4. Willow
Chapter 4
Willow
I blink awake as the first light of dawn creeps through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm, golden hue. Darn it. I hate my inability to sleep past five am. Chewy is sprawled out next to me, snoring softly with his tongue hanging out through his teeth.
“Time to wake up, little man,” I whisper, ruffling his fur. He stirs, giving me a disgruntled look before rolling over with a grumble .
While he stretches and protests the early morning wake-up, I throw on some sweats and a t-shirt. I head to the en suite and quickly rush through my early morning routine without bothering with makeup since I don’t have a job. When I return to my room, I find Chewy chasing his tail.
“Is that thing bothering you again?” I ask as we head to the kitchen. I open the back door and let Chewy rush past me into the fenced yard. He takes off like a shot, nose to the ground, eager to investigate every blade of grass and every scent the wind tosses his way.
While he plays, I take a moment to survey my surroundings. I still can’t shake the thought of how surreal it is to be staying with the hot FBI agent, far away from the chaos of my past life.
Chewy darts around, zigzagging across the yard like he owns the place, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him.
Once Chewy has sufficiently marked every blade of grass, I call him back inside. The little guy trots over, and together we head to the kitchen, where I plan to whip up breakfast. It’s my way of thanking Lennox for letting me stay here while we wait for the dust to settle on this whole mess with Oscar.
After getting a pot of coffee brewing, I throw open the fridge, pulling out eggs, bacon, and a few vegetables. Cooking gives me something to focus on, something to channel all this pent-up energy.
I wonder if Lennox is awake yet. I feel the little flutter in my stomach at the thought of him. He’s been nothing but a gentleman to me so far, even if the tension between us has made me feel like a pressure cooker about to pop.
Just then, the door swings open, and in walks Lennox. His dark hair is still damp. He’s styled it in a way that emphasizes the strong angles of his jaw. The tight black t-shirt he’s wearing hugs his broad shoulders and biceps. My eyes are drawn to the intricate tattoos covering both of his arms. I’m in so much trouble here. I force my eyes to move, and they land on the faded jeans sitting low on his hips, accentuating everything a little too nicely for my sanity.
Well, hello, distraction.
“Good morning, Spitfire,” he says with a smile as he heads over to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup. He leans back against the countertop with his arms crossed, giving off this chill vibe that just pulls me in.
“Spitfire?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Your sass keeps me on my toes. You’re a handful, and I love it,” he replies, grinning as he takes a sip of his coffee .
I can’t even think of a comeback, so I just focus on making breakfast. I know I’ve said it before, but man, I’m in deep trouble here.
Somehow, I manage to get through breakfast without jumping his bones, but it’s a close call.
After he heads off to work in his fancy home office, I unpack my stuff and get settled in, then pull out my laptop to look for jobs. By mid-afternoon, I’ve applied for a bunch of positions while Chewy snoozes away on my bed.
It’s one of those painfully slow days where the hours drag on, and I find myself pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. I’ve only been in Lennox’s house for a few days, and the charm of it is already starting to feel like home, which scares the heck out of me. I’m not used to filling my time with anything other than the hustle of my previous life, and here, lacking a real agenda, the quiet feels deafening.
Chewy has found his usual spot on the couch, snoozing contentedly with his little feet moving nonstop as he dreams of chasing rabbits. I can’t help but chuckle at him, wishing I could emulate his carefree life for just a moment, but it’s not going to happen .
I glance around the kitchen, contemplating what I could do. I’ve already cleaned the countertops, organized his shelf of old cookbooks, and managed to throw together a half-assed plan of how to reinvent Lennox’s pantry.
After pacing for another minute, I grab my phone, but there’s only so much scrolling I can do before I throw it back onto the counter out of frustration. Fun social media posts and inspirational quotes won’t fix the constant pressure building in my chest. My current unemployed state is weighing heavily on me.
Just as I contemplate whether I should head back to the couch and plop down beside Chewy or go dig in my bag for a book, I hear the door to the office swing open. Lennox strolls out, looking yummy in his usual tight t-shirt and those stupidly perfect faded jeans that make my heart do backflips.
“Hey, Spitfire,” he greets casually, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint cocky grin playing on his lips. “What’re you up to?”
I roll my eyes, trying to downplay the effect he’s having on me. “Not much, just contemplating my life choices while Chewy works hard,” I tease and point at my snoozing pooch, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
“He’s got it rough,” he shoots back, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that makes my stomach flutter and my girly parts wake up.
“I work hard so my dog can have a better life.”
He lets out a laugh, and the darn sound sends a shiver down my spine. “He’s one lucky little shit.”
Just then, the playful banter shifts. His dark brown eyes pierce through me, looking right past the surface and into the depths of my soul. Every time we share these moments, I feel like the world around us fades away. The way he’s looking at me right now, it’s enough to make my pulse race. There’s a breathless tension I can’t ignore, and every instinct in my body tells me to close the gap between us.
“Lennox…” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
Then, right when I’m about to do something reckless, Chewy decides this is the perfect moment to burst from his slumber. The little furball suddenly jolts upright, barking wildly at nothing.
“Chewy!” I exclaim, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh as he scampers over, all floppy ears and wagging tail, completely ignoring the tension hanging heavy in the air around us.
Chewy rushes right up and plops his little butt at Lennox’s feet. When the little traitor stares up at him with those wide, adoring eyes that say, “You’re my new favorite person,” I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Looks like I’ve been replaced,” I say, gesturing dramatically as I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe and fighting back a grin.
“Not a chance,” Lennox replies, bending down to scratch Chewy under the chin, and the fondness blooming on his face makes my heart flutter again. “We can share him.”
I take a step closer, folding my arms and watching him with a playful smirk. “You might regret your decision when he takes up your whole bed.”
“I’m willing to share my bed.” He grins, looking up from the little dog. The heat shining from his dark eyes is beyond dangerous to my heart.