Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WILLOW
I stare at him, my breath catching in my throat as his words echo in my mind.
I love you.
“But... how can—” I start, shaking my head as my voice falters.
He reaches for me, his hand cradling my cheek. His dark eyes are steady, filled with something so raw and real it makes my chest ache.
“I know,” he says softly, his voice warm and sure. “I’ve known since I walked into your bakery that first day. Since I saw how sweet and genuine you are. You’re a dream come true, Willow. And I’m done looking for anyone else.”
The lump in my throat grows as I blink back tears. “Brock...”
“I love you, Willow,” he says again, his voice firm but full of emotion.
The words settle over me like a blanket, filling the empty spaces I didn’t even know were there. My heart feels like it’s bursting, and the only thing I can think to do is lean in closer, closing the small distance between us.
“I love you too,” I whisper, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I’m feeling.
His eyes soften, and before I can say anything else, his lips are on mine.
The kiss is slow at first, his hand cupping my face as his thumb brushes against my cheek. But then it deepens, and I can feel the fire behind it—the passion, the protectiveness, the love.
I melt into him, my arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls me closer. His other hand slides to my waist, anchoring me to him as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away.
When we finally pull back, our foreheads rest against each other, and I can feel his breath against my lips.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
I smile, my fingers brushing through his hair. “I think I do,” I whisper.
He laughs softly, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before pulling me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as the weight of the last few days starts to lift.
His lips find mine again, and this time, it’s different—deeper, more intense. The weight of everything we’ve been through, the emotions we’ve held back, all of it pours into the kiss.
His hands slide to my waist, firm and steady, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, and the low, guttural sound he makes sends a shiver down my spine.
I know him now. Every inch of him. I know the way his hands feel against my skin, the way his lips move against mine, the way his body fits perfectly with mine. But tonight, it feels new.
When he breaks the kiss, his forehead rests against mine, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. “Willow,” he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips.
I nod, unable to speak as his fingers skim the hem of my shirt. Without hesitation, I lift my arms, letting him pull it over my head. His eyes drop, roaming over me like he’s committing every inch of me to memory all over again.
“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, his voice thick.
I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks, but there’s no room for shyness, not when he’s looking at me like that—with awe, desire, and something deeper I can’t even name.
“Come here,” I whisper, reaching for him.
He leans back just long enough to tug his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips crash against mine again. His hands are on me, sliding over my bare skin, tracing the curves of my waist, my hips.
I gasp against his mouth as he pulls me onto his lap, his hands firm against my thighs. The contact sends sparks shooting through me, and I grab his face, holding him steady as I kiss him deeply, pouring everything I feel into it.
“Willow,” he whispers again, his voice rough, and the way he says my name makes my chest ache.
“I’m here,” I murmur, my lips brushing against his.
His hands slide to my back, unclasping my bra with practiced ease, and I let it fall away. He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine as his hands skim over my sides, his touch reverent and sure.
The eye contact is almost too much—it feels raw, intimate, like he’s seeing every part of me.
“You’re incredible,” he says softly, his voice cracking with emotion. “Do you know that?”
I shake my head, tears threatening to spill over, but he kisses me before I can say anything, his lips soft but urgent.
As we undress each other, it feels like shedding more than just clothes. It’s letting go of everything—our fears, our doubts, the pain of the past few days—and finding each other again in the stillness of the night.
When we’re finally skin to skin, his hands cradle my face, his thumbs brushing gently over my cheeks as he stares into my eyes.
“I love you,” he says, his voice low and steady.
“I love you too,” I whisper, my hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.
He kisses me again, slow and deliberate, his movements full of purpose. Every touch, every brush of his lips, feels like a promise. This isn’t just about passion—it’s about connection, trust, and something deeper than either of us can put into words.
Brock shifts, positioning himself between my thighs, his hard length pressing against my center. My breath hitches, and his dark eyes lock onto mine, intense and unrelenting, like he’s seeing straight into my soul.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice rough but tender, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“I am,” I whisper, my voice trembling under the weight of his gaze.
He leans down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss so soft it makes my chest ache. His hand slides down my side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, before gripping my thigh and hooking it over his hip.
“Do you feel this?” he asks, his forehead resting against mine. “This is where I belong.”
I nod, my hands gripping his shoulders as he nudges against me, his cock sliding through the slick heat of my center. The anticipation coils low in my belly, the pressure building as his movements grow deliberate and slow.
