Someone to Love--A Darling, VT Novel

by Donna Alward

  “Are we starting a thing, here, Ethan?” She met his gaze, her face utterly serious. “We had a great time at the movie, and after … but you stopped, and for a good reason. Tonight we took a step back to something more casual, but we’re still … well, I’m here. I know I give you mixed signals. It’s just hard for me to trust.”

  It had to be something pretty big for her to be so serious and so hesitant to share. “Does this have to do with why you’ve got that tattoo?”

  She nodded. “It does. And I haven’t told anyone. Not even Laurel, or Hannah. And I don’t want to tell you, either, but I feel I should if we’re moving into relationship territory.”

  He hesitated. Took another drink of beer. She had a sip of her wine. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally said, frowning at the flames. “I like being with you. I want to spend time with you. I think about kissing you … but I’m scared to put a label on what we have. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not sure I’m ready for anything as heavy as an actual relationship.”

  “I understand.”

  “You need to know that. I don’t want to stop seeing you, but I understand if it’s not enough for you.”

  She laughed a little, but it was a sad sound. “I’m not exactly sure what a healthy relationship looks like. I have my own reservations. Not about you … about me.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But I like being with you. And the boys … maybe we just need to take time to sort things out.”

  He looked over again. She sipped her wine, and the flames danced over her face and through the globe of her wineglass.

  “Have you wondered if we’re both just too damaged to do this?”

  He was surprised he’d actually voiced that concern. He’d known from the beginning that there were shadows in her past. Even if she hadn’t named them, they were there. Sure, she seemed happy and … serene. Yes, that was it. But his initial impression of her had certainly changed. There was a depth that wasn’t noticeable at first glance.

  She nodded. “You threaten everything I’ve worked for,” she whispered. “My peace of mind. My confidence and security. You make me doubt. Sometimes I’ve wondered if you’re meant to be a test for me. Or if you are meant to show me that I still have work to do. I thought I was whole. I think that might have been arrogant of me.”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. Being with someone … it was supposed to make you more, not less. “You’ve made my life better,” he replied. “But I think you’re saying that I haven’t done the same for you.” It hurt to think he’d failed in that way.

  “Oh, that’s not it at all!” She turned in her chair and faced him head on. “Oh, Ethan. I don’t mean for you to feel that way. You have made things better. If anything, it’s made me take a good hard look at myself and realize what I’ve been missing.”

  “Missing?”

  She nodded. “Love. Intimacy. The need to let myself be vulnerable. I’ve been looking inward to acceptance and happiness, and that’s wonderful, but I’ve held myself back. I’ve avoided taking chances so that I wouldn’t get hurt. That’s not very realistic.”

  It was a heavy sort of conversation to have. He took another drink of his beer, and then held out his hand. “Take my hand,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while. We can take this slow. We can avoid labels. We don’t have to define anything.”

  A slow smile spread across her face as she put her fingers in his. “We can just be,” she agreed. “In the moment. It’s really the only way to live. We can’t change the past, Ethan. And we can’t predict the future. But sitting in front of a fire with you is a very nice now to be in.”

  Her hand was small and soft in his, and felt a bit foreign but also very right.

  They sat there for a long time, until their drinks were gone and the fire was down to embers. Then, when the moon was high over the trees, they let go with a sigh.

  CHAPTER 14

  In the week leading up to the Labor Day weekend, Willow and Ethan snuck precious hours away to hang out. She went to Connor and Ronan’s soccer game. He stopped in for coffee one morning on his way to his doctor appointment, to get the all-clear for his return to work the second week of September. There was a midweek supper at his family’s place, where Rory told a story about Oaklee Collier hitting a stray dog and bringing it to the clinic, and then taking it home with her again a few days later, rather than sending it to the shelter. He had them all laughing when he told them about the dog peeing on her Kate Spade bag. Clearly the dog, affectionately named Buster, didn’t care a bit about brand names.

