by Donna Alward
“Let me help you,” she suggested, reaching for her plate and cutlery.
“You’re our guest tonight. Sit back and relax.”
She pondered a minute, wondering how to proceed. She was a guest and yet she was made to feel like part of the gang. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it hadn’t been a particularly romantic meal either. “Honestly, it’s no biggie. We can clean it up together, and it’ll take half the time.”
“You’re sure? Because this won’t take long at all.”
She nodded. “We’re just … friends, having dinner. It’s no big deal, right?”
His eyes met hers, and looked slightly troubled. “Friends,” he replied carefully.
Willow’s stomach twisted as nerves got the best of her. “Well, I thought after the other night, we agreed that this needed to be low-key.”
“Low-key is not the same as friends.”
Oh my.
“I just thought…”
“I kissed you. Did that feel friendly?”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and tight. “Not … exactly.”
“Maybe we just took things too fast, that’s all. That’s what I meant. I want to be fair to you. I want to be fair to me. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see where this might lead.”
Oh my.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he added.
She could say she had. She could do that and walk away and retreat into her safe little bubble. It was comfortable there. It was familiar. That bubble was built on self-acceptance and love and peace, and reinforced with principles she believed in. But it was still a bubble, with fragile walls that kept her protected from the scariest emotions.
Agreeing to take things slowly meant popping that bubble and stepping, ever so cautiously, into something new, without protection. It meant risk. The idea made her heart seize a bit, but there was longing, too. And a knowledge that perhaps her bubble had been holding her back.
Of course, she could be completely wrong.
“Slowly is probably the best way,” she agreed, nodding slightly. “I’m just so out of practice—”
He laughed. “You think you are? The thing is, I don’t want to hurt you, either, Willow. I think we’ve started something but I’m very unsure, and I don’t want to drag you into something that might … oh, shit. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“You’re saying you want to move on with your life. You want to feel again. But you don’t want me to be a casualty if it doesn’t work out.” She stepped forward, took the plate from his hand, and put it on the counter. Then she folded his hand into hers. “Which just proves that you are a good guy, Ethan. A lot of guys wouldn’t take that into consideration. And I’m in the same predicament. I don’t know if I’m ready, and I don’t want to hurt you, either.”
“So we could end it now, but—”
“But it still means that we’re probably going to have to deal with putting ourselves out there at some point. We got off to a rocky start. We’re very different in so many ways. But we’re alike in a lot of ways, too. Maybe we can agree to just be honest about how we’re feeling. Not expect too much of each other. Take it slow, like you said.”
“I like you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “A lot. I’m just not sure I’m ready to think about falling in love again.”
There went her stomach again. “Hey, listen. I know I practice all this inner-peace stuff, but there are still things that scare me. Love is top of the list.”
His thumb rubbed along the top of her hand. “Who hurt you, Willow?” He pulled her in close, into an easy hug that spoke of affection and comfort and caring. “Even if I’m not ready, it’s not loving that scares me. Losing does. But love … it shouldn’t hurt when you’re in it.”
A lump formed in her throat, lodged painfully there and she tried to swallow around it.
“Ethan, I…”
“Dad! Can we have Willow’s brownies now?”
Connor came running into the kitchen, halting whatever Willow was going to say. Ethan sent her a telling look. “Saved by the kid,” he said quietly. “But not off the hook. We’ll continue this later.”
Ethan moved to get the dish of brownies. Willow watched him with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her intuition said that things were about to get a whole lot more personal.
CHAPTER 13
Ethan was nowhere near as composed as he put on. Dinner had been easy … too easy. He’d wondered how it would feel to have a woman here, in the home he’d shared with his wife. He’d wondered if it would be awkward, or feel simply wrong.
Instead she’d come inside and fit in as if she belonged. He hadn’t thought of Lisa once during dinner, but he’d found himself staring at Willow’s lips, wondering when he could kiss her again. He couldn’t deny the chemistry was off the charts, but it worried him, too. Was it his dry spell making him so crazy? Was that being fair to Willow? The last thing he wanted to do was string her along.
Or was it something more? And that was an even scarier proposition.
The boys were bathed and in pajamas when Ethan thought a fire in the backyard pit might be a good idea. Despite having brownies earlier, a good campfire meant some sort of treat cooked over an open flame. He gave the boys a cookie sheet as a tray and let them get out white bread and butter while he opened a can of apple pie filling and put in in a bowl. Willow was in charge of putting the chairs around the fire pit and he took a hatchet and shaved off some kindling to get things started. Within a few minutes the dry spruce started crackling and he looked up at Willow with a grin on his face. “Ah. My manhood is still intact.”
She laughed, and the light sound rippled through the lavender twilight. Ronan opened the sliding door and Connor came out, carefully carrying the tray of pie fixings. “So, I’ve heard of a lot of campfire treats, but this whole pie thing has me puzzled.”
“It’s pretty sinful, particularly to someone like you.” He went to Connor and took the tray, then set it on a small table. “Horrible, horrible white bread. Butter. And pie filling from a can. But I promise, it’s delicious.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t. But how do you do it?”
