Page 17 of Sweetly Yours

His lips curve into a small smile, and he nods. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

I step back to let him in, closing the door behind him. Frankie trots over from his spot near the couch, his little tail wagging furiously as he sniffs at Brock’s boots.

“Hey, buddy,” Brock says, crouching down to scratch behind Frankie’s ears. “You’re keeping an eye on her for me, huh?”

Frankie snorts in approval, and I can’t help but smile at the sight of them. Brock, with his broad shoulders and rough hands, looks so out of place in my cozy little house—and yet, he fits perfectly.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I say, gesturing toward the couch as I grab a blanket from the back of a chair.

He sits down, and I join him a moment later, tucking my legs up under me as I drape the blanket over us. The couch is small, and we end up sitting close enough that our shoulders touch.

“What are we watching?” he asks, leaning back and resting his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing my shoulder.

“I was thinking something light,” I say, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the options. “I’ve had enough drama for one night.”

He laughs, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough.”

I settle on Step Brothers. I’ve seen it a dozen times before and it never fails to make me laugh. As the opening credits roll, I lean back into the couch, and Brock’s arm slips down to rest around my shoulders. We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the soft glow of the TV washing over us. I find myself leaning more into him as the movie goes on, and before I know it, my head is resting against his chest.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, his voice rumbling through me.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m good.”

He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and I feel a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with the blanket.

It’s strange, how quickly I’ve come to feel so safe with him. Like I could stay here forever, wrapped up in his arms, and not want for anything else.

The movie plays on, but I barely pay attention. All I can think about is the steady rhythm of Brock’s breathing, the way his fingers trace idle patterns against my arm, and how, for the firsttime in a long time, everything feels like it’s exactly where it’s meant to be.

When the move is over and the soft glow of the TV dims, the music plays quietly in the background. Brock and I stay where we are, tangled together on the couch, neither of us making a move to get up. I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want this night to be over.

But reality waits for no one, and the bakery calls early.

“I hate to say it,” I murmur, my voice reluctant, “but I have to get to bed.”

Brock shifts slightly, looking down at me with a frown. “How early do you get up?”

I shake my head, offering a small smile. “You don’t want to know.”

“Try me,” he says, nudging me gently.

I hesitate for a moment, but his expectant look makes it impossible to dodge the question. “Three. So I can get to the bakery before four.”

His brows shoot up, and he glances at his watch. “That’s four hours from now.” His gaze sharpens, and his voice softens. “Willow, baby, that’s not enough sleep.”

The wordbabyhits me like a bolt of lightning, sending a flutter straight to my stomach. It’s the first time he’s ever called me that, and the casual, almost instinctive way he says it makes it feel intimate. Natural.

“I’m usually in bed by seven,” I admit with a shrug.

He leans back, giving me a pointed look. “I didn’t have to come in and stay, you know.”

“No, you did,” I say, reaching out to brush his arm. “I needed this. Wanted this. But thank you for worrying about me. I’ll be fine. It won’t be the first time I’ve worked on a few hours of sleep, and it definitely won’t be the last.”

I stand, stretching slightly, and he rises from the couch with me. The loss of his warmth is immediate, but I push it aside as I walk him to the door.

We reach it slowly, neither of us wanting him to leave, but the unspoken truth lingers between us, I’m not ready for him to stay. Not yet.

Just as I open the door to say goodnight, he surprises me. His hands grip my hips as he turns me, pressing me gently but firmly against the door.

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