Her shoulders tensed and she stepped out of his embrace, flashing an irritated glance at him over her shoulder as she took the bowls to the table. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, taking her response as verification that she was.
She shook her head, but didn’t bother responding. Instead, she moved on to the next task, taking the bowl of salad she had already prepared out of the fridge and placing it in the center of the table.
“If you want tomatoes or cucumbers in your salad, just let me know and I can chop some up for you.”
“I don’t care about tomatoes, Willow,” he said, catching her by the shoulder and turning her to look at him.
Sure enough, beneath the make-up she had attempted to cover them up with, there were dark smudges under her eyes.
Ethan sighed. “I thought… I thought they stopped.”
“They did. For a while. Then they came back.” She shrugged, averting her gaze. “It didn’t work. Oh well.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her.
“It’s not your fault,” she told him, breaking free and resuming her busy work. “It was a valiant effort.”
“When did they start up again?”
“Does it matter?” Willow replied. “I’m working on a new theory of getting rid of them, but it’s trial and error at this point.”
“Are you still seeing your counselor?” Ethan inquired.
“Yep. Haven’t told her everything though—I kind of thought she might not understand.”
“Well… she is trained to better understand these kinds of things, Willow.”
Pausing to spare him a look of disbelief, she said, “Really? You think she would understand this? I don’t think this is normal. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m fairly confident that I’m not.”
Since he didn’t know how to argue with that, he let it go for the moment.
By the time they sat down to dinner, he seemed to have succeeded in lowering her guard again. He was still a little pissed at himself for not noticing earlier, and he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just open up instead of making him pry every little thing out of her. It would be so much easier—but then, that was probably just part of what made her Willow, the beguiling creature that she was.
“That was amazing.”
Willow offered a smile as Ethan helped her clear the table. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
The food had been delicious, the wine had helped ease what little tension had remained, and after only one glass, Willow’s cheeks had pinkened and she was even more pleasant than usual.
But dinner was over.
Ethan wasn't immediately sure where to go from there. They were still in the kitchen, and he checked his watch, asking, "Do you know what time your parents will be home?"
"Not precisely, but I know they’ll still be out for a little while." Approaching him and reaching for his hand, she asked, "Do you want to go to my room?"
Of course he did, even if he was a bit conflicted about it.
After a quick stop in the living room to retrieve her bra, Willow led Ethan upstairs and down the hall into her bedroom.
Once inside, he was momentarily distracted by the girlish hues. Her walls were painted lavender with a couple of abstract canvas paintings on opposite walls, the carpet was plushy and white, and her bedspread was black and white with the names of several international cities printed on it—Paris, Rome, New York, etc. There were decorative pillows set up, some matching the bedspread, some that matched the walls, and a few that matched both to pull the look together.
Her dresser was white with a mirror behind it, against the wall by the door he suspected was either a closet or a bathroom. Atop the dresser, a couple of framed pictures of her and her friends, a blue candle in a glass jar, a small stack of magazines, and several bottles of nail polish.
Once more, he was reminded of her age. It was easy to forget when he was alone with her—too easy.
As if sensing that he was about to have a crisis of conscience, Willow came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, just like he had done in the kitchen earlier.