Page 38
Shane
We stare at each other for a few beats while every cell in my body screams to withdraw, to go monosyllabic. Self-preservation dictates that I not let Willow know how much her words mean to me. So, I’m more shocked than anyone when I step forward, when I try to get her to see reason instead of making myself emotionally unavailable.
“Willow—”
“Nope.” She holds up that impertinent finger.
The rest of her hand is balled around the insurance information I spent way too long researching. It’s not as good as my medical insurance from the Waves, but it’s as close as I could get without forcing Willow to legally bind herself to me.
“I was ready to move to Texas. I was mentally prepared. But you swooped in with this crazy plan—”
“I know.”
“And upended everything—”
“I shouldn’t have intervened.”
“And I’ve done my makeup so nice. Delilah did wonders with my hair…”
My fingers itch to touch her, so I fist them at my sides. “I should have said something the minute I walked in.”
Willow closes her eyes with a loud exhale, her fingertips rubbing her temples.
I simply wait.
Wait for her to ask me to leave.
Wait for her to survey all the sticky, vulnerable parts of me and find them lacking.
Wait for her to show me she’s exactly the same as every woman who came before.
“Where’s the contract?” she asks, her gaze snapping to mine.
“The prenup? It’s at—”
“No. The other one about this only lasting a year.”
My throat tightens, but I reach into my other breast pocket, pulling out the paperwork I drafted myself. It didn’t seem like a good idea to bring my lawyer in on this one, though it’s technically not illegal for two US citizens to marry for convenience.
“Thanks.” Willow snatches the document and then rips it into little pieces, letting them flutter to the ground.
I blink, my mouth falling open before she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the two-person table.
“Sit.”
Though it’s usually me barking orders, I fold myself onto the impossibly small chair without a word.
Willow grabs a napkin from the smiling starfish holder, leans to pluck a pen from a junk drawer, and then begins writing furiously. Meanwhile, my heartbeat feels permanently lodged in my throat, my blood thick and sloshing in my ears. I can barely hear the replay of the walk-off home run I hit last night. Willow turns the napkin in my direction, sliding it across the table.
My eyes flick to hers before she gestures impatiently at her impromptu document.
Drawing in a deep breath, I start reading.
I promise to give you the benefit of the doubt.
I promise to communicate in more than grunts and growls.
I promise to give friendship a try, even though I obviously hate the word.
