Chapter 20 – Leo #3
Quickly, I change in the bathroom, bring my wet clothes to the laundry room, and toss them into the wash, making sure the dryer is empty for her.
Then I stand in the kitchen, unsure of what to do with myself and, more importantly, Willa, until the rain lets up, since I don’t want her driving in this.
After the night at the Mill, once I got past my frustration with her and realized she wasn’t here to cause me a headache but was instead looking for the same thing I was, I thought it would all be okay.
I thought I’d been able to pull myself together, to pull that shield back up that I’ve kept between myself and Willa Stone for nearly eight years, but clearly, I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
The wall of professionalism I’ve erected between us is crumbling from all of the moments I’ve spent with her over the last few weeks, from laughing with her and watching her learn new things, and catching moments of precious vulnerability that I cherish.
It’s like with each inch her own shield lowered, with each sliver of the real Willa I’m shown, she took a brick out of the fortress I’d built until all that’s left is a shaky, hole-filled wall that’s doing nothing for my restraint.
Needing to keep myself busy, I start moving around the kitchen and decide to make coffee. When the bedroom door opens, I keep my back to her while asking, “Do you want coffee? I’m making some.”
“Do you have creamer, or are you boring and only take it black?” Willa’s musical voice asks behind me. I take in a deep, fortifying breath before turning to face her.
“I have half and half or whole milk,” I say, smiling at her as she steps into the kitchen.
I needed that fortifying breath because her damp hair is pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head, her face wiped free of the little makeup she was wearing, and worst of all, she’s in my clothes, the shirt hanging off her narrow shoulders, her smile a bit nervous as she shuffles in.
Once again, as I find happening every day, my chest tightens.
“Thank god,” she mumbles, then turns out of the kitchen towards the laundry room, already knowing the layout of my house as if she herself lives there, just another tiny moment that tugs at my chest.
“Are you going to steal this one, too?” I ask,
“Maybe. The other T-shirt is very comfy. Perfect for sleeping in.” I’m sure she means the night she spent here, but I can’t help but envision her sleeping in my tee at her place. That momentary daydream must be why I ask my next question.
“And the sweatshirt?” Her brows furrow, creating the perfect soft crease between her brows, but there’s something on her face, the tiniest hint of panic.
“What?”
I should drop it, but I don’t.
“The sweatshirt. My sweatshirt.”
“I—” She hesitates, the words dying on her lips as she blinks at me, shock written on her face.
“You were wearing it the day you toilet-papered my house,” I remind her, trying to sound casual when I feel anything but.
“Do you know how I got it?” she asks, voice low and soft, and my brows furrow, not understanding the question.
“How you got it?”
“Yeah. Do you…do you remember that?” Despite her clarifying the question, I still don’t understand what she’s asking.
Because, of course, I remember.
I remember stripping my sweatshirt off when I completely drenched her, because I couldn’t make her walk home in a tank top in that cold weather.
I remember talking with her for nearly an hour, feeling as if the world made sense, as if everything was finally falling into place for me, as if it was all working out.
I remember her leaving before I could get her number, and I remember every moment after that proved to me that the universe had a very twisted sense of humor.
Of course, I remember. It’s a moment in my life that’s haunted me for years