  But on Thursday, Ethan dropped the boys at their grandparents in Montpelier. They’d spend the long weekend there, and be back just before school started. Ronan would be in preschool and Connor would be starting first grade. In the meantime, Ethan had asked Willow on a bona fide date—no kids. Actual dinner, not at the café or diner but at the dining room of a local inn. Laurel had suggested it, since Aiden had taken her there when they’d been dating.

  Right now Willow was going through her closet looking for something suitable to wear. She’d thought about asking Hannah to help, but it was a little awkward, asking for wardrobe help to go on a date with her brother. She’d left Emily in charge of the café—yet again—and was now scouring her closet for something a bit fancier than normal. Other than her usual maxi-dresses, the only thing she had was the bridesmaid dress from Laurel’s wedding, and it was far too fancy.

  When she heard the knock at the door her heart took a leap. The clock beside her bed said six-thirty, so it couldn’t be Ethan. She tightened her robe and hustled to the door, hoping it wasn’t something with the café. Nervous as she was, she was excited about the date. It felt grown up. Premeditated in a way the others hadn’t been. Not casual like a movie, or “friendly” like spaghetti and a campfire.

  She opened the door and saw Laurel standing there, grinning like a fool, holding a white garment bag in her hands.

  “I figured that right about now, you’d be in your closet, despairing of something to wear,” Laurel announced, and slid by Willow into the apartment. “Your hippy-dippy stuff isn’t going to cut it at the inn. And you can’t exactly show up in jeans and a pair of sandals.

  Willow let out a breath. “This is so not like me! I don’t get nervous before dates!”

  “I know. You’re the voice of reason. I haven’t forgotten the bottle of wine we shared in my garden right around the time Aiden was sniffing around.” She smiled. “I have to be honest. It’s kind of gratifying to see the guru of sense be in a bit of a flap over a man. Even better that it’s Ethan.”

  Willow wasn’t sure whether to protest the guru bit, or that she was in a flap, or why Laurel was so happy it was Ethan. She wiggled her fingers. “Are you going to torture me all night, or show me what’s in your bag?”

  Laurel giggled. “Sure. But first … you need something to loosen up.”

  She pulled a small bottle out of her purse, one of those mini bottles of champagne that held maybe two glasses. “You want to pop it or shall I?”

  “I’m not starting this date tipsy.”

  “Puhleeeze.” Laurel drew out the word. “A thimbleful of champagne will just smooth your rough edges.” Laurel dropped the bag on the futon and took the foil off the bottle. In seconds she’d popped the cork and was headed to the kitchen for a glass.

  “Here,” she ordered. “Drink this.”

  Willow did what she was told. Why was she so wound up? Maybe because she’d never eaten at the inn before. Maybe because she knew there would be no Connor and Ronan at home, or a babysitter that needed to be relieved. Nothing would stand in their way tonight, except whatever barriers they put up themselves. And she wasn’t sure how sturdy hers were.

  The champagne was dry and fizzy and she let the bubbles sit on her tongue. “Okay,” she finally said, taking a deep breath. “Show me what you brought over.”

  “Well,” Laurel said, reaching for the zipper, “you’re smaller than me,
particularly now since my buttons are all feeling tight. I picked out a few pretty things that I had left from when I was working in the office. No power suits—that’s not you. But a few cocktail dresses I wore to events that you might like.”

  She pulled out a few hangers, and Willow perused the selections.

  There was a red one that was cute, a shimmery fabric that would ride the hips snugly, had adorable cap sleeves, and a frilly peplum at the waist. It would suit Laurel, but not her. “Cute, but a little too…”

  “Yeah, I thought you might say that. It’s a bit stiff for you. How about this one?”

  Next was a tank-style in a rose pink with a lace overdress. Feminine and a bit softer, but still not quite right.

  “Your legs would look great in this one, Wil. And the color suits your complexion.”

  “Maybe. What else?”

