Page 19 of Sweetly Yours

Willow: Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.

Me: I always worry about you.

I set the phone down and lean against the workbench, running a hand through my hair. It’s true—I do worry about her. Not because I don’t think she can handle herself, but because she means too damn much to me already.

I pick the phone back up and fire off another message before I can overthink it.

Me: Got plans tonight?

Willow: If you’re about to suggest something, the answer is probably yes.

Me: I was thinking dinner. My place. Something simple.

Willow: I can’t say no to food. What time?

Me: Five. And don’t bring anything except yourself.

I smile as her response comes through—just a simple “Deal” with a heart emoji—but it’s enough to set the tone for the rest of my day.

It’s not long before I’m tidying up the workshop, making sure everything looks good before I head home to get things ready. Cooking isn’t exactly my forte, but I can handle grilling some steaks and throwing together a decent salad.

When five rolls around, I’m standing in the kitchen, checking the time for the fifth time in as many minutes. Then I hear the knock.

I open the door, and there she is—standing on my porch, wrapped in a soft sweater and a smile that makes me forget how to breathe.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice like music.

“Hey, baby,” I reply, stepping aside to let her in. The word slips out naturally, like it’s always belonged to her.

As she walks past me, her shoulder brushing mine, I know one thing for sure: tonight is going to be special.

She steps into my place, and for a moment, I just stand there, watching her take it all in. My cabin isn’t much—a small living room with a wood-burning stove, an open kitchen, and just enough space for me to call it home. But seeing Willow here, standing in the soft glow of the warm light, makes it feel like it’s exactly where she belongs.

“It smells good,” she says, her eyes flicking to the kitchen where the steaks are resting on the counter.

I smile, closing the door behind her. “Hope you like steak. If not, I’ve got a backup plan, but I’m warning you—it’s frozen pizza.”

She laughs, the sound warm and easy, and shakes her head. “Steak sounds perfect.”

“Good,” I say, nodding toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab you something to drink. Wine okay?”

“Perfect,” she says again, slipping out of her sweater and draping it over the back of the couch before sitting down.

I pour two glasses of red wine, bringing them over to the coffee table. When I sit down beside her, the warmth of her presence pulls me in like a magnet.

“You’ve got a cozy place,” she says, looking around. Her gaze lingers on a pair of shelves I built last year, and I can’t help but feel a little pride when she runs her fingers along the edge.

“Thanks. It’s nothing fancy, but it does the job.”

“It’s very... you,” she says, smiling at me over the rim of her glass.

I raise an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“Warm, solid, and built to last,” she teases.

“Solid, huh?” I laugh, leaning back against the couch. “I’ll take it.”

The food comes together easily. I grill the steaks, throw together a salad, and plate everything while Willow sits at the counter, sipping her wine and chatting about her day. She tells me about a mix-up at the bakery with an overly picky customer, and I can’t help but admire the way she lights up, even when she’s venting.

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