His other hand comes up to cradle my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek as he stares into my eyes. “I need you to know how much you mean to me, Willow. You’re my everything.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away, cupping his face with both hands. “You’re mine too,” I whisper. “Always.”
With one smooth motion, he pushes into me, filling me completely. My gasp catches in my throat as my body stretches around him, the pleasure sharp and immediate.
“Willow,” he groans, his head dropping to my shoulder as he stills, giving me time to adjust.
I hold onto him, my fingers digging into his back as my body acclimates to the delicious fullness of him. “I’m okay,” I breathe. “I want this. I want you.”
He lifts his head, his dark eyes meeting mine again, and the look in them makes my heart ache. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.
“I love you too,” I whisper, my hands sliding down his back, urging him to move.
And when he does, it’s slow and deliberate, every thrust purposeful, every movement filled with love. He holds my gaze the entire time, his hands gripping my hips like he never wants to let me go.
The intensity builds between us, the rhythm of our bodies matching perfectly, and it’s overwhelming in the best way. It’s not just about the physical—it’s the connection, the trust, the love we’ve built in such a short time.
“Brock,” I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair as I feel myself spiraling closer to the edge.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice rough but steady. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And I do.
The pleasure crashes over me, wave after wave of pure bliss, and I cling to him as he follows me over the edge, his groan muffled against my neck.
A week later, Sweetly Yours is back in business. With the help of June, Brock, and half the town, we managed to clean, repair, and breathe life back into the bakery. And just in time, too—Valentine’s Day was my goal, and I was determined not to let anything or anyone take that from me.
The grand reopening was more than I could’ve hoped for. The place was packed for hours, customers filing in nonstop with smiles, hugs, and kind words. Over and over, I heard things like, “We’re so happy you’re okay,” and “We missed you, Willow. The shop wasn’t the same without you.”
It made all the late nights and hard work worth it.
I’d spent the week baking hundreds of Valentine’s cookies—heart-shaped, iced, decorated with tiny flowers and sweet messages. I gave one away to every customer who came in. Watching their faces light up, seeing their gratitude... it made my heart swell.
I’ve never felt more like I belonged. This town, this shop, this life—it’s mine, and nothing, not even Tessa, can take it away from me.
By the time I lock the door, exhaustion is tugging at my limbs, but my heart is full. Frankie barks excitedly at my feet, his little tail wagging as if he knows we’ve had a good day.
“Alright, Frankie,” I say, smiling down at him. “Let’s go see Brock.”
B rock’s workshop is only a short drive away, and the warm glow of light spilling through the windows makes it feel like a beacon in the dark. When I step inside, the scent of sawdust and varnish wraps around me like a comforting hug.
He’s at his workbench, focused, his large hands moving with practiced ease as he puts the finishing touches on a project. He doesn’t notice me at first, and I take a moment to admire him—the way his muscles flex under his fitted t-shirt, the way his dark hair falls slightly into his eyes.
“Brock,” I say softly, stepping further into the room.
He looks up, his face breaking into a smile that makes my stomach flutter. “Hey, baby,” he says, setting down his tools and wiping his hands on a rag.
I cross the room to him, Frankie trailing at my heels. “What are you working on?”
His smile deepens, and he nods toward the far wall where a tall, beautifully crafted wooden display case stands.
My breath catches as I take it in. The wood is smooth and polished, the intricate details carved into the edges making it look like something out of a storybook.
“You made this?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“For you,” he says, stepping beside me and sliding an arm around my waist. “I figured Sweetly Yours deserved something special. Something that’s one of a kind, like you.”
Tears sting my eyes as I reach out to run my fingers over the carvings. Tiny flowers, vines, and even a few hearts are etched into the wood with painstaking detail.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, my throat tight. “Brock, I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to my temple. “Just tell me it’ll look good in your shop.”
I laugh softly, turning to wrap my arms around his neck. “It’s perfect,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
He kisses me then, slow and tender, his hands resting on my hips. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm and full of love.
“I’m so proud of you, Willow,” he says softly. “You’ve been through hell, and you came out stronger. Seeing you in that bakery today, with everyone showing up to support you... it reminded me of why I fell for you in the first place.”
Tears spill over, and I rest my forehead against his. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You and June and everyone else... you saved me.”
He shakes his head, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “You saved yourself, baby. I just gave you the tools to do it.”
I laugh through my tears, leaning up to kiss him again. In this moment, with his arms around me and the smell of sawdust in the air, I feel whole.
I’ve built a life here—one that’s stronger than any obstacle Tessa or anyone else can throw my way. And with Brock by my side, I know there’s nothing I can’t handle.