  The dress on the third hanger made Willow catch her breath. Ivory chiffon draped from tiny straps, creating airy folds around the neckline. The body was shaped to fit the figure but the skirt was a bit flowy, and the best part was the back. It was mostly backless, with a sparkly spiderweb of straps that she guessed would ride from just above her waist to the hollow of her spine.

  It was feminine and sexy and had a wow factor Willow couldn’t deny.

  “I knew that would be the one,” Laurel said softly. “Let’s go try it on.”

  “But … I can’t wear a bra with it.”

  Laurel laughed. “Sweetie, you are still young and firm and perky. Besides, the dress fits snugly, and the drape at the neck will help. Trust me.”

  Willow did. Laurel took another small bag out of her purse and handed it over. “You need seriously skimpy skivvies to pull this off.”

  “You bought me underwear?”

  “I’m not sure you can call it underwear without feeling overdressed. But I knew you’d want to wear something…”

  Willow opened the bag and drew out what she figured looked like a doily swatch with a shoestring attached. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You don’t want lines, and you can’t have anything that goes up high on your waist with this dress.”

  “I’ve never worn anything like this in my life.”

  “It’s bamboo. Sustainable and all that. Of course, not very sustainable if Ethan rips it off you later.”

  “Laurel!” Oh God. That was so not what she needed to hear right now. “It’s not like that.”

  “Well, shit. That’s disappointing.”

  Willow shook her head. “Why do I call you my best friend again?”

  “Just put it on.”

  Willow shimmied into the tiny thong and then into the dress. She had to admit, the lack of undergarments felt just a little bit naughty. Laurel had been right—the bodice hugged her figure while the draped neckline made the dress look soft and classy. When she looked in the mirror, she did a half turn and gaped at the open back and the shimmering web of crystals that crossed her lower back. “Oh, wow.”

  “Right? And if you say that about yourself, imagine what’s going to happen to Ethan’s eyeballs.”

  Laurel disappeared into Willow’s closet and came back out with the delicate sandals Willow had worn to Laurel’s wedding. “Put these on. Oh, good. You painted your toenails. Pink is perfect.” She got down on her knees and fastened the straps, then stood up again and stepped back. “Nearly ready.”

  “There’s more, fairy godmother? What are you going to do, turn Ethan’s SUV into a carriage? Or maybe one of my yoga mats into a flying carpet?”

  Laurel grinned. “Drink your champagne while I dig through your jewelry box.”

  Who was she to argue? So far Laurel had been bang on with her choices. She sat on the edge of the bed and sipped from the glass, trying to remain calm. Moments later Laurel returned, holding a simple strand of pearls in her fingers.

  “Oh,” Willow said quietly. “Those were my grandmother’s. She left them to me.”

  “I didn’t even know you had a grandmother. You’ve never said anything about her.”

  “I only remember seeing her twice. Mom didn’t visit much, and she died when I was fifteen. Family never seemed very important to my mom, you know?”

  “Well, maybe it can be important to you. You get to decide now.”

  “You’re starting to sound like me.”

  “I try. You give good advice. Except to yourself. Here, let me hook these. And your hair. Your makeup is fine—understated suits you. But your hair needs to be up, and showcase that gorgeous long neck. French roll? Chignon? No braids today. You need less free spirit, more class.”

  In the end Ethan arrived as Willow was still putting the finishing touches on a loose roll, anchoring it in place with a few pins with little silk flowers on the ends. She heard Laurel’s voice as she welcomed him at the door and then Ethan’s answering one, deeper, and she pressed a hand to her belly as nerves began to quiver there.

  For a fleeting moment, it felt as if all the years of work—the body image acceptance, the self-worth, the peace and confidence—all led to this moment. She felt as beautiful as she ever had, and unbelievably sexy. Maybe that was the piece of the puzzle that had been missing. She’d never truly embraced her sexual self.

  But rather than examine that whole issue right now, a very hunky firefighter was waiting for her to go to dinner.

  She stepped out of her bedroom to the open part of the apartment and watched as Ethan’s eyes widened and his lips dropped open.

