He hated to see Willow so sad.
He only wanted to bring her happiness.
Knowing she was struggling was difficult, but knowing it was because of him weighed on his heart and soul.
If it wasn’t for him, she would be experiencing the most amazing part of her life, with everything lining up in just the way she’d 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’d accomplished?
And there 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 costs and stupid cold winters and people living practically on top of him?
For Willow, he would, but what if he got bitter and pushed her away because he wasn’t meant to live in the city? What if, for all their hoping and dreaming, the whole thing was just an exercise in futility with no way out but a broken heart?
With those questions sickening his stomach, Harry took the ring off his finger, stared at it for a long moment, then put it back in the box and closed the lid.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Willow
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 go any easier. Her feet ached already and for some reason, the pointe shoes she’d worn for the first time that morning were already wearing out. With the state of her poor, aching feet, she didn’t feel like breaking in a new pair in a rehearsal that was sure to prove challenging enough on its own. For that matter, she didn’t feel much like wasting her lunchbreak sewing on the ribbons and elastic that fastened them to her feet, but that was exactly what needed 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 wasn’t able to bend down. 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 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, dropped her hands to her sides, then lumbered down the hall in an explosion of movement and color as her dress swirled around her.
“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 stabilizing her ankle. “Are you going to open that or not?” she asked, gesturing toward 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, expecting a genuine answer.
“Open the damn thing!”
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.
Sasha grabbed one of them and frowned as she turned it over in her hand. “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 turned the box over again 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
