“Where is she?” I beg.
“Gone,” he sighs. “Went home to her parents.”
“Tell me where. Please.”
Following the directions my phone calls out, I turn through street after street. It’s not as big as Nashville, but there’s so much of everything. The sights, sounds, and smells are overwhelming.
How could she have left this when I know what it all means to her? This is the foundation of her work and what she’s always known.
On the other hand, how could she have left Great Falls? It’s beautiful in its own quiet way. I know she sees that because it’s reflected in her photography. Oh, yeah, I’ve been creeping on her blog like an addict looking for a fix. I damn near jacked off to a picture of her ankles the other day because I could imagine my hands working their way up from those bony bits to the lush, firm muscles of her legs and the heaven between them. But I’d forced myself to keep scrolling, needing more and more of her, wanting to know where she’d been that day, what she’d done, and who she might’ve seen. And the way she captures my hometown is truly special.
How could she leave that? And Hank? It sounds like he still needs her.
Most of all, I fucking need her!
“You have arrived at your destination,” the phone drones. I pull into the driveway of the single-story house in the middle of a suburban street. This is definitely Willow’s house.
All the other ones are white, beige, bland and nondescript to the point of being interchangeable. This house is blue with pale yellow shutters, a standout in sea of blah, just like Willow. The yard is pristine, a lush green lawn and flower beds with layers of shrubbery and flowers. That must be her dad’s doing. And the house numbers are modern, skinny metal but inlaid in a mosaic tile backing. Her mom’s artistic touch?
As soon as I can throw the truck in park, I’m out and running for the front door. She’s here, I know she is because her little Subaru is parked in the drive too.
I bang on the door too hard, unable to hold myself back when she’s so close I can almost sense her. “Willow!” I holler through the wood door, wishing it had a glass window so I could press my nose to it and see inside. I need to see her now.
The door swings open, and I get a quick glimpse of an older version of Willow with longer hair, but then I see her . . . my Willow. She’s standing in the living room, a mere six feet away. It’s too far by a mile.
I lose all control, and any words I thought I was going to say float away like dandelions in the wind. I rush her, grabbing her in my arms. A sound of surprise squeaks out of her, but I don’t give her time to say no, covering her mouth with mine.
I steal her breath, wanting it as my own. I take her lips, wanting their brand. I claim her mouth, wanting to kiss only her for the rest of my life.
Completely forgetting where we are and not giving a shit about who else is here, I spin her and push her up against the nearest empty wall. I cup her cheeks in my palms, holding her steady so I can mold her mouth to mine.
I’m proving to myself that she’s real and promising her that she’s still mine and I’m still hers. Nothing will change that. Not even Jeremy-Fucking-Marshall or any record deal.
“Willow,” I murmur against her lips, a plea for her mercy.
Behind us, a small laugh sounds out. “So you must be Bobby?”
I don’t move to shake her mom’s hand, though I know it’s rude. I can’t take my eyes from Willow, can’t not touch her, though I do drop my hands to her waist, feeding my fingers through the beltloops of her shorts so I can brush along her soft skin. “Yes, ma’am,” I answer, my eyes searching Willow’s face for some sign of what she’s feeling.
Those mood-ring eyes are storming, swirling, seeking something in mine. Whatever it is, it’s hers. I’ll give her any damn thing she wants unless it’s to leave again. I can’t give her that. I refuse to.
“I’m Carrie, Willow’s mom. I can see what you like about him,” Carrie says. I can hear a smile in her voice, so hopefully, I haven’t scared her too much by bursting into her house and grabbing her daughter.
Not that I give a fuck as long as Willow doesn’t mind.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, still not looking away from Willow. “You left me. You left Hank. You left Great Falls.”
She blinks behind her lenses, and I’m acutely aware of her palms resting on my chest. I take a breath, holding it so my chest presses into her touch. I want more of it, need it desperately because it’s the only thing keeping my feet grounded right here. If she wasn’t touching me, I’d have to gather her in my arms and cover her with my body. But the slightest touch from her, one she chooses to give me, is a powerful drug I want more of. “Well, yeah, I had to come home to get my stuff.” Her brows dance up and then down in confusion. “I’m going back.”