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To my surprise and delight, she does, though she warns, “Just a reminder . . . a whole bar full of people, including Unc, saw you take me out of Hank’s. You’ll be the first suspect.”
I chuckle and turn off the engine. “Stay there, keep ’em closed.” I get out and run around to her side, opening her door. I help her down, careful to not get too close . . . yet. Slowly, I walk her toward the back of the truck. “Stand right where you are for a second. Lemme lower the tailgate.”
Down it goes with a slight thud, and I steer Willow in front of it. “Okay, I’m gonna pick you up and set you on the tailgate. Still got your eyes closed?”
They are. I can see how she’s pinching them shut against the desire to open them and see what’s around her.
I circle my hands around her waist and lift. She naturally jumps a tiny bit and I set her on the tailgate. She leans left a little and I steady her with strong hands. “Ohh!” she exclaims, then laughs at her overcorrection.
“Okay, one last thing . . . don’t move and don’t peek.” I run back to her side of the truck and grab her camera. I’m no pro, not even an amateur, but I can press a button. Hopefully, that’s enough. Standing beside her again, I aim the lens at her.
“On the count of three, I want you to open your eyes and see Great Falls. One, two, three . . .”
Click. Click. Click. Click.
I have no idea what I’m doing, so as she opens her eyes, gasps, and covers her open mouth with her hands, I just keep pushing the button. She looks from the view before us, inky blackness dotted with white lights and the surrounding mountains, to me. She’s looking through the lens into my eyes, I swear it.
Click. Click.
“It’s beautiful,” Willow whispers, even though it’s just the two of us.
“Gorgeous,” I answer, not talking about the city view but about her.
Her eyes meet mine, and I lower the camera. The yawning space between us disappears, though I stay rooted where I am, and the invisible thread between us pulls tight, humming with possibility.
“Do you feel this? Am I crazy?” One quick, audible swallow, and she adds, “This is crazy. Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
I have zero intention of doing so.
I carefully set the camera down, knowing it’s her baby as much as my guitar is mine. The mere fact that she let me hold it and didn’t freak out is more than I could say about Betty. Nobody touches her. Nobody but me.
I step between Willow’s knees, lightly laying my palms on her bare thighs. Looking her directly in the eye, I say with no reservation, “I saw you across the room a week ago and wanted to know, one, who the hell was behind Hank’s bar, and two, why the hell you weren’t already in my arms. I’ve been going crazy inside thinking it was just me. So no, I don’t think you’re crazy. Or if you are, I am too. Yeah, I feel it, Willow.”
I take her hand in mine and lay her palm on my chest, letting her feel the way my heart is racing. Slow and steady has left the building. Well, we’re outside, so there is no building, but the point’s the same. I’m going whole-hog, full-steam ahead, and praying she doesn’t slam shut the door she cracked open.
“Oh.” Her eyes are locked on our layered hands on my chest, but the edge of a smile lifts her lips.
I press a kiss to her forehead, not wanting to push too far, too fast. “Take a few shots of the city lights while I get our picnic set up, ’kay?”
She nods silently, and I give her a little space to get comfortable with where we are now. I had a little hidey-hole carved out, but now I’m hauling in one of those big, fluffy La-Z-Boy recliners and making myself right at home in her heart.
In the cab of the truck, I send a quick text to Brody.
Don’t wait up.
He wouldn’t, but it’s only polite to let your roomie know when you’re not coming home. Besides, I know Brody and Rix would love to have the house to themselves for the night. It’s awkward when we both still live in our family home, though Brody did finally move into the main bedroom.
Then I shoot one to Brutal.
You’re on your own in the morning.
Brody replies first with his usual response . . . a middle finger emoji which translates to everything from ‘okay’ to ‘fuck you’ to ‘I love you, bro’. Brutal texts back too.
About damn time. Can’t wait to meet her. She like chicken?
The seemingly nonsensical question is anything but. It’s a sort of code in the Bennett family and now ours. If you pass the family litmus test, Mama Louise gives her approval by showing you how to make her famous fried chicken. If you fail, no chicken cooking lessons for you.
