Swept Away: A Small Town Romance (The Moore Brothers Book 3)

by Abby Brooks

  “I don’t have a cat.” Willow really wasn’t ready to ask the whole where is this relationship going question. No one liked that question and the chances were that his answer would be just as vague as hers and then there would be this big blank space of awkward hanging in the air between them.

  “Clever,” Harry said. “But don’t do that. Remember what I said about wanting nothing between us? That whole deal where I got super romantic and told you that the physical distance between our homes was enough? That we didn’t need to add anything else?” He smiled and took her hand again, ran his thumb over her knuckle and leaned across the space to kiss each finger. “I think you just added something else.”

  Willow turned her focus out to the water and shook her head. “It was just a silly thought. Not important.”

  “Nope. Not gonna accept that as an answer.”

  Willow looked at Harry and sighed. She knew that the moment she brought up the future, that could force a conversation that brought them to the realization that there wasn’t a future for them and she one hundred percent did not want to do that.

  “Shit, Willie. You’re scaring me. Is it that bad?” Harry sat forward and swung his legs off the chair so he could face her.

  “No, no, no. It’s not bad…” Willow closed her eyes and took a breath.

  “Well then come on, baby. Talk to me. I’m here for you, in all ways on all days.”

  When she opened her eyes, she almost couldn’t see through the tears. “That’s the thing. I want that. I really, really want that. I want you every single day of my life. I spend so much time missing you, and then we finally get together and time stops because it’s like finally all is right with the world. And then I go home, or you go home, and life goes back to normal…” Willow swiped at the tears in her eyes. “That’s the thing, I guess. I want being with you to be normal. Not the other way around.”

  Harry pulled her into his lap and wrapped her up in his arms, rocked her back and forth while she cried. He didn’t say one single word, just let his body and his breath comfort her. When she finally stopped crying, he tilted her chin up and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead.

  “It’s the only dry spot on your face,” he said. “Or I would have gone for the lips.”

  Willow made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh and did her best to dry her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up our time together.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize. And I want you to know that I feel the exact same way. I miss you and I don’t feel like I’m really living until we’re together. You’re my oxygen and my heart lives with you.”

  Willow sniffed, her eyes burning. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

  “I promise you. All I want in this life is you. And right now, that means I only get you in short doses, and think about it. Isn’t that the way it should be at this point in time? You’re busy living your dream! You’re dancing in your dream company, getting ready to debut in your dream role! Where the hell would I fit into your life right now?”

  Willow started to protest and Harry held up a hand.

  “That’s the way it should be. You worked hard for this, you reap the rewards. But you better believe that once the curtain closes on that final show of Romeo and Juliet next month, I’ll be doing my damnedest to make sure that I’m part of your next set of dreams.” Harry swallowed hard and Willow could have sworn that she saw a million things he couldn’t figure out how to say begging to be noticed in his eyes. “Because you better believe, that you’re a part of mine.”

  23

  February

  Harry stared at the diamond ring in the plush black box, the dark velvet making the glinting stone look all the more beautiful. He could just 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 her wearing this ring on her finger meant that 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 when she was so focused on getting ready for Romeo and Juliet. Not when he knew she was already stretched to her limit. Not when he didn’t really have a plan for how they were going to get to be together.

  He had looked into some locations for a restaurant in the city, but nothing had stood out to him as the spot yet. Not in the way Willow had stood out as the woman. Not in the way this ring had stood out as the ring. It had been his grandmother’s ring, and given the fact that he shared a birthday with Willow’s grandfather, it only seemed right that she should wear his grandmother’s ring.

  So, he had the woman. He had the ring. The rest was sure to fall into place.

  * * *

  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.”

  Harry had set the little black box on the table beside his tablet. He could see it while he saw her and it just warmed him from the top to the bottom and back again. “What happened, my angel? Tell me all about it.”

  “It was just one hundred little things, you know?” Willow sat back and propped an ankle on her knee so she could rub her foot. “I got one hell of 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 wanted to draw a bath for her, complete with bubbles and candles and 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 said, interrupting her. “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 slip 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 for 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 could hear the very real 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 with her hand that Harry guessed was supposed to mean her life in New York. There was a genuine sadness in her eyes, one that he had seen hints of that very first day she showed up in Bliss, but he didn’t think she had even realized existed. Now? It looked like the realization had hit her like a freight train.

  “Don’t be silly,” Harry said, smiling as brightly as he possibly could. “You’re just tired and in need of a good hug. You’ve worked so hard for this moment. 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 and one single tear slipped out of her eye and slid down her cheek. “I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t mean to be a downer.” She leaned in towards 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, but it looked like the idea of two more things to do before bed might break her.

  “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 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 and 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 up 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 that she was struggling so much was hard, but knowing it was because of him was even harder.

  If it weren’t for him, she would be experiencing the most amazing part of her life right now with everything lining up in just the way she had 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 had accomplished?

  And here 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 rental costs and stupid cold winters and people living practically on top of him?

  For her, he would, but what if he got bitter without the sea and the sky? What if he got mean and pushed her away because he wasn’t meant to live in the city? What if, for all their hoping and dreaming, this whole thing was just an exercise in futility with no way out but a broken heart?

  Harry took the ring off his finger, stared at it for a long moment, and then put it back in the box and closed the lid.

  24

  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 get any easier. Her feet ached already and for some reason, the pointe shoes she wore for the first time just yesterday were already wearing out. She didn’t feel like breaking in a new pair with her poor aching feet in a rehearsal that was sure to prove challenging enough without having to dance in a new pair of shoes. Nor did she feel like wasting her lunch break by sewing on the ribbons and elastic that would help fasten them to her feet, but that didn’t change the fact that was exactly what was going to have 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 didn’t bend down so well. 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 up at the woman 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 and dropped her hands. Turned in a great explosion of movement and color as her dress swirled around her and lumbered off down the hall.

  “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 they had her wear to help stabilize the ankle. “Well, are you going to open that or not?” she asked, gesturing towards 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, totally expecting a genuine answer.

  “Open the damn thing up!”

  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.

  “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 peered at the box in Willow’s hand 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 and went to work breaking them in. Maybe the next rehearsal wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  * * *

  “Not like that.”

  The pianist hit a few more notes before she lifted her hand 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 across his chest. Rehearsal had not been going so well.

  “I’m really not trying to be a pain,” she said and
she 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 but didn’t say anything. “Just try it.” She held out her hand.

  Giuseppe pursed his lips and then 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 help dry the sweat. He looked down 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, and then at the last moment, snatched her hand pulled her towards him. Willow actually stumbled a few steps and cried out in surprise.

  “Like that?” asked Giuseppe and Willow couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not.

  Willow 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 thrilling 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.