Juliet tucked herself under Ian’s arm. “Willow’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?” She laughed as a knowing smile lit her face. “I’ve lost more than one evening talking to her.”
Harry checked the time and found it was after midnight. “Wow! I had no idea!” A slow grin stretched 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, but…” He took her 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?”
Her cheeks pinked and she beamed. “I’d like that. Very much.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy,” he said to Juliet. “Let’s give these two some space.”
As the couple walked away, Harry met Willow’s gaze. “I’ll call you in the morning,” he promised, then wandered, shell-shocked, through the house and out to his car.
Hours. They’d talked for hours. His entire family had left…
…and he hadn’t even noticed.
Chapter Eight
Willow
“What the hell was that?” Willow asked Juliet as they stumbled up the stairs toward the guest bedroom.
“That was the feeling of being blindsided by a Moore, my dear, sweet, unsuspecting friend.” Juliet giggled and gave her a conspiratorial look.
Willow didn’t know what to say.
Her heart was still pounding.
Her stomach was a tangled mess of nerves and jitters and excitement.
She felt like she’d just stepped off the stage, 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 in earshot and Willow was very aware that he was Harry’s big brother. Which meant anything she said had a real possibility of making its way back to Harry.
And before any of that found its way to him, she wanted to wrap her mind around it first.
So, she stayed quiet while her thoughts swirled, a tumultuous mess of half-finished ideas, questions without answers, and the feeling of losing herself in his eyes.
She could’ve written off the whole coincidental name thing. Even she could admit it was a bit of a stretch to look at Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and call it a sign.
But the fact that Harry shared a birthday with her grandpa?
While she shared a birthday with her grandma?
Those two things together were powerful enough, but when you add in the way her grandparents loved each other…?
It all had to mean something, no doubt about that. No doubt at all.
But what?
That was the question she couldn’t stop asking.
Willow brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, then climbed into bed and tucked the covers up to her chin. She fell asleep to the gentle 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 warmed up until class started at nine. She would sip on water and black coffee until she had a small break at ten thirty where she nibbled on a protein bar before rehearsal.
But, nothing had been typical about the day she met Harrison Moore, so she shouldn’t have been surprised to learn the day after would be atypical, too.
“Willie?”
With a low groan, she rolled away from the voice, pulling the covers over her head to block the sun angling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Go away. I'm not here.”
Juliet put a gentle 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 chuckled. “It’s ten o’clock, sleepy head.”
Blinking, Willow waited as her brain digested the information. She’d slept three hours past her typical wake up time? She couldn’t remember the last time that happened. Her body was a well-oiled machine. It worked with precision and she could almost set a clock with her circadian rhythm.
She rubbed her eyes, then held her hand out for the phone. “Good morning,” she said to Harry, shooing a giggling Juliet from the room.
“Morning, sleeping beauty. Are you still in bed?”
“I literally opened my eyes thirty seconds ago.” A yawn fought its way up her throat and into the conversation.
Harry made an exasperated sound. “I’m so sorry! She didn’t have to wake you. I feel terrible.”
Willow ran a hand through her tangled hair and blinked a few times to convince her eyes to stay open. “Don’t be sorry. I can think of worse ways to start the day than talking to you.”
Holy shit. Did she really just say that out loud?
“I like the sound of that.” A smile brightened Harry’s voice.
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 a masculine energy that flew in the face of the word ‘sweet.’ 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 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 how hot I
