He sighed. “That’s one thing I want to work on. I don’t want anything between us. We already have to deal with the hundreds of miles separating us. I don’t need anything else getting in the way. When it’s us together, babe, it’s just us. There’s nothing disgusting about doing what feels good when you’re with the one you love. No secrets. No shame. Nothing between us.”
Willow touched a finger to the screen, wishing she could feel his skin. “Nothing between us,” she said. “Now, if I show you what’s in my fridge, will you help me put together a decent dinner? I’m starving.”
* * *
Willow lay awake that night, her belly as full as her heart, while her mind worked through what seemed to be an infinite number of questions about where she was with her life and what she was doing. She was almost certain if Harry asked her to move to Bliss to be with him, she would say yes. She would give up her career in order to be part of his life in South Carolina.
But she wasn’t sure it was right to feel that way.
Wasn’t she supposed to be able to support herself?
Wasn’t she supposed to put herself first?
Wasn’t that the right thing to do?
If she moved to Bliss, she would have no source of income, no safety net if things didn’t work out between her and Harry. If she quit dancing and later discovered that was the wrong decision, she couldn’t just make some calls and get her job back.
Dancing took discipline. Constant and consistent discipline. If she quit, it meant she was done. Forever. There’d be no turning back if things went wrong in Bliss. And then what would she be without either Harry or dancing?
She would still be herself. That would always be true, no matter the circumstances. But she’d also be in quite a pickle—no job, no skills, and the knowledge that she threw away her life for a man.
Troubled by questions about the future, Willow fell into a murky sleep, waking often, wishing she could just curl up against Harry instead of tossing and turning in her suddenly too big bed.
Chapter Thirty-One
Willow
Willow stepped through the exit of Charleston International Airport, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She could barely believe she was even thinking it, but everything was better in South Carolina. The sun, the smell, the warmth.
Harry.
There’s nothing quite as welcome as the sun to a New Yorker in winter.
She scanned the line of cars waiting to pick up passengers and found an unmistakable, candy apple red GTO at the front of the line. Harry leaned against the car, his arms folded over his chest and his long legs crossed at the ankles, staring toward the doors. She ran to him, the wheels on her luggage thunking over every break in the concrete. Her hair streamed behind her while her soul reached in front and she felt complete for the first time since he left New York the month before.
“Hey,” she said when she came to a stop in front of the man who held her heart, wanting to say so much more, but not sure how to articulate everything she was feeling.
Harry didn’t move.
He didn’t uncross his arms.
He didn’t push off the car and pull her into him.
He didn’t even smile. He just stared her way, his sunglasses making his face unreadable. Willow’s heart did its best impression of dying, slowing to a stop and then speeding around like a hummingbird on crack.
She froze. Waiting for him to speak—needing him to speak.
And then he slid his sunglasses down his nose and she could see just the faintest glimmer of tears receding in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes.”
Relief brought its own set of tears, blurring her vision. “I was afraid you were mad at me!” She dropped her bag and rushed into his arms, pressing her face to his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart while breathing him in.
He ran a hand through her hair, then, ever so gently, turned her face to meet his gaze. “How could I ever be mad at you? You’re my angel. My heartbeat. My soul.”
Willow sniffled and everything she wanted to say got stuck behind the lump in her throat. “I love you,” she managed, hopeful he could see how it went beyond words and had become her definition.
“I love you, too.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out the car keys, swirled them around his index finger, and gave her a look that sent nerves jangling through her system.
“You trust me to drive the GTO?” She didn’t know if she trusted herself to drive the GTO.
Harry pulled his sunglasses all the way off and laughed. “Willow. My angel. I love you. Like a lot. Don’t forget that. But this thing has a manual transmission I rebuilt myself. I won’t be teaching you how to drive stick in this.”
Relief and embarrassment flared in bright red streaks across her cheeks. “I’m not gonna lie. That’s more than fine with me.” She laughed nervously. “Shows you how much I know about cars. I actually forgot you had to shift some of them yourself.”
Harry opened the passenger door for her before stowing her bag in the trunk. He hopped into the driver’s seat and brought the engine to life with a twist of his wrist. As Willow watched his feet work the pedals while his hand worked the shifter, she was thankful not to be the one behind the wheel. At least not in that car.
“You like watching me work my stick?” Harry’s voice broke through her reverie. She looked up to find him grinning like a schoolboy.
“Surprisingly, I do.” She bit her lip. “Would you show me how to work your stick? The way you like it?”
Harry
