Besides, she was what was special about the trip.
The rest was just background.
They talked and they snuggled, and then they talked some more—like they’d always been together. And yet, knowing that he only had two days with her made him cherish every second. He promised himself he’d remember each moment and took enough pictures of her that she joked about him filling up his phone.
“You know you don’t have to come to the ballet tonight,” she said as she made lunch—the biggest meal he had ever seen her eat.
“Yes, I do.” He eyed the copious amounts of chicken salad made with Greek yogurt and avocados on her plate. “This is part of you, and I want to know all of you. Therefore, through the process of intellectual extrapolation, I actually need to go see The Nutcracker.”
Willow shrugged in a manner that suggested she thought he was making a bad decision. “First of all, you can stop staring at my lunch. I know it’s a lot, but I have a big night and need my energy. And second of all, I want to make it known that I’m trying to let you off the hook here. The Nutcracker is really boring. You are not going to like it.”
Harry waved away the lunch comment and went straight for the comment about the ballet. “Are you in it?”
Willow nodded, her mouth full.
“Then I’m going to love it.”
* * *
He most definitely did not love it.
The Nutcracker was every bit as boring as Willow made it out to be—except when she was on stage. She was captivating and entrancing and the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.
Juliet was right.
The internet was right.
Willow had a gift.
Even simple movements were filled with meaning. So strong and elegant and emotional and true that Harry found himself fighting tears for no reason at all while he watched her. There was nothing emotional about The Nutcracker, but dear God, there was everything emotional about watching Willow do what she loved most.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Willow
“I still can’t believe how fucking good you are.” Harry had been saying that ever since she found him after the show, waiting by the backstage entrance. It was the first thing he said when he saw her—right before he swept her up in a bone-crushing hug. A hug that elicited several surprised chuckles from other dancers leaving the theater. He’d said it more than once during the cab ride home and, apparently, he didn't have any intention of stopping, given that as she unlocked the door to her apartment, he was still saying it.
Willow liked a good compliment as much as anyone, but it was verging on uncomfortable. She pulled him inside the apartment and wrapped her arms around him.
“Why don’t you show me just how fucking good I am.” She kissed him, sliding her hand up his thigh, and grabbing his rapidly growing cock.
Behind her, someone coughed. “Umm…hey. I’m here.”
Shit. Her roommate had promised she wouldn't be home when they got back.
What the hell was she doing there?
Willow untangled from Harry and positioned herself in front of him to hide the very noticeable evidence of his arousal.
“Hey, Sasha. I thought you were going out tonight.” Willow widened her eyes at the younger girl in a look that said I’m going to fucking kill you if you tell me you’re not going out tonight, but the second she processed what she was seeing, her stomach sank to her feet. “Oh no! What happened?”
Sasha was stretched out on the couch, her foot propped up on a set of pillows and draped in several bags of ice. “I was planning to go out, but my ankle had other ideas.”
Willow crossed the room and gingerly lifted the bags of ice from Sasha’s leg, then flinched when she saw what they’d been hiding. The ankle was so swollen, it looked like a tennis ball was tucked just underneath the skin. A vicious bruise stretched from halfway up her shin all the way to her pinky toe. “Shit! That’s bad. Why aren’t you at the hospital?”
Harry peeked out from around Willow. “Are you the girl in the puffy dress who went down in the second act?”
“That’s me,” Sasha said with a grimace. “The girl in the puffy dress.” She gave her attention to Willow. “You know that crazy series of arabesques in Waltz of the Flowers?”
“Yep.” Willow shook her head sadly. “I thought the conductor was playing awfully fast tonight.”
Sasha took a deep breath and closed her eyes while she let it out. “That he was. Just a little too fast for the girl at the end of the line in the crazy arabesque series.”
“Did you finish dancing?”
Sasha shook her head. “I couldn’t. I got off stage as quickly as I could, but it’s all kind of a blur.” She turned to Harry. “Could you tell I wasn’t supposed to exit when I did?”
He shrugged. “I watched you leave, but I thought you were supposed to. I was really glad the timing worked out because I was pretty sure you were hurt and didn’t know how you were gonna keep dancing.”
Relief flooded Sasha’s face and she sank back into the couch. “Thank goodness.” She waved them away. “You guys go have your fun bedroom time. I’ll be fine out here. I’ll just turn up the TV and pretend I can’t hear you.”
Ignoring the look of horror on Harry’s face, Willow dutifully refilled Sasha’s drink, made sure she had a snack within reach, and checked that her ice bag was full before she took Harry’s hand and led him back to her bedroom. She closed and locked the door, then turned to him.
“You’re gonna have to keep me quiet again,” she said, putting her hands on his chest and leaning in. “Like that time on the deck at your restaurant.” Just the thought of
