by Abby Brooks
“Wise women, you and your mama.”
Willow laughed and turned to stare into the darkening sky stretching out over the water. “It’s beautiful here. So open. So…” She flared those long fingers as she sought out the most appropriate word. “Put it this way. I’m used to hustle and bustle and buildings packed in so close together that they had nowhere to go but up. I’m used to strangers crowded against me and noise. So much noise. All this wide open space makes me feel vulnerable somehow.”
“That’s funny. I’ve been to the city a few times and always love the energy for the first couple of days. But after about a week, I end up craving the sea and the sky.”
Willow gave him a smile and then turned back to study the water. She fell silent, lost in her thoughts and as much as Harry appreciated the silence, he yearned to hear her voice again. Needed to know what she was thinking and feeling. Wanted to know more about her and the only way to do that was to get her speaking again, no matter at all how much he enjoyed being quiet.
“Did you grow up in the city?” he asked.
“I grew up in a city, not the city.” The wind tossed her hair across her face again and she tucked a 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 attached to the company as soon as I was old enough. Grew up in the theater. All that.” She shrugged and ducked her chin into her shoulder, looked up at him with those big 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 had gotten a job as Ballet Mistress…” Willow caught Harry’s eyes and pursed her eyebrows together. “Someone who helps the company learn the ballets,” she explained.
“So, not some classical dominatrix then?”
Willow’s eyes went wide and she laughed, covering her mouth with that delicate hand of hers. “No. Not some classical dominatrix. Although, I’ve had some Ballet Mistresses who might actually fit that description.” She lost herself to laughter for a moment and Harry just watched her, smiling and dying to touch her again. “Sorry,” she said after a few hiccuping laughs. “I got this image of one particularly difficult woman…” She giggled behind her hand. “I can just see her in black leather and trashy heels, toting a whip and striding around the studio…” Willow shook her head. “That’s such an awesome picture in my head.”
Harry dipped his head in a mock bow. “At your service.”
And then it happened. Willow put her hand on his arm. Another simple gesture. 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?
Except this time, dear god, this time was different.
Her laughter disappeared in a short intake of breath and her eyes sought his and he captured her gaze with his own. His lips parted. The wind blew her hair across her face again and this time, Harry did reach up and, using just the very tips of his finger, slid it back off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.
She sighed into his touch, her eyes sliding closed for just the slightest fraction of a second before she pulled back and swallowed nervously, turning away. “So.” She cleared her throat. “A chef, huh?”
What the hell was going on? Harry couldn’t get a straight thought out. Couldn’t focus around his desire to touch her again.
“Kind of.” He leaned both elbows on the deck and looked out over the water. “I went to culinary school, but the reality of life in the kitchen wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded.”
“Really?”
“Oh lord. On your feet all day long. Dealing with highly 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 life trying to survive in the ballet world.” There was that shadow in her eyes again. The one that Harry wondered if she even knew was there. “So you did the smart thing and decided to skip all that and just go straight to owning your own business?”
“Basically, yeah. I spent some time in the kitchen, working for a restaurant a few towns over. Two things happened. I realized that making a living off my passion wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. And then, I realized that Bliss didn’t have any nice places to eat and that if I could just open up my own restaurant, I could work in the foodservice field without right here in my hometown. It was such a no-brainer at that point.”
“Makes sense.”
“It’s worked out well so far.”
After a long meandering conversation that covered more topics than Harry could remember, Willow turned those startling blue eyes onto him and searched his face. “This might sound so strange,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But when’s your birthday?”
Of all the questions in the world, that was the last thing Harry expected her to ask. “My birthday?”
She bit her lip and shrugged, the bones in her chest shifting as she lifted her shoulders. She really was quite thin. “I know it’s weird. But I’m into astrology and all that. I’m just curious. Humor me? Please?”
“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Harry said. “My birthday is in July. But you’re gonna have to guess the date.” He smiled playfully.
Willow’s face went slack in shocked surprise. “The twenty-eighth. You were born on the twenty-eighth, weren’t you?”
Harry’s breath rushed past his open jaw and goosebumps threatened. “How did you know?” For a split second, Harry was seriously weirded out, but then, understanding dawned on him. “Juliet told you, didn’t she?” He laughed, disappointed in himself for falling for it. He must have looked like an idiot there for a second.
But Willow just shook her head. “No. I swear to you, she didn’t tell me.”
“Sure.” He dropped one eye in a wink.
“I swear I’m telling you the truth. All Juliet told me was your name, and not even your full name.”
She looked pretty damn convinced, even a little weirded out. “Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. “So if she didn’t tell you, how the hell did you guess?” This was more than just a little strange and Harry was still fifty percent sure Juliet had spilled the beans.
“So, I was right? Your birthday is July twenty-eighth?”
