Page 69 of Guarded Love

But structure and planning aren't helping me now. Not with Willow.

The voice tells me to visualize a peaceful place. I immediately think of the beach from my morning run, except Willow is there, walking along the shoreline in that white dress from dinner.

"Focus on relaxing each part of your body," the voice continues. "Start with your toes."

I try. I really do. But by the time I'm supposed to be relaxing my shoulders, all I can think about is how tense they felt when David approached Willow, and how I couldn't stop myself from stepping in. He’s lucky that’s all I did to be honest. The thoughts that were flying through my mind in that moment would have landed all of us on a plane back home.

Knox would have done the same, I tell myself. I was just looking out for her like I promised.

But there was something else there. It was a surge of something possessive and irrational that almost made me act out of character.

I pull out one earbud and check the time. I've made it through twelve minutes of a thirty-minute session, and I'm no closer to sleep than when I started.

"Fuck this," I mutter as I yank out the other earbud.

I sit up in bed and run a hand through my hair. The room is dark except for the light coming from my phone. Tyler shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

Maybe I need air. Maybe I need to clear my head. Maybe I just need to stop thinking about Willow Sanchez for five consecutive minutes.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grab a t-shirt, pulling it over my head. I throw on some gray sweatpants that I’d left folded on a chair near my bed. Maybe a walk will make me tired, doing what I couldn’t manage to do with this mediation app. I slip on my shoes and grab my room key and phone, making sure I’m careful not to wake Tyler. I ease the door open and step into the hallway.

I think about heading to the beach again, but I end up slowing down when I hit the lobby. Maybe I'll find a chair in a corner and scroll through my phone until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open. I could have done it in my bed, but I’m hoping a change of scenery helps.

I take the stairs and when I reach the last step, I pause.

Because that's when I see her.

Willow is sitting on one of the oversized couches in the far corner, her laptop balanced on her knees. She hasn't noticed me yet, probably because her hands are flying across the keyboard. Whatever she’s typing must be intense because I’m not sure if she’s given her hands a break in the time I’ve been staring at her.

She's wearing that oversized university hoodie again and I smirk at how it swallows her frame. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun with strands escaping around her face, and she looks just as stunning as she did when I saw her at dinner last night.

Hell. I should leave. Turn around and go back to my room before she sees me. But I can't seem to make myself move. There's something about seeing her like this that stops me from doing the logical thing. Instead, I walk closer to her.

Her head snaps up suddenly and I swear her green eyes immediately lock on me. I should say something. Anything. But my voice gets caught somewhere between my brain and mymouth. We just stare at each other for what feels like minutes but is probably only seconds.

She breaks first. "What do you want?" Her tone is sharp and defensive. Her walls are up before I've even spoken a word.

I don't answer right away because I’m not sure how to respond. The lobby is silent except for the hum of the air conditioning, and it makes everything more awkward.

“Nothing,” I finally say. “I couldn’t sleep and saw you down here, so I walked over. What are you working on?" I ask and don’t know how my answer and question are going to land with her.

The question seems to catch her off guard. Her eyes narrow slightly, and it’s as if she’s searching my face to see if I’m being sarcastic.

"Why do you care?" she asks, but I can tell she’s not being as defensive as she was just seconds ago. That’s a win in my book.

"I don't," I say automatically, then wince at how harsh it sounds. "I mean, I was just asking."

"I’m just...writing," she finally says. "Something about this trip."

"For the paper?" I take a step closer and am not sure if it’s the right move. I don’t want to crowd her but can’t help but step forward because I need to be closer.

She shakes her head. "No. Maybe. I don't know yet." She closes her laptop slightly, not all the way, but enough that I can't see the screen. "It's personal. I'm still figuring it out."

"Mind if I sit?" I gesture to the other end of the couch.

She hesitates, then shrugs one shoulder. "It's a free country."

I sink down onto the cushion and I make sure to leave plenty of space between us. "So," I venture, "personal writing?"

---