Chapter 13
“Oh my god,” Willow remarked as she climbed onto the wooden platform to explore their accommodations.
“It’s just a tent,” Ash called over his shoulder as he added her backpack to the small pile of gear he’d unloaded when they boarded the horses.
She spun around and greeted him with a smile he swore would illuminate the night.
“I know!” she exclaimed. “But look at this view!”
He abandoned their gear and joined her on the covered platform that looked out over a small lake framed by mountain hemlock and foxtail pines, beyond which they could see the rolling hills that eventually turned into mountains. Directly in front of their platform sat a firepit and two Adirondack chairs. Ash felt like everything he needed in the entire world was right here within his reach.
“You’re right,” he told her. “It’s beautiful.” But Ash didn’t mean the view. “Should we unpack?” he asked. “Get a fire going so I can cook you dinner?”
She turned to him, still beaming, and nodded. “I still can’t believe you did all this. How was this place even available on such short notice?”
At this, Ash had the decency to look a tad bit chagrined. “I maybe, possibly got the reservations clerk to offer the original renter a week’s stay on me if they let me have the tent for tonight.”
Willow raised her brows. “Ah, yes. The man who always gets what he wants gets what he wants.”
“Ouch,” Ash replied, pressing a hand to his wounded heart.
“Sorry!” Willow threw a hand over her mouth. “Hard habit to break…throwing barbs your way.”
He swooped in and kissed her on the cheek, and she gasped. “Hard habit to break,” he parroted. “Wanting to do that every time you’re within range.”
***
Ash crossed his arms and smiled nervously when they’d finished unpacking. The empty tent on a raised platform might have seemed luxurious when they first arrived, but his minimalist floor mats and sleeping bags were anything but.
“I didn’t think of pillows,” he admitted with a wince.
Willow dropped to a squat and pressed her palm against the padded headrests inside the sleeping bags. “No need,” she replied with a grin. “They’re included.” She straightened, strode over to where he was rummaging through his pack, and tried to peek inside. “Is that dinner?” she asked, and he heard her stomach growl.
He produced a small pot and a box of mac and cheese, the kind with the “cheese” already in liquid form.
“Ta-da!” he proclaimed, waiting for her expression to fall, but instead she gave him an even bigger smile, if that was possible.
“My favorite,” she told him.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he replied, but she shook her head and stepped toward him, sliding her arms around his waist.
“You’ve never cooked for me before,” she said softly.
Ash sighed. “There’s a lot that I never did but should have.” Turned out he was the one having trouble maintaining a smile.
She leaned up and kissed the bottom of his chin. “Can we exist here tonight without any of our messy past joining us?”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Are you sure? Because I feel like there is so much left to tell you or to explain about…”
He felt her clasp her hands against his back. “Did you love her?” she whispered, and he knew she meant his ex-wife.
“It’s complicated,” he admitted, his voice rough. Because even after the way things went down, he wouldn’t betray his ex-wife’s trust. “She’s a good friend.”
“You know what?” Willow shook her head. “Don’t tell me any more, okay? I don’t want to know more about that part of your life. Not tonight.”
“Okay,” he agreed. But someday he needed to tell her everything he’d tried to convey over the past four years. “There’s wine and water in the cooler pack,” he added, nodding toward a backpack that still hadn’t been opened. “You do drinks, and I’ll do food?”
“Deal,” she told him, and they got to work putting together their minimalist meal.
“Cheers,” Willow said afterward, holding up her plastic cup filled with the sparkling wine he’d remembered that she loved. “This was the best meal I’ve had in years.”
“You’re still a terrible liar,” he told her. The mac and cheese was gummy and awful, but at least they had something in their bellies to sustain them until morning.
Willow inched her chair closer to his than it already was and draped the flannel blanket over both of them. “You have goose bumps on your arms,” she added.
He clinked the bottom of his cup against hers and smiled. “Maybe it was just a ploy to get you closer to me.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. “Then it was a very successful ploy,” she replied. “But for future reference, you can just tell me you want me closer to you.”
He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her shampoo. He needed to continually fill his senses with her presence. It was the only way he could prove to himself that any of this was real, that Willow was here with him not because she had to be but because she wanted it.
“I’ve missed you, Wills,” he told her, his voice tentative. “Am I allowed to say that?”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I’ll allow it.”
He switched his cup to his right hand and slid his left one under the blanket to find hers. As soon as the tips of their fingers touched, Willow linked her fingers through his so they were completely intertwined and locked together until one of them decided to let go.
“You know I always felt like Meadow Valley was too small for me. Too intimate,” he continued. “Like I couldn’t have this big life if I was stuck in the place where I’d been since the day I was born.”
She squeezed his hand, but both of them gazed at the fire as they spoke.
“And now?” she asked.
He squeezed her back. “Now… I’m not so sure. Meadow Valley feels different with you in it.”
Willow bent her arm and brought his knuckles to her lips, pressing soft kisses to each one individually. “You know I’m only here through the festival, right? I have a few more tour stops and a record to launch before the season ends. And then, depending on sales…” She shrugged. “I don’t know what’s next after that.”
