Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
brOCK
T exting Willow’s turned into the best part of my day. Every message pulls me in, and yeah, I check my phone way too much, waiting for that buzz that means she’s thinking about me, too.
She’s funny, sharp, and sweet in a way that keeps me hooked. I’ve never been big on texting—always preferred face-to-face—but with her, it’s different. Her words feel like glimpses of who she really is, and I can’t seem to get enough of them.
Me: So, what’s the dessert you’d make for yourself when no one else is around? No judgment.
Willow: Easy. Brownie sundaes. Gooey brownie, vanilla ice cream, caramel drizzle, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.
Me: Solid choice. Classic.
Willow: Your turn.
Me: Oatmeal cookies.
Willow: ...Seriously? Out of everything, you pick oatmeal cookies? ??
Me: Don’t knock them until you’ve tried them with chocolate chips. Game-changer.
Willow: Alright, Steele, challenge accepted. But if they’re just okay, I’m mocking you forever.
Me: Deal. They won’t be.
Every message gets me smiling, but the ones where she lets her guard down? Those hit different. She has no clue how naturally she pulls me in—her humor, her honesty—it’s like a damn magnet. Makes me want to know everything about her.
Willow: Frankie just stole half my toast. He didn’t even look guilty about it.
Me: Smart dog. Knows quality when he sees it.
Willow: Oh, please. He’s lucky he’s cute.
Me: Sounds like someone else I know ??
She talks about Frankie like he’s her little partner in crime, and I can’t help picturing her with him—laughing when he’s up to no good, curled up with him on the couch. It’s...nice. She’s just got this way about her that gets to me.
Willow: Be honest. What’s the most embarrassing song you have on your playlist?
Me: I don’t get embarrassed by my music taste.
Willow: Come on, there’s something.
Me: Okay, fine. Maybe a couple of Disney songs.
Willow: Knew it! Which ones?
Me: I’ll Make a Man Out of You. Don’t judge me.
Willow: Hey, we listen and we don’t judge. But that’s a solid pick.
Her sense of humor keeps me smiling, but it’s her honesty that hits me. The way she talks about baking, her favorite music, her dog—it’s like she’s letting me in, piece by piece, with every message she sends.
Me: What’s your perfect day?
Willow: Hmm, sleeping in (rare), baking something indulgent, and a long walk with Frankie. What about you?
Me: Waking up to the smell of cinnamon rolls, playing guitar, and spending the day with someone who makes me feel like I’ve got it all figured out.
I pause after sending that last message, wondering if I’ve said too much. But when she replies a few minutes later, her response makes my chest feel lighter.
Willow: That sounds... perfect.
She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m all in. She’s got this way of making me feel at ease, like I can just be myself, and that’s enough. I’ve had relationships before, but none of them ever felt like this—this easy, this natural, this right.
Me: By the way, I still owe you a drink. Dinner this weekend? My treat.
Willow: You sure you can handle Frankie’s jealousy? ??
Me: I’ll take my chances. What do you say?
It takes her a minute to reply, and I hold my breath without realizing it. When her message finally comes through, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Willow: Okay. Dinner sounds great.
I set my phone down, a smile spreading across my face. This isn’t just a casual dinner—it’s the next step in something I already know I don’t want to lose.