Page 89 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

But, oh myGod, he’s read Highlander romances. Three of them!

Get it together, Juliet.

I blow out a breath as Will drives his truck down my block, the apartment looming ahead. I can handle this. I can handle that my romance workout buddy, this sweet man who’s become my friend, has read my favorite kind of romance. I can handle that he showed up dressed as a Highlander tonight, danced his ass off with me and my friends, and laughed and teared up at all the right parts of a rom-com that I adore. I can handle this and shove my desire for him back in the lusty closet from whence it came—

Except, that’s the problem. My desire for Will isn’t just physical anymore. It left the lusty closet, I’m not even sure when, only that it’s been a while, and now that desire has filled a whole room—a room whose door has a name on it that I’m terrified to eventhink, let alone name.

But I know what it is. And not thinking or naming that word doesn’t make it any less real or true—it justis, woven into the fabric of our time together.

The irony of it. I started this journey with Will, the man I decided was safe to walk with down the path of romantic lovebecause he wasn’t sure he was looking for that in his own life, or at least, he seemed sure he wasn’t looking for it with me; whose place in Christopher’s life made him safely, strictly off-limits. I was so confident Will was the perfect person to be my practice partner on that journey to feel safe again and trust myself while being romantic, because he was the last person I could fall for.

And it only led me to do exactly that.

Will stops the truck outside my apartment and hits his blinkers. There isn’t a single space on the whole block, nowhere for him to park; he’ll have to drop me off and go on his way. I’m inordinately disappointed. If this is a sign from the universe, to keep my feelings to myself, I deeply resent it, even if I know it would be the sensible thing, thesafething to do.

Maybe I don’t want to be safe anymore.

Torn, tortured by how much I want to act on everything I’m feeling, I turn in my seat as far as I can and face Will, searching his eyes, wishing I saw in them some answer to my questions—Do you want me the way I want you? Do you think you could ever want what I want? Could you want it with me?

But, for all his talk of how he wears his thoughts on his face without that big beard to hide them, I can’t find a single damn clue.

So I focus on what I do know—how wonderful every part of tonight was with him, how wonderfulhewas. “Thank you, Will. For all of this. Dinner. Coming to the party with everyone. The drive-in. It was…really, really lovely.”

He nods, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “Yeah, it really was,” he says quietly. “Thankyou, Jules.”

This is when he’s going to open his car door, walk briskly around his truck, and help me down. This is when I’ll hug him good night without rubbing myself on him like a cat in heat, then walk myself upstairs to my apartment.

But not yet, a quiet voice whispers inside me.

I pause for a beat, that voice echoing in my head, a tug in my gut telling me it’s right.

“Will.”

“Hmm?”

Desire races through me as his gaze darts to my mouth, as mine darts to his. Every edge and corner of my body is warm with longing.

“Why did youreallyslam on the brakes,” I ask carefully, “when you realized I’d chosen the drive-in?”

Will’s quiet, his gaze searching mine. A long, slow sigh leaves him.

“Pinkie promise,” I say quietly. “Remember?”

Slowly, he reaches for my hand and clasps it in his. He hesitates for a beat, then says, “It probably sounds…odd, but in my family, there’s a tradition. When you take someone to the drive-in…it’s the place you take the person you love.”

My heart takes off, flying in my chest. “What?”

He stares down at his hand clasping mine. “Started with my great-grandfather. When he was young, Illyria wasn’t as built up as it is now, not much to do. When the town got a drive-in, it was abigdeal, and the drive-in became what you did as teens, where you went to flirt and get frisky, standard stuff. He was a good-looking, charming guy, had a lot of ladies interested in him, and he took them on dates—to the lake, where they’d go fishing, for an ice cream, for a walk around town. But never the drive-in, because that was something he was saving for the woman he was serious about. The first day he met my grandma, he asked her if she wanted to go to the drive-in.”

Good grief, could that be any more romantic? My eyes well with tears. “Because he knew?”

“Because he knew,” Will says. “ ‘Like a lightning strike,’ was how he always told it. ‘When I saw her,’ he’d say, ‘it was like a lightningstrike, straight to the heart—I knew I loved her, and I always would.’ ”

His hand squeezes mine gently.

“And so it became a tradition,” he tells me. “My grandpa did the same thing with my grandma. Then my dad with my mom. Never once took a lady to the drive-in, until they knew she was the one.” He smiles to himself. “My parents still go to the drive-in, every anniversary.”

“Oh,” I breathe out, setting a hand on my heart.

---