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“You can’t—”

“It’s like—”

Her half-broken, mirth-filled sentences only make me laugh more. I roll the nutcracker to the side, stabilizing him with one hand while I wheeze. Our noise draws Mr. Fields, who surveys the scene with a severe, “Oh my!”

Willow and I lock eyes. She looks like a helium balloon about to explode. When Willow breaks first, I quickly follow her, cackling. We laugh until tears leak out of my eyes, and Willow snorts so loud even Mr. Fields chuckles.

When we eventually calm down, Willow glances at me with a contented sigh.

The way she’s looking at me…smiling at me…

I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like that.

“You should really do that more often.”

“Get attacked by predatory Christmas decorations?”

“No.” Willow snorts, shaking her head. “Laugh.”

I want to tell her that I haven’t laughed like this in years—haven’t had a reason to—but Mr. Fields speaks first.

“Does this mean you’ll be taking the nutcracker home with you?”

“No,” Willow and I say in unison.

We share another look before my heart can’t take any more of her casual affection. I avert my gaze, hop up, and right the nutcracker. I also straighten the stack of newspapers and move the typewriter to a steadier location.

Beyond the shelf with the glassware, a framed set of three baseball cards leans against a gramophone. I move closer to investigate. All three players are from the 1982 Waves lineup—not famous but definitely leaders in their day.

“Can we find a place for this?” I ask, glancing back at Willow.

Her grin softens. “You can have anything you want.”

I want you. I want to keep you, but I don’t know if I deserve to.

My hands fist at the thought, and Willow catches it. I force my fingers to loosen as she walks over. A quiet sigh leaves her as she leans past me to pick up the frame. She pats my shoulder twice with it before disappearing behind another mountain of clutter.

“Charming, isn’t she?”

I jolt. I’d completely forgotten the older gentleman was standing nearby.

A gruff agreement comes from my throat.

“I’m glad to know she’s in such good hands.”

The man sends me a knowing smile before shuffling off. I stand stock-still, wrestling with the gnawing sensation eating my bones. Could there even be a scenario in which I’d be good for Willow?

But before I can fully tumble down that rabbit hole, I hear a crash accompanied by Willow’s bright “I’m fine!” from another corner of the store and take off in that direction.

Chapter 21

Willow

I’m still riding the high of Shane’s laughter long after we leave the antique store. Add in the fact that I have the footage of the rare event, and I feel luckier than a hiker who stumbled upon Bigfoot. Without evidence, no one might have believed that Shane’s laugh is the perfect combination of rough and warm, like the slight burn of stubble sliding down your neck.

When I shiver at the thought, Shane’s large hand raises to increase the cabin heat of his truck.

“Thanks,” I manage, clearing my throat when it comes out hoarse.