her say I’m the m–most imp–portant person in her l–life is just so …” Her eyes gleamed. “You’ve brought out good things in my girl.”
“Art can be amazing therapy, allowing someone to open up parts of themselves they’ve kept closed. But you and God and her mother put those things in her.”
“Artists can be good therapy, too.” Her lips tipped up at the corners and she glanced toward the little woodstove. “I’m not generally a relaxer, but you make me feel peaceful.”
“And you”—his fingers slipped through her hair—“have brought laughter into my life. I wake up every morning now wondering what adventure Willow’s going to drag me into. My life used to fit so neatly into the little boxes on my day planner. I thought I was happy that way.”
She pointed at the framed scripture on the wall. B E S TILL, AND K NOW T HAT I AM G OD . She thought of the words circling her kitchen.
This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it
. She’d made a conscious effort to fill her days with rejoicing. She needed to learn to be still. “We balance each other.”
His arm tightened around her shoulders. “You are a beautiful woman, Willow Miles.”
She jerked away. “Don’t.”
“Don’t tell you you’re beautiful?”
She nodded. A tear spilled onto his hand.
“Why?” He whispered it, knowing she felt the flutter of his breath on her cheek.
“Because I’m not. It’s enough—no—it’s way, way more than enough that you said you like me. I never in a million years thought I’d have a chance at something that feels this good. I gave up praying for it long ago and figured God had given me a family and that was more than I could have hoped for.” She nodded toward the entertainment center. “I thought the true ‘force of destiny’ had planned for me to raise those kids, and I’ve tried so hard not to want more. So this”—she slid her hand over his—“
you
are an answer to prayers I never uttered. You don’t need to say I’m—”
“Beautiful.” He lifted her chin. He couldn’t let her miss the sincerity of his next words. “I’m not a flatterer, Willow. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Your eyes, your skin, your hair, your generous heart and caring spirit, all combine into an exceedingly attractive package. You may have noticed I refuse to call you Willi.”
She nodded. “Why?”
“Because, whether you believe it or not, you are as lovelyand free flowing as the tree you’re named for.”
“But I’m—”
He laid two fingers over her lips. “Don’t insult my taste by saying negative things about the woman I’m about to ask to dance with me.”
“To this?” She gestured toward a speaker.
Wilson picked up a remote and flipped to an oldies radio station. Bon Jovi sang “Livin’ on a Prayer.” He stood and reached for her hand. “To
this
.“
Valentine’s Day began with an apple.
A Granny Smith apple. Dipped in thick, rich caramel. Smothered in Belgian dark chocolate. Garnished with a ribbon of pink. Pink
chocolate
.
Willow leaned her elbows on the table for three at the Vintage Café as she described each decadent layer and the pink bow tied to the stick with A MY’S G OURMET A PPLES lettered in gold. Elsa appeared close to tears. Crystal sighed. “And tonight?”
“I don’t know. It’s a surprise. But I have orders to dress up.”
“Isn’t it awkward competing against the guy you’re falling for?”
Elsa set her napkin on the table. “Which one of you is going to win the free rent? Are you workin’ it, girl?”
“How can we help?”
“I’m telling everyone to vote for you.”
“Don’t.” Willow stared up at gold and purple walls. How to explain?
“Huh?”
“Wilson needs it way more than I do.”
“Willi! Are you kidding?” Crystal’s coffee cup halted sixinches from her mouth. “You’re overworked and underspaced. You need this. You deserve it. If the guy hasn’t made any money on his work after
“Art can be amazing therapy, allowing someone to open up parts of themselves they’ve kept closed. But you and God and her mother put those things in her.”
“Artists can be good therapy, too.” Her lips tipped up at the corners and she glanced toward the little woodstove. “I’m not generally a relaxer, but you make me feel peaceful.”
“And you”—his fingers slipped through her hair—“have brought laughter into my life. I wake up every morning now wondering what adventure Willow’s going to drag me into. My life used to fit so neatly into the little boxes on my day planner. I thought I was happy that way.”
She pointed at the framed scripture on the wall. B E S TILL, AND K NOW T HAT I AM G OD . She thought of the words circling her kitchen.
This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it
. She’d made a conscious effort to fill her days with rejoicing. She needed to learn to be still. “We balance each other.”
His arm tightened around her shoulders. “You are a beautiful woman, Willow Miles.”
She jerked away. “Don’t.”
“Don’t tell you you’re beautiful?”
She nodded. A tear spilled onto his hand.
“Why?” He whispered it, knowing she felt the flutter of his breath on her cheek.
“Because I’m not. It’s enough—no—it’s way, way more than enough that you said you like me. I never in a million years thought I’d have a chance at something that feels this good. I gave up praying for it long ago and figured God had given me a family and that was more than I could have hoped for.” She nodded toward the entertainment center. “I thought the true ‘force of destiny’ had planned for me to raise those kids, and I’ve tried so hard not to want more. So this”—she slid her hand over his—“
you
are an answer to prayers I never uttered. You don’t need to say I’m—”
“Beautiful.” He lifted her chin. He couldn’t let her miss the sincerity of his next words. “I’m not a flatterer, Willow. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Your eyes, your skin, your hair, your generous heart and caring spirit, all combine into an exceedingly attractive package. You may have noticed I refuse to call you Willi.”
She nodded. “Why?”
“Because, whether you believe it or not, you are as lovelyand free flowing as the tree you’re named for.”
“But I’m—”
He laid two fingers over her lips. “Don’t insult my taste by saying negative things about the woman I’m about to ask to dance with me.”
“To this?” She gestured toward a speaker.
Wilson picked up a remote and flipped to an oldies radio station. Bon Jovi sang “Livin’ on a Prayer.” He stood and reached for her hand. “To
this
.“
Valentine’s Day began with an apple.
A Granny Smith apple. Dipped in thick, rich caramel. Smothered in Belgian dark chocolate. Garnished with a ribbon of pink. Pink
chocolate
.
Willow leaned her elbows on the table for three at the Vintage Café as she described each decadent layer and the pink bow tied to the stick with A MY’S G OURMET A PPLES lettered in gold. Elsa appeared close to tears. Crystal sighed. “And tonight?”
“I don’t know. It’s a surprise. But I have orders to dress up.”
“Isn’t it awkward competing against the guy you’re falling for?”
Elsa set her napkin on the table. “Which one of you is going to win the free rent? Are you workin’ it, girl?”
“How can we help?”
“I’m telling everyone to vote for you.”
“Don’t.” Willow stared up at gold and purple walls. How to explain?
“Huh?”
“Wilson needs it way more than I do.”
“Willi! Are you kidding?” Crystal’s coffee cup halted sixinches from her mouth. “You’re overworked and underspaced. You need this. You deserve it. If the guy hasn’t made any money on his work after
Similar Books
