Page 79 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
But I won’t tell her any of that.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
When we do finally talk about what happened between us, I won’t give her any reason to feel sorry for me because I deserved every single thing I suffered.
“I mostly spent time alone in the cabin or out in the barn working on my carvings.”
Her eyes flash with interest. “What have you created since I left?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question.”
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile. “Okay, go.”
I probably should have thought this out, planned something that wouldn’t lead us down a dangerous road, but staring up into her gray eyes, I can’t help but wonder about how she ended up in my arms in the first place. “Why didn’t you walk away from the bonfire that night?”
If she had, it might have saved both of us a lot of heartache.
She might have been happy instead of suffering right now.
Willow’s brow furrows deeply. “What?”
“The night we first kissed.” Even six years later, the memory still lives vividly in my head. Every brush of my lips over hers. The way her hands clung to my shirt. That little sound she made in the back of her throat. “Everyone else left the fire and walked to their trucks to head home, but you lingered with me…”
“I did.”
And sealed our fates.
“Why didn’t you leave? I’m pretty sure Raven was trying to drag you away.”
In fact, I distinctly remember the feisty blonde physically grabbing Willow’s arm and trying to lead her to where the trucks were parked rather than allowing her to sit around the fire where I lingered, staring up at the mountain sky.
“Oh, she definitely was.” Her lips curl into a little knowing grin. “Because she knew why I was going to stay.”
“Why was that?”
No other woman even tried.
The couple who had in high school and the few years following, before Willow and I got together always left cursing my name and threatening violence because I wasn’t interested.
And I wasn’t exactly known for letting them down easily.
But Willow was different.
Not scared away by my reputation or attitude—probably because of all the time she spent with Mom and us on the homestead when she was younger.
Or maybe just because she always saw me in a way no one else ever could.
Her cheeks pinken slightly, almost as if she’s embarrassed to reveal something I’ve wondered about for so many years. “Because I’d had a crush on you since we were like, twelve years old.”
“Really?”
She nods, and I picture that little dark-haired girl sitting quietly in the front of the classroom, raising her hand with every answer and sticking her nose in a book during recess.
Somehow, I missed it.
The way she must have looked at me…when I wasn’t busy looking at her.
