decide if he was being sincere or not.
She glanced at the director again, feeling absolutely awful that she was acting like such a diva. “Here,” she said. “Hold out your hand. Maybe I’m explaining it wrong.”
Giuseppe rolled his eyes again but did what she asked. Willow took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Thought about all the times Harry had touched her. The way it felt, like he was protecting her and claiming her in the same instant. How good she felt when he did it. The shivers of wonderfulness that went through her body.
She thought about how safe he made her feel. How cherished. She imagined each and every detail of his movement. The look in his eyes. The angle of his wrist. The way he held his fingers.
When she opened her eyes, she looked at Giuseppe’s hand as if she were Harry looking at her own. She reached out, careful to mimic the way he threaded his fingers with hers, doing her damnedest to channel him completely. If ever there was a way for a man to touch a woman and communicate his love for the whole world to understand, it was the way Harry touched her.
“Like that,” she said, looking at Giuseppe who had a strange look on his face. “Like you love me and would do anything to protect me. Like you want me more than anything in the world and would never hurt me. Not if your whole life depended on it.”
Willow turned to the director who was leaning forward in his chair, nodding appreciatively. “I’d say she’s right,” he said to Giuseppe who also nodded his agreement, no longer looking frustrated in the least. “Do you think you can do it like that?”
“If she shows me a few more times.” Giuseppe turned to Willow. “Where did you learn that?”
She glanced at the director who appeared just as interested to know her answer. “That’s how my boyfriend touches me,” she said without thinking.
Giuseppe whistled and fanned his face. “Day-um.” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “And you’re still here? If I had someone touching me like that? If that’s the really-for-real way he touches you, girl, I wouldn’t leave his side for nothing.”
Something stabbed Willow in the heart and shock dropped her jaw.
Giuseppe was right.
He was a sweaty ass, but he was right.
What in the world was she doing in New York when she had someone like Harry waiting for her in Bliss? She’d found true happiness and chose to pursue her career instead. Did she really believe tha
t at the end of it all, her resume was going to be what truly mattered?
What if, at the end of this season, she called it quits?
What if she moved to Bliss to be with Harry?
She smiled. Her heart expanded with the idea.
For the first time in a long time, she looked toward the future and felt happy.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Willow
Willow smiled at Harry’s image on her tablet and waited for his eyes to focus on her. “The chalk has actually been helping.”
“Has it?” He smiled weakly as his gaze darted toward something just off camera. “That’s great, babe,” he said without sounding enthusiastic.
“Yep,” Willow said, really popping the ‘p’ on the end of the word. “And rehearsal was pretty amazing today, too.”
She wanted to tell him it was all thanks to him. She wanted to tell him she had described the way he touched her and how it had the director nodding in agreement and looking at her differently. She wanted to tell him that she realized something so life-changingly significant that day—that she realized loving him was the most important thing she saw when she looked toward her future.
But it wasn’t the right time for that, when he so obviously wasn’t present.
“Was it?” Another glance away from the screen. “Good.” Another weak smile.
“Hey,” she practically whispered. Worry clenched her stomach into a ball of tension. “What’s wrong?”
Harry let out a long breath and refocused on the tablet, doing his best to pull off a real smile. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“You might fool someone else with that bullshit, but you’re not fooling me.”
He let out a surprised laugh, more cough than anything. “Just have my mind on something, I guess. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, but that’s why I’m here, right?” She swallowed hard and tried to keep the panic in her stomach from closing her throat against her words. “Tell me what's bothering you and I can help.”