He understood what that meant. She didn’t know what would be next for them. Regardless of what happened at the end of their two months together, they had lives outside of Meadow Valley that would likely be traveling in entirely different directions.
“You know what?” she continued. “I’d like to amend my further decree about not letting our messy pasts invade our evening.”
“No futures either?” he asked.
She turned her head to glance up at him, and he found the fire’s reflection dancing in her dark eyes. “Is that okay? I know we have to deal with reality eventually, but tonight feels like a fairy tale, and for one night, I want the happily ever after.”
He wanted to ask her if she believed that happily ever after could extend past tonight, but he also didn’t want to break this spell of complete and utter perfection. It was the happiest Ash had been in four years…or maybe ever. He had no problem making it last as long as he could.
“No past and no future until we turn into pumpkins or whatever at midnight,” he told her.
She backhanded him on the shoulder with a laugh. “It’s Cinderella’s coach that turns back into a pumpkin, not her . And this spell better last later than midnight!”
Ash laughed too, and—noticing her plastic glass was empty—topped off her bubbly and then his own.
She grinned. “You know… I haven’t had sparkling almond wine in years,” she told him. “I forgot how much I like it.”
“I didn’t,” he told her once they were snuggled under the shared blanket again. He leaned back against the chair and tilted his head toward the sky, marveling at the stars twinkling like fairy lights strung from the tallest trees.
He could feel her looking at him, but he kept his eyes trained on the stars.
“What else about me do you remember?” she asked.
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Changing the rules, are we?” He rolled his head to meet her gaze. “Doesn’t this line of questioning fall under past us?”
Willow shrugged. “My rules. Means I can bend them. Besides, my likes and dislikes don’t necessarily fall under messy past . Especially if they still describe present me.”
Ash laughed and turned back to the sky. “You love sparkling wine but hate soda. Banana bread or muffins are a yes, but an actual banana—and these are your words—is like eating food that has already been chewed.”
She snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand.
“Favorite movie is Ferris Bueller’s Day Off . Favorite song to cover—and you sing it at every show—is “To Make You Feel My Love.” Favorite person is your brother, Colt. And though you’ve never had a pet, you love animals and plan to buy a farm someday once you decide to stay put more and tour less.” He cleared his throat. “Though…maybe you’ve already bought a place that I don’t know about, which I guess would be great because it would mean you achieved something you’ve always wanted.” Why, then, did it feel like a punch to the gut when he considered that she might have gone and done this amazing thing on her own? Without him?
Willow was silent for several long moments before he even heard her stir. When he finally had the nerve to look at her, he found her wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
“Shit,” he hissed. “Wills. I’m sorry. What did I say?” He quickly racked his brain, trying to locate the misstep so he could make it right. But Willow shook her head.
“You didn’t say anything wrong,” she told him, then sniffled.
He straightened in his chair. “Why am I not convinced?”
She let out a tearful laugh. “I just can’t believe you remember all those things about me. You rattled it all off like it was stuff I told you yesterday, but it’s been four years, Ash. Four years. You had a life and a career and a marriage, and—”
“And it all paled in comparison to the life I had with you.”
“We didn’t have a life, Murphy. We had make-out sessions backstage and sex in your tour bus bedroom. What if…? What if all we really had was a shared love of music and a dream of making it big?”
He downed the rest of his bubbly and set his cup on the ground. Then he patted the blanket on his lap. “Come here.”
Willow’s eyes widened. She glanced at her still-full cup and then drained it in a few swift gulps. “Liquid courage,” she remarked with a nervous laugh. Then she maneuvered out of her chair, somehow staying under the blanket, and climbed into his lap.
Ash pulled the blanket tight over her shoulders and then wrapped his arms around her waist. “It was the only life I knew,” he told her. “And you were the best part of it.” He slid a hand up to her cheek and brushed his thumb across the damp skin beneath her eye. “There’s no stage,” he whispered. “No tour bus.”
Willow nodded slowly. “I noticed you didn’t pack any guitars. Does that mean we’re off the clock?”
“That’s exactly what it means.” He leaned up and brushed his lips across hers. “I know you’re looking for any reason to logic your way out of thinking this could work. But this?” He motioned between them. “Us? It has nothing to do with the business part of our relationship and everything to do with the fact that you , Willow Morgan, do this thing to my heart that thousands of fans singing my own words back to me could never do.”
She gave him a teary smile. “What’s that?” she asked, thankfully taking the bait.
He pressed his lips together and swallowed the knot in his throat. “You fill it up, Wills. You fill it up.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and then cupped his cold cheeks in her warm palms.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.”
So he stood from the chair, lifting her and the blanket and piloting them onto the platform and into the tent. He knew he’d have to tend to the smoldering embers of the firepit when all was said and done and he’d be physically and emotionally spent, but it would all be worth it. Because after four years—four goddamn long years—Willow Morgan was his again. And whether it was for this single night or the possibility of many more to come, he would not squander a second of it.
He laid her down on one of the opened sleeping bags and then untied the flaps of the tent so they fell closed. Then he climbed over her, pulling the blanket with him, covering her body with his own.