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My head nods like a bobblehead.
And then Bobby sings. The crowd is gone and the room might as well be empty because he only has eyes for me and I am pinned in his gaze, lost in his words. His honeyed whiskey voice flows over me, the grit and gravel pricking my skin, letting the sweetness burrow into my soul.
Was an empty shell of a man,
Waiting on you to find me.
But when I found you,
I found everything.
All my days and nights belong to you,
There will never be enough.
Your heart belongs to me,
It will always be mine.
Sweet kindness from your soul,
I don’t deserve.
But I’ll get down on my knees
To worship you.
Bobby drops to his knee with his last lyric, pushing Betty behind his back to free his hands. He takes mine, the rough calluses on his fingers tracing over my skin like he can’t believe I’m real and his. A shuddering sigh works its way through his body, his chest rising and falling raggedly.
“I’m not good with words, Willow. But you know my heart because it’s yours. You know my soul. It’s where I keep you safe and loved. And I’m deep inside you too—body, mind, and soul. You’re mine. And I’m yours. You know what I want—forever.” It’s not a question, but I know exactly what he’s asking of me.
Tears are pooling in my glasses, blurring my vision, but I can see Bobby. I can always see him, can feel him, deeply in love with me. Me, Willow Parker, outside, behind-the-scenes, quiet and forgettable. But he sees me, all of me, and loves me, has given me a home, and wants to spend forever with me.
I can’t find words, which is usually the problem he thinks he has, but I nod.
“Tell me, Willow.” The command goes through me in a jolt, making me hot and giving me strength.
“Yes,” I shout, louder than I meant to, but the joy is so bright that it demands release.
Distantly, I hear the crowd cheering, but I don’t care. All I feel are Bobby’s arms wrapping around me tightly, his lips pressed to mine as he claims me proudly. I kiss him back, marking him as mine too. He hugs me again, lifting my feet off the stage and growling in my ear, “I love you. And I need to be inside you, right the fuck now.”
I blush, hoping he hears my agreement to both of those statements when I say, “I love you, too.”
He doesn’t finish the set. I don’t finish my shift. Hoots and cheers sound up around us, but none of it matters but the man by my side. Well, figuratively by my side, because he’s got me scooped up in his arms, striding briskly for the door as the crowd parts for us.
I hear him call out, “Brutal, take Betty home.” Then we’re outside, the mild spring coolness of the night instantly surrounding us. You’d think it’d quiet the fire in my core, but the flames still lick along my skin from Bobby’s hands where they grip me and through my body.
I need him too.
“Get in the truck. Now.” His voice has gone even deeper than usual, already entering the bossy, gritty way he commands me when he loses all sense of gentleness and takes me rough and hard.
I would’ve thought I’d want sweet and tender after that proposal, but he knows me too well by this point. He knows I need him to mark me all over, order me to say filthy things that make me blush as I force them past my vocal cords, and take me like I’m his. Because I am.
The bus is huge, so big it won’t even fit through the main gate at Tannen Farm. It’s blocking the street outside instead, with Chief Gibson standing out there to direct traffic. Except there’s no traffic. He’s just here to see Bobby off like a looky-loo.
“All right, fuckers. I’m out of here.”
Bobby’s using grunts and grumpiness to hide his nerves and fear. It’s understandable considering the other guys are doing the same thing. Luckily, the women have emotions enough for us all.
We’re a blubbering, snotty, crying mess as we hug and make promises of daily phone calls and texts.
“I’ll send you a soap basket every month and overnight cobbler every week,” Shayanne vows. Then I’m locked in her arms. “Oh, my cheesus and crackers, I’m going to miss you!”
“Shay, let her go,” Luke says, gathering her in his arms comfortingly.
Bobby holds a hand out to Brutal, whose arms are crossed, his face in a deep scowl. Brutal knocks Bobby’s hand away to wrap his arms around his shoulders. Bobby startles, likely thinking Brutal’s taking an easy shot—that’s their way, after all—but he recovers and slaps his back a bit too hard. They push off each other, both looking surprised at the emotion coursing through them. “Don’t fuck up the planting or you’ll kill the whole year’s profits.”
