Page 81 of Love so Hot

"Pure H2O," I finish for her.

Before I can react, Willow throws her arms around me in a tight hug. Then, caught up in the moment, she plants a quick kiss on my lips. We both freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of how couple-y this whole scene has become.

As we awkwardly disentangle ourselves, I clear my throat and quip, "You know, we'd make a great car commercial. 'The Mirai: Bringing Enemies Closer Together.'"

Willow laughs, the tension broken. "Oh god, can you imagine? The PR nightmare for both of us."

"I really should get going. Those community leaders won't wait forever."

"Mind if I tag along?" I ask, surprising myself. "I mean, if you're okay with it. Might be good to see how my investment is being put to use."

Willow hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Sure, why not? Just... try not to look too much like a corporate shark, okay? These are good people."

As we climb into the Mirai, I can't help but wonder what I've gotten myself into. But watching Willow's face light up as she explores the car's features, I realize I don't really mind at all.

"Do you mind driving?" she asks, looking a bit nervous.

"I don't," I say, "but are you sure? It's your new car. You should do the honors."

She nods her head. "I'm just a little nervous about this meeting," she admits.

I grab her hand and squeeze it. "You're going to do great," I say.

She smiles back. "Thanks."

The road is quiet, sunrays knifing through the fog to reveal the town's rustic contours as we make our way. Beside me, Willow's gaze is fixed on the passing scenery, a serene look on her face.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, a relentless buzz that threatens to shatter the peace. One glance at the screen shows a barrage of texts and missed calls—all work-related, no doubt. Without breaking stride, I reach down and flick the device onto silent mode, tucking it back into the console.

"Isn't that important?" Willow asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glances from the silenced phone to me.

"Probably," I admit with a shrug. "But today, this feels more important." I gesture vaguely between us, a half-smile tugging at my lips.

She raises an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Won't you get in trouble for ignoring them?"

I let out a short chuckle, the sound mingling with the soft purr of the engine. "Trouble? I'm the boss. Worst they can do isgrumble behind my back." I keep my eyes on the winding road ahead, though I can feel Willow's curious gaze on me.

"Even the investors?" She turns in her seat, facing me now, interest piqued.

"Especially the investors," I say, a smirk finding its way onto my face. "But pulling out? Unlikely." I tap the steering wheel with my thumb, keeping the rhythm of our journey. "We're close to securing the last one—Billy Hargraves. Once he's in, the project's golden."

"Ah, Billy Hargraves," Willow murmurs, almost to herself. Her calm front seems to hold, but there's a subtle shift—an unspoken thought that catches in the air between us.

"Yep," I respond, letting the conversation fade into the background as the car hums along. Eventually, we roll to a stop outside the community center, a quaint brick building nestled against Greenwood Hollow's backdrop of towering pines and maples. A few cars are already parked nearby, probably belonging to the local leaders meeting with Willow today.

"Here we are," I murmur, cutting the engine.

Willow just gazes out the window. She's been quiet since I flipped my phone off on the drive. Something's up, but pushing for answers isn't my style.

"Ready?" I ask instead, offering a smile that's meant to be reassuring.

She nods, her lips pressed into a thin line as if she's bracing herself for battle rather than a simple meet and greet. But when she steps out of the car, it's like she sheds whatever's been weighing on her, standing tall in a Bellini outfit that marks her as someone who doesn't just talk the talk.

We walk side by side into the community center. It smells like fresh wood polish and old books, a scent that somehow feels right for what we're about to do.

"Ms. Willow," greets one of the men in the room, an elder with a salt-and-pepper beard and eyes that have seen more than a few town meetings. He offers his hand, and Willow takes it with a firm grip.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," she starts, her tone even but commanding attention. "I'm excited to see what we can accomplish today."

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