Page 15 of Sweetly Yours

I pull out my phone and call her again. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. “Hey, it’s Willow. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

The sound of her voice is comforting and frustrating all at the same time.

“Hey, it’s me,” I say, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. “I didn’t see you before you left. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you can, alright?”

I hang up and stare at the screen, willing it to light up with her name. Nothing.

I try texting again, keeping it simple:

Me: Everything okay? I didn’t see you before you left.

Still nothing.

I rake a hand through my hair, pacing the showroom as I try to think. Did something happen? Did someone say something to her? My mind immediately flashes to Tessa. I hadn’t expected her to show up, I don’t even know how she found out about it unless she’s following me on social media. I also didn’t think she’d cause a problem.

I stop pacing, my jaw tightening. Could she have said something to Willow?

My chest tightens at the thought. Tessa’s always been good at twisting the truth when it suits her, and I wouldn’t put it past her to say something if she thought it would get a reaction out of me—or worse, out of Willow.

The thought of Willow upset or doubting anything we’ve started makes my stomach churn.

I try calling again, but it goes straight to voicemail this time.

“Willow,” I say, my voice more urgent now, “I don’t know if you’re busy or if something happened, but I’m worried about you. Please call me back, okay? I just want to know you’re alright.”

I hang up and grip the phone tightly, frustration boiling under my skin. She has to be okay. Shehasto be.

Without thinking, I grab my jacket and head out to my truck. If she’s not answering her phone, I’ll go to her place. I don’t care if it makes me look crazy. I need to see her, to know she’s alright, to fix whatever’s wrong—because the thought of losing her now?

I can’t even let myself go there.

The drive to Willow’s house feels like it takes forever, even though I know the streets of Evergreen Ridge like the back of my hand. The familiar turns and darkened houses blur past me, but my focus is on the nagging knot in my gut. I’m starting to feel like I’ve screwed up before we even had a chance to get started.

I pull into her driveway, the gravel crunching under my tires, and cut the engine. Her porch light glows faintly, illuminating the tidy little house and the planter boxes lining the steps. It looks quiet, too quiet, and my stomach churns.

Grabbing my jacket, I climb out of the truck and head to the door, the cold night air biting at my skin. I knock hard, three times, my knuckles aching from the force.

“Willow,” I call out, my voice sharp in the stillness. “It’s Brock.”

No answer.

I knock again, louder this time, my heart hammering in my chest. “Willow, come on. Open up.”

I press my ear to the door, straining to hear any sound from inside. Nothing. My chest tightens, and I pull out my phone, trying her number again. It rings once before going to voicemail.

“Damn it,” I mutter, pacing back and forth on the porch. My breath fogs in the cold air, and my hands clench into fists. I don’t know if I should keep knocking or try calling again—or maybe just kick the damn door in.

Just as I’m about to lose it, I hear faint footsteps inside. The door creaks open a few inches, and there she is.

Willow stands in the doorway, clutching the edge of the door like it’s the only thing holding her up. Her face is pale, her eyesred and puffy like she’s been crying. She’s changed into leggings and an oversized shirt, but to me, she still looks beautiful—just a little broken.

“Brock?” she says, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock.

Relief and frustration slam into me all at once, and I step closer, gripping the doorframe to keep from reaching for her. “Jesus, Willow, I’ve been calling you. Are you okay?”

She glances away, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I—I saw your calls. I just didn’t...” Her voice trails off, and she bites her lip like she’s trying to hold back more than just words.

“Didn’t what?” I ask, sharper than I mean to.

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