Connor and Ronan had zipped back inside to get milk. Ethan added wood to the fire and stood back, satisfied with the hum and snap of the flames. “This has to burn down a bit. Then we use these.” He held up a strange apparatus—a long handle with a square metal box on the end. “It’s a pie iron. Or sandwich. These aren’t cast iron, because iron is too heavy for the boys. We’ve done grilled cheese, pizza pockets, pie…”
When he chanced a look over at her, she was grinning from ear to ear. “What?”
“I was just thinking I’ve never done this in my life. My high school campfires were more like chips and vodka coolers on the sly.”
“You’ve never been camping?”
“No. It was just me and my mom, and…”
Her face changed when she stopped talking. Ethan frowned. She said so little about her life before. Had she really been so unhappy, then? It hurt his heart a little to think of it. She was so full of life, so bubbly and smiling all the time. The thought of her being sad seemed so wrong.
He sat down in the camp chair beside her. “And what? I take it she wasn’t the outdoor type?”
Willow laughed, but it was a humorless sound. “My mom was a workaholic. She did a great job providing for us, and as a single mom I know it had to be really difficult for her. But…” She sighed. “It wasn’t a particularly loving environment, that’s all. I felt in the way a lot of the time. Like an imposition.”
Ethan thought back to his own childhood. He’d had his brothers and sisters to both play with and aggravate. His parents had always been loving and involved in their kids’ lives. Sure, they’d done their share of “get out of the house and go play so we can have some peace and quiet,” but their family had always been one of love and acceptance.
“You must have been really lonely.”
�
��Friends got me through. Until…”
Once more she paused. Ethan was going to ask her “until what” except Connor and Ronan came back, carrying plastic cups with lids and straws filled with milk.
“Is it time, Daddy?” Ronan practically bounced on his toes, excited for his treat.
“Just about. Let’s get them made, and by that time, the fire should be ready. You want to help, Willow?”
“Sure,” she answered, her easy smile back on her face.
The four of them built the “pies” by buttering bread, sandwiching the slices together with pie filling, and closing the presses. Ethan arranged the boys’ chairs so they were close to the fire but not too close, and they carefully held out the long handles so the pies were nestled in the flames.
“Once they have theirs, we can make ours,” Ethan said. “We’ll have to check them in a few minutes. Once they get a little brown, you flip them over and do the other side.”
They watched the boys carefully, and checked the pies for doneness, flipped them over, and watched again. When they were golden brown on each side, Ethan carefully turned them out onto plates to cool. The boys were practically dancing with impatience, but Ethan made them wait. Burned tongues weren’t fun.
In the meantime, he and Willow made their pies and put them in the irons. At that point the boys weren’t going to wait any longer, so Ethan sat them down in their chairs with their milk and apple pies and he handed one of the irons to Willow.
She looked over at him as she held her iron in the flames. “This is fun. Do you do this a lot?”
He shrugged. “In the summer? Usually once a week or so. Either here or at Mom and Dad’s. Though it’s usually s’mores over there. He says they’re for the boys, but Pop loves them.”
“You have a great family, Ethan. I mean, I knew that from talking to Hannah and Laurel, but the more I know them, the more I realize how wonderful they are. And rare.”
He hadn’t really thought of it that way before. Sure, he appreciated them, but there was also the assumption that this was how families were. Boy, he’d been naïve. And had maybe taken them for granted.
He looked over at the boys. They were sitting in their chairs, talking to each other, milk cups in the chair cup holders and half-eaten pies on their laps. For the first time in a long time, he felt lucky. Thankful. There was a lot to be thankful for, really, but he’d been too caught up in what he’d lost, and trying to be a single dad, that he’d stopped noticing.
Willow opened her pie iron and checked her pie, then latched it closed again and flipped it over to toast the other side. A lump formed in his throat as he watched her. He and Lisa had only managed to do this a few times with the kids. Ronan was too little to remember, and Connor had been the age Ronan was now. Even then, she’d been so sick that she’d sat in her chair and watched more than participated.
Those end days had been beautiful and awful. For a long time, Ethan had felt as if he’d died right along with her. But now Willow was here, and she was so vibrant. So alive. And she made him feel alive, too. No matter where this ended up going, he would always be thankful for that.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked. The firelight flickered over her smooth skin, and made orangey lights in her blond hair.
He turned away, embarrassed at being caught. “Oh, just enjoying myself, I suppose. Your pie’s probably done. I’ll put it on a plate for you.”
She handed him her contraption and he busied himself with putting the pies on plates and then setting the irons aside to cool. When he took her the plate, their fingers brushed lightly, and she looked up and met his gaze. A jolt of something zipped through his fingertips, but then she licked her lips—had that been intentional? He didn’t think so. Willow wasn’t the kind to be deliberately provocative.
He cleared his throat and took his hand away, then went to put more wood on the fire.
“This is delicious,” Willow said, and he turned to find her nibbling on the hot pocket. “It shouldn’t be, but oh my.”
Connor nodded. “Apple is my favorite. Aunt Hannah likes cherry.”
