Guess I’d been lonelier even than Stetson had accused me of being.
“You gonna finish that thought?” Stetson asked.
I shook my head. “Nope,” I said. “Just…wanna make sure she’s okay.”
SEVEN
Willa
I needed to make a decision.
I was either going to stay with the Holts…or I was going to leave. There was no way I was going back to the homestead, that was for sure; but now the whole world was open.
Any sane person would have left, would have run as far as they could…not endangered the nice family that lived next door. But I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving them. I wanted to stay. Stay with these people who’d made me feel safe.
Stay with Nickel.
Stay with Forrest.
And it didn’t help that I’d devoured that book, asked Haven for another one, moved on to the next…and kept picturing Forrest as the hero and myself as the heroine.
Doing lots of things.
Like—Forrest on his knees, my skirt hitched up around my hips, head tilted back.
Forrest with his lips pressed to my neck, my legs wrapped around him, his hips thrusting.
Forrest…Forrest, Forrest in every single one of my dreams and my wildest fantasies.
It didn’t help that he kept doing things. Not anything weird or inappropriate, justnicethings. He’d pour me a cup of coffee without asking and add plenty of cream and sugar. He’d tell me what he was working on and describe it all—teach me about architecture, about the brewery he was designing for his cousin here in town. He always said good night and meant it.
And when he did that…I’d lie in bed in the dark and think about the way he said it, think about his voice, and I’d feel something warm and confused move through me.
I was twenty years old and I’d never had a crush before.
I was fairly certain that’s what this was.
It was terrifying.
In the books, the heroine always knew what to do; she’d say something sharp and funny and the hero would look at her like she’d surprised him, and they would just…it was always sosure.They were in love. He wanted her. She wanted him.
I was not that girl. And I wanted him because…because why? Because he’d given me my own room and a deadbolt?
No.
Because he’d given mesafety.Because he’d given mekindness.
…because I’d seen him with his shirt off and a towel around his waist one time and it made heat bloom between my legs and I’d felt the strangest urge to touch myself.
Tonight, he was making us dinner in the cottage—mostly to make me feel safe. The other nights I’d been here, we went over to the house…but I couldn’t imagine stepping foot out onto the porch, not after my family had come so close to finding me. I’d barely even wanted to leave my room until Forrest coaxed me out with grilled cheese and tomato soup.
I’d told him it wasn’t the season for it, it was too hot.
He told me that it was always what his mom had made after a hard day.
I ended up in the kitchen sometime around seven, and Forrest immediately set to work. For a few minutes, the only sounds were Forrest flipping the sandwiches on the stove…stirring the canned soup every so often. Nickel whined for cheese, and Forrest gave it to her.
I sat down at the table and looked at his designs—at the straight lines, perfectly measured, beautiful and orderly.
