Page 16 of Sweetly Yours

She flinches, and guilt stabs through me. I soften immediately, stepping back to give her some space. “Sorry,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “I just... I’ve been worried. What happened? Why’d you leave?”

She hesitates, then looks back at me. “Wait... how did you even know where I live?”

I shift, a little sheepish. “I looked it up online.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That’s not creepy or anything,” she says, then lets out a small laugh, the sound light but slightly shaky.

I grin, relief washing over me at the sight of her smile, even if it’s faint. “Yeah, well, desperate times and all that.”

Willow doesn’t answer right away. She glances past me, like she’s checking to make sure no one else is around, then wraps her arms around herself. “That woman. Tessa.” Her voice wavers on the name, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

“What about her?” I ask, even though I already have a pretty good idea where this is going.

“She said...” Willow swallows hard, her gaze finally meeting mine. “She said you invited her to the event because you wanted to get back together with her.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at her.

“Tessa said that?” I ask, my voice low and rough.

Willow nods, and I see the hurt in her eyes—the doubt, the confusion—and it makes my blood boil.

“Willow,” I say, stepping closer, my voice firm. “That’s bullshit. I didn’t invite her. I didn’t even know she was coming.”

She blinks, her arms tightening around herself. “Then why would she say that?”

“Because that’s what Tessa does,” I snap, my frustration slipping out. I catch myself and take a breath, forcing my tone to even out. “She likes stirring the pot, getting a reaction. But she doesn’t mean anything to me, Willow. Not anymore. She hasn’t for a long time.”

Willow doesn’t respond, but the way she’s chewing on her bottom lip tells me she’s still unsure.

I take another step closer, lowering my voice. “Look, I don’t know what she told you, but I need you to hear me. The only reason I wanted you there today was because it mattered to me that you were part of it. You’re the one I care about. Not her. You.”

Her breath hitches, and her eyes flick up to meet mine. The walls she’s been holding up seem to falter, and for the first time tonight, I see a glimmer of the woman I know—the woman who’s been on my mind every damn day since I met her.

“You mean that?” she whispers.

I reach out, cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing away the damp streak on her skin. “I mean it, Willow. I’m not good at this—at saying the right things—but I know what I feel. And I feel this. Us. It’s real, and I’m not letting anything—or anyone—get in the way of that.”

For a moment, she just stares at me, like she’s searching for something. Then, slowly, she nods, her hand lifting to cover mine where it rests against her face.

“Okay,” she says softly, her voice barely audible.

Relief crashes over me, and I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. She melts into me, her head resting against my shoulder, and I feel the tension in my body finally start to ease.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “I should’ve seen this coming when she showed up. I won’t let it happen again.”

She doesn’t say anything, but the way she clings to me is answer enough.

And in that moment, I know one thing for certain, I’m never letting her go.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WILLOW

As Brock holds me in his arms, his warmth and steady presence begin to melt away the lingering anxiety that had gripped me all evening. His words echo in my mind—You’re the one I care about. Not her. You.—and I know he means them.

I pull back slightly, looking up at him. His dark eyes are focused entirely on me, and it sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the chill of the night air.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask, my voice soft but steady. “I could put on a movie.”

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