“What about you, Ronan? What’s your favorite?”
“Strawberry,” he said. “But I like apple, too. Grammie Susan makes the best apple pie.”
“I bet she does,” Willow answered, and looked at Ethan. “Maternal grandmother?” she asked in a low voice.
He nodded. “Lisa’s family lives in Montpelier. The boys are actually going to visit next week for a few days.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It’ll be quiet around here for sure.”
A new awareness filled the air between them. Ethan would be home but without the boys to run interference … or get in the way. Did he want to see Willow again? Did he want to be uninterrupted? Would he back off once again if things got a bit intense? Man, he’d figured he wouldn’t have to do this dating thing ever again, but here he was. Caught between a memory and a possibility, afraid to let go of one and afraid to embrace the other.
He was an idiot. Why the hell was he overthinking this so much?
And then he looked at Willow, with her very personal tattoo and the sad face when he talked about his big family and knew it was because she mattered. Knew that despite how cranky and broody he appeared on the outside, on the inside he would never deliberately want to hurt a living soul. And certainly wouldn’t want to use someone for his own ends.
Maybe he should just back off. Until he was sure he was ready.
And then she looked up at him with her half-eaten pie and smiled at him and something warm expanded in his chest.
He was falling for her. Despite all the cautions, despite all the red flags, despite their different upbringings and views, he cared.
“Boys, it’s time for bed. Finish up your milk, and then we’ll go in and brush your teeth.”
“Awww, Dad,” Connor complained. “Do we have to?”
“Yes. It’s already past your bedtime. Say good night to Willow.”
With grumbling and much slumping, the boys crawled out of their camp chairs and heaved disappointed sighs. “When I grow up, I’m going to stay up as late as I want,” Connor mumbled.
Ethan chuckled, and saw Willow hide a smile.
“G’night, Willow.”
“Good night, Connor.”
“Night, Wil-low,” echoed Ronan. But he went over to her chair and went up on his toes to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Flirt,” Ethan accused, trying to ignore the ache inside at the gesture.
“Good night, sweetheart,” she whispered, a telltale catch in her voice.
The boys ran off to the house, leaving Ethan and Willow alone. “Gosh, they’re so sweet. Especially Ronan.”
Ethan laughed. “He knows how to play you.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said staunchly, defending Ronan. “There’s not a manipulative bone in his body.”
“See? You’re completely fooled.”
She smiled in return and sat back in her chair. “You know, when we first met, I felt sorry for your kids. You seemed so cranky. So…”
“Not fun?”
“Yeah. That.”
“I’m not always fun. Sometimes I’m tired. Sometimes I’m frustrated.” He took a chance and made a confession. “You’ve been good for me, Willow. I’d spent a lot of time with my family, but didn’t make any time for friends. I think I was worried that they’d treat me like the fragile widower. Or that I’d just drag people down, so I stayed away.”
“Not worried about dragging me down?” she asked, and he saw a twinkle in her eyes in the firelight.
“That’s what I like about you. You can tease and hit me with honesty all at the same time. You don’t treat me with kid gloves.”
“Well, I’d been hiding away a bit myself, so I guess I’ll return the favor and say that you’ve made me broaden my perspective.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a criticism.”
“The jury’s still out.”
Damn. She knew how to keep him on his toes, and he liked it. A lot.
“You go see to the boys,” she suggested. “The fire’s burning down a bit now, so I’ll tidy up the food mess.”
“Stay for a glass of wine? A beer? We could put another log on the fire and chill.”
Wow, wasn’t he the exciting host? Sitting around the backyard. He was sure she’d say she needed to head out, but instead she gathered plates and smiled. “That sounds nice.”
He went inside and supervised the brushing of teeth and tucked the boys into bed. Well past their regular bedtime, both burrowed under the covers, their heads smelling a little like the smoke from the fire, their mouths like mint and apple mixed together.
“Good night, boys.”
“’Night, Dad.” Connor yawned and rolled to his side. Ronan didn’t even answer, he simply closed his eyes and was out.
Ethan shut the door behind him, then hesitated for a minute. It had been a year and a half, maybe longer, since he’d tucked the boys into bed and looked forward to private moments with a woman. It was something he’d never actually thought he’d have again. For the longest time, it had felt as if he’d never move past his grief and loneliness. He hated to admit it, but perhaps everyone who’d said “It gets better” was right after all.
Willow was still sitting by the fire, staring into the flames that were softer now. He handed her a glass of wine, twisted the top off his own beer, and sank into the chair with a sigh.
“You got the monkeys off to bed?” she asked softly.
“It wasn’t hard. They were pooped.” He smiled a little. “Ronan was asleep before his head hit the pillow.”
“They’re great kids, Ethan. I know it’s got to be hard, but they really are terrific.”
“And busy, and dirty…”
“And little boys. They’re just being kids.”
“Have you ever thought of having your own?” he asked. “You’re so good with them. Honestly, I find it hard to believe you’re still single.”
She didn’t answer, so he took a swig of his beer and turned his head to look at her. Once more, the troubled look on her face gave him pause. “Willow? What’s wrong?”