He nodded, confusion swelling up from somewhere deep inside him, made all the worse by the myriad emotions glimmering in her eyes. “Yep,” he said. “Now. Spill it. How did you know that?”
“My grandfather’s birthday was July twenty-eighth.” It looked like there was something else she wanted to say, but she clamped her mouth shut on it and ran a hand through her hair instead. “That makes you a Leo,” she said and he got the feeling that she was leaving a lot unsaid. “I love Leos.”
Harry didn’t know what to say. He had never paid much attention to astrology before, preferring to anchor himself in the real world with facts and certainties. Still, it felt really fucking good to be something Willow loved, even if it was some abstract idea of his personality that she thought she understood about him because of the day he was born. He was about to say something when the sound of footsteps coming up behind him interrupted his thoughts.
“So, little brother, Juliet and I are heading to bed. You’re welcome to stay. Just wanted to say goodnight.”
To bed? Hadn’t the sun just set? Harry looked out to the sky and found the moon suspended amongst a field of stars and the water outlined in glimmering streaks of silver. A quick glance at Willow showed him that she was just as surprised as he was to find that night had fallen and that the rest of the family had already left.
Juliet appeared at Ian’s side and tucked herself under his arm. “Willow’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?” She laughed. “I’ve lost more than one evening, doing nothing but talking
to her.”
Harry checked the time and found it was after midnight. “Wow! I had no idea!” A slow smile stretched across his face and he knew without a doubt that he needed to see Willow again, as many times as he could before she went back to New York. “I need to go,” he said, but reached out to take Willow’s hand and the world closed in on him as her skin met his. “Can I see you again?” he asked, oblivious to Juliet and Ian standing so close. “Tomorrow?”
Willow fell into his gaze, just as lost as he was. “I’d like that. Very much.”
He considered kissing her hand but didn’t want to share that moment with anyone else. The first time his lips touched her would be a moment just for them, not for Juliet and Ian to giggle over as they fell asleep together. Harry made plans to call Willow in the morning and left, wrapped up in thoughts of her and the memory of her hand in his.
4
“What the hell was that?” Willow asked Juliet as they stumbled up the stairs towards the guest bedroom.
“That was the power of being blindsided by a Moore, my dear, sweet, unsuspecting friend.”
Willow didn’t know what to say. Her heart was still pounding and her stomach was a ball of nerves and jitters and excitement. She felt like she had just stepped off the stage, the applause still roaring in her ears, her body limp with exhaustion, carried forward on adrenaline alone. She gave Juliet a quick squeeze, dying to tell her about the way it felt when he touched her, about the coincidence with their names, and most importantly of all, his birthday. But Ian was constantly just in ear shot and Willow was very aware that Ian was Harry’s big brother. Anything she said had the very real possibility of making its way back to Harry.
So she stayed quiet while her thoughts swirled around inside her, a tumultuous mess of half finished ideas and questions without answers and the memory of his touch and the way it felt to fall into his eyes.
She could have written off the whole name coincidence thing. Even she could admit that was a bit of a stretch. But the fact that Harry shared a birthday with her grandpa? Combined with the fact that she shared a birthday with her grandmother? And then combine both of those things with all the stories about how her grandparents had lived a love story so powerful that even Hollywood couldn’t recreate it?
What did it all mean? It had to mean something, no doubt about that. No doubt at all. But what? That was the question she couldn’t stop asking herself.
Willow brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, climbed into bed and tucked the covers right up to her chin. She fell asleep to the constant rush of the ocean against the shore and the memory of Harry’s hand on hers.
* * *
On most days, Willow was out of bed at seven and in the studio by eight, where she gave herself a long workout based on Pilates and yoga before class started at nine. She would sip on water and black coffee until she had a small break at ten thirty where she would nibble on a protein bar before rehearsal.
Today was not most days.
“Willie?”
Willow groaned and rolled away from the voice, pulled the covers up over her head to try and block out the sun that streamed in through the floor to ceiling windows that lined the wall across from her bed.
“Go away. I'm not here.”
Juliet put a hand on her back. “Is that what you want me to tell Harry? Because he's on the phone.”
All the exhaustion and early morning bleariness drained from her body and she sat straight up in bed. “He is? What time is it?”
Juliet laughed. “It’s ten o’clock.”
Willow rubbed her eyes and then held out her hand for the phone. “Hey,” she said and shooed a giggling Juliet from the room.
“Morning, sleeping beauty.”
“I can’t believe I slept this late.”
“Are you still in bed?”
“I literally opened my eyes thirty seconds ago.”
Harry made an exasperated sound. “I’m so sorry! She didn’t have to wake you up.”
“Don’t be sorry. I can think of worse ways to start the day than with you being the first thing in it.”
Holy shit. Did she really just say that? Willow ran a hand through her tangled hair and blinked a few times. Wake up, girl. How about you try to get through this phone call without putting your foot in your mouth or sounding like a needy psychopath?
