Page 8 of Sweetly Yours

The guy leans closer, saying something else, and I catch the way Willow shifts back in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with her glass.

That’s it.

I let the final chord ring out, nodding to the crowd as they clap and cheer. “Thanks, folks,” I say into the mic. “Gonna take a quick break—be back in a bit.”

The moment I step off the stage, I head straight for Willow’s table, my heart pounding harder than it should be.

As I get closer, the guy straightens up, glancing at me with a flicker of surprise before muttering something to Willow and walking off. Good. He knows better than to stick around.

“Hey,” I say, sliding into the empty seat across from her. “You okay?”

Willow looks up, her cheeks pink as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’m fine. He was just... trying to make conversation.”

I don’t respond right away, my jaw tightening as I glance toward the guy, now laughing with a group of friends by the bar. He better stay over there.

“Where’s June?” I ask, realizing she’s nowhere to be seen.

Willow nods toward the pool table in the back corner. “She’s over there, hustling some poor guys who thought they could take her.”

I follow her gaze and spot June leaning over the table, lining up a shot with a sly smile. Sure enough, a group of guys are standing around her, looking equally impressed and annoyed.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Figures.”

Willow laughs softly, and the sound melts away the last bit of tension in my chest. She looks at me, her brown eyes warm and a little unsure, and asks, “Can I buy you a beer?”

Her words catch me off guard, and I raise an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair. “Buymea beer?”

“Yeah,” she says, fidgeting with her glass. “You’ve been playing all night, and I figured—”

I cut her off with a smile, shaking my head. “No, ma’am. That’s not how this works.”

She blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’m the one who buysyoua drink,” I say, my voice firm but teasing. “That’s how it goes.”

Willow’s cheeks flush, and then she bursts out laughing, the sound light and carefree. “Okay, fair enough. I guess I walked right into that one.”

“You did,” I agree, smiling as I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. “So, what are you drinking?”

“Just a cider,” she says, still smiling.

“Cider it is,” I say, standing up. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

As I make my way to the bar, I glance back at her, and the sight of her sitting there—smiling, relaxed, and more beautiful than she probably realizes—sends a wave of possessiveness surging through me.

She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

When I get back to the table, I set her cider down in front of her and slide into my seat, holding up my own beer. “Cheers,” I say, tapping my bottle against her glass.

Willow smiles, her cheeks still tinged with pink. “Cheers.”

She takes a sip, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The noise of the bar hums around us—laughter, clinking glasses, the distant crack of pool balls—but it all feels distant, like we’re in our own little bubble.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “are you enjoying the music?”

Her lips curve into a soft smile as she nods. “You’re really good. I mean, you told me you played, but I didn’t expect... that.”

“That?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.

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