Page 94 of Just The Way You Aren't

The question hangs between us. She seems genuinely perplexed by it.

"I take care of myself just fine," she finally says. "Though I guess Abby helps sometimes. And now you, with the dress and the fundraiser and?—"

"I'm not talking about logistics," I interrupt. "I'm talking about who makes sure Willow Harper feels valued. Appreciated. Not for what she does for others, but for who she is."

She stares at me, her expression vulnerable in a way I've never seen before. It hits me then—perhaps no one ever has.

"Your grandparents were wrong," I tell her, cupping her face. "Making yourself small doesn't make others bigger. And taking care of everyone else doesn't mean you deserve any less care yourself."

Her eyes shine suddenly with tears. "You don't need to?—"

"I'm not being noble," I cut in, predicting what she was about to say. "I'm being selfish. I want you to understand how extraordinary you are because it's the truth, and because I get to be with you, and that makes me the luckiest bastard in Manhattan."

A tear spills over, and I catch it with my thumb. "The woman I met who stops traffic for stray kittens, who argues with jerks like me without blinking, who puts together fundraisers that raise nearly a million dollars while solving a dozen crises—she's not just 'fine.' She's incredible."

Willow tries to look away, but I hold her gaze. "When I first met you, I thought you were disorganized. Scattered. Maybe a little naive. I was so wrong. You're not disorganized—you're adaptable. You're not scattered—you're present wherever you're needed. And you're anything but naive. You're hopeful despite knowing exactly how difficult the world can be."

She's fully crying now, silent tears that break my heart and somehow make me fall for her even harder.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "I don't usually?—"

"Don't apologize." I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Not for this."

We lie in silence for a while, her head on my chest, my fingers combing through her hair. I can feel the moment when the tension leaves her body, when she allows herself to be held without feeling the need to make me feel better about her tears.

"You know what I thought when I first saw you?" she finally asks, her voice steadier.

"That I was a heartless corporate monster with a schedule stuck up my ass?"

She laughs softly. "That you looked exhausted. And sad. And that you probably needed someone to make you laugh."

"Astute observation."

"I wasn't wrong."

"No, you weren't." I tip her chin up to kiss her properly. "Though I didn't realize how much I needed it until you."

"I thought you were going to let poor Pixie die in the middle of the street that day," she teases.

"I was considering it," I admit. "But then I saw this gorgeous redhead with more compassion than sense standing in traffic, and suddenly I was pulling over."

"More compassion than sense? I saved that kitten's life!"

"By risking your own in the middle of a busy intersection."

She swats my chest. "I had it under control."

"You had nothing under control. Your skirt was about to get caught in your bike chain, your hair was a tornado, andyou were trying to balance a kitten while lecturing me about helping."

"Admit it, you were transfixed," she says with suspicious confidence.

"Completely," I agree. "Though I didn't realize it at the time. I thought I was just suffering a minor aneurysm."

She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Here I thought you were just annoyed with me."

"I was definitely annoyed. And hooked.” I shrug, grinning at her. “Mostly annoyed that I was hooked."

This makes her laugh harder, and I marvel at how quickly she can shift from tears to joy. Not because she's hiding her pain, but because she genuinely finds happiness even in difficult moments.

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