“Oh, yeah?” Willow could hear the smile on Harry’s face through the phone. “I like the sound of that.”
Pleasure zinged through her body. She liked the sound of that too. Just like she liked the sound of his voice. And the way he looked at her like she was the only thing on the planet that mattered to him and the way he touched her with such reverent sweetness, but such… what? He had such a masculine energy to him. So much strength and a commanding presence that was contradicted by his… what? Was his touch gentle? Was that the right word?
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “Do you need some time to wake up?”
Willow sniffed. “Oh no. I’m good. Sorry, just got lost looking out at the ocean. A girl could get used to this.” She guessed that sounded better than I was busy thinking about how masculine and gentle you are at the same time and just how hot I think it is.
“I waited as long as I could to call you. Thought about you all night and first thing this morning and then every minute of the day until I finally gave in.”
“A girl could get used to that, too.”
“I like the sound of that.” There was a brief pause on the other end of the line and Willow got out of bed and headed over to the window. Put a hand to the glass and watched the waves roll in against the beach. “So, can I see you today?” Harry asked.
Yes, yes, yes, Willow thought. “Do you want to see me today?” she asked instead, trying to sound coy and sufficiently not too eager.
“Desperately.” Harry cleared his throat. “I know I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to play it cool and be tough and strong or something along those lines. Charmingly detached and all that. But if I’ve only got a week to get to know you, then I just want to skip all that bullshit and get straight to the heart of the matter.”
Willow smiled and closed her eyes, feeling childish for not being honest about what she was thinking just a minute ago. “I think I can totally get behind that.”
“So, when can I see you?” Harry asked and Willow was thankful he didn’t point out how sexually awkward her last question was.
“When do you want to see me?” She fiddled with the edge of her blanket, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger and couldn't help but smile. A big, broad, cheesy smile that felt just about as vibrant as the early morning sun glinting off the water on the other side of the window.
“Why do you answer every question with a question?”
For some reason, Willow took his question as a challenge and accepted it. “Why won’t you just tell me when you’re going to be here?”
Harry laughed. “What if I said I’d be there at one? Would that be too early?”
“Would it be too early for you?”
“Willow Tamran,” Harry said and Willow’s heart did a little standing ovation at hearing him say her name. “Are you truly just as stubborn as I am?”
“I’ll see you at one, then?” she asked, refusing to be the first one not to ask a question.
Harry laughed and they said their goodbyes, both of them managing to find ways to turn their statement into a question. Willow hung up the phone with a smile still on her face, one that filled the entire room with happiness. As she brushed her teeth, she tried to do a little mental checklist of what she ate yesterday. She hadn’t gotten any exercise at all and had eaten at least three days worth of food. She sighed. She knew she would gain a little weight while she was here, but she fully intended to battle it by getting at least a little exercise every day. If they weren’t going straight into Nutcracker-mode when she got home, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but she was supposed to be heading down to performance weight, and that
was going to make this week extra hard.
She pulled on some exercise clothes and laced up her running shoes. Waved goodbye to Ian and Juliet after giving each of them a quick good morning hug, and headed out to run on the beach. Running wasn’t exactly the best exercise for dancers as it built the thigh muscles all wrong, but she needed to get her heart rate up and keep it there.
The sun beat down on her shoulders, warmed the muscles there and sweat beaded at her hairline after only a few minutes of motion. As much as she hated to admit it, there was peace here by the sea. Just water and sky and sand and the sound of her breath in her lungs and her blood in her veins. Last night she had said she felt exposed, but today? Today she felt … tranquil. Serene. Even as her thighs burned with the extra challenge of keeping her balance on the sand, even has her heart thundered with exertion, the hush that fell in between each swell of the waves soothed some part deep within her that she hadn’t even realized needed soothing.
She ran until she couldn’t any more, then bent double and put her hands on her knees, sucking in deep breaths only to blow it all back out through her pursed lips. Lost in her thoughts—mostly of Harry—she had run too far. There was no way she could run the whole way back. She would have to walk and since she hadn’t thought to bring her phone, she had no way of knowing what time it was. Surely, she would get back to the house before one o’clock.
She straightened and caught sight of another runner on the beach. A man. Tall and lean, his shirt tucked into the waistband of his pants and his skin glistening with sweat. Willow squinted because, while he was still too far off to be sure, her heart jumped up and down like a child recognizing a long lost friend and her gut swore to her that this was none other than Harrison Moore coming her way.
She held up a hand to cover her eyes from the sun and stared in his direction. The closer the guy got, the more certain she was that she was watching the absolutely delectable Harry without him knowing. She couldn't help but admire his stride—so long and certain, so powerful and controlled. His arms swung with an easy grace that most men couldn’t maintain. His abs flexed with every step he took and he kept his chin lifted as he stared out ahead of himself.