  “Well. I can see my work is done.” Laurel reached over and touched Ethan’s chin, closing his mouth. “You two have fun, now.”

  Willow’s gaze flitted to her best friend. “Thanks, Laurel.”

  “Anytime, kitten.”

  She shut the door behind her.

  “Wow,” Ethan said, his gaze traveling over her. “You look … wow.”

  “Laurel loaned me the dress.” She felt stupid as soon as she said it. Why couldn’t she have just said thank you?

  “It suits you. You’re beautiful.”

  She felt her cheeks heat, but this time she just offered a bashful, “Thanks.” She reached for her purse, which now looked old and frumpy next to such a pretty dress. “You’re looking pretty spiffy yourself.” She smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little. He was looking at her as if she was dessert, and while she didn’t know where things would lead tonight, she was pretty sure they should at least try to have dinner first.

  “I clean up once in a while,” he replied.

  Indeed he did. He hadn’t worn a suit—the weather was still quite hot—but he wore tan dress pants, a crisp white shirt that fit perfectly over his broad shoulders, and a precisely knotted tie in blue and beige stripes. When he turned to open her door, her gaze dropped to how the expensive trousers fit his backside and she pressed a hand to her belly again. They’d preened and primped for tonight, hadn’t they? In hopes of what?

  He opened her door and solicitously shut it again, then crawled in his side and adjusted the air-conditioning before ever pulling out onto the street again. To her immense relief, he started talking about the boys’ trip to their grandparents during the drive, and Willow started to find her bearings again. She wondered, though, if she was glowing as much on the outside as she was on the inside—and it had very little to do with the glass of champagne she’d already had.

  The inn was situated on rolling grounds with beautiful gardens. The restaurant was known as the finest of its kind in the county, and Willow looked all around her as they were ushered to a table for two that was set back in a corner, next to a window overlooking a marvelous bed of dahlias and asters in full bloom.

  “This is really lovely,” she commented. “Laurel must have gone crazy with all the gardens. She and Aiden came here earlier in the summer.”

  “Our family’s been here a few times. And I came here one year on…”

  He halted his sentence.

  “You can say it, you know,” Willow said softly, and reached out to touch his
hand. “You and Lisa came here, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “For her thirtieth birthday. It was just before her diagnosis.”

  “Then it was probably one of the happier memories, huh?” Willow smiled at him. There was no sense pretending that Lisa had never existed. Willow just didn’t want to be compared to her.

  A waitress came over and took their drink orders. Willow didn’t usually indulge in anything other than wine, but there was something on the menu called a Gatsby’s Girl that sounded delicious. Wasn’t tonight an occasion for fancy drinks? If not, what was?

  The drinks arrived and then they ordered appetizers: a berry and greens salad for Willow, while Ethan ordered calamari. Willow sipped at her drink and felt both indulgent and delighted. They chatted and laughed lightly, talking of inconsequential things, while the romance of the setting swirled around them. Her salad arrived, as did his calamari; they exchanged bites and pronounced both delicious. By the time they were finished, their entrees arrived. Willow looked down at the decadent crab cakes and wondered how she could possibly eat it all. Ethan’s chicken was savory and rich with vegetables. Soft music played in the background.

  Ethan ordered another iced tea for himself and another cocktail for Willow, and she wasn’t sure she should. She was already feeling a little lightheaded … or was that because of the company she kept? The lobster béchamel on the crab did indeed make it too rich to finish, so she pushed the remainder aside as they lingered over last sips. Neither felt in the mood for dessert, so Ethan paid the bill and they decided to take a walk through the gardens instead.

  She watched, fascinated, as Ethan rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, then loosened his tie, slipped it off, and stuffed it in his pocket. Oh my. The pressed-and-dressed Ethan had been exciting and oh-so-handsome, but she much preferred this look—slightly undone and more relaxed. He reached down for her hand and she took it, looking at their linked fingers, noticing the fine bronze hairs on his arm, and the light freckles on his skin. It wasn’t hard to see his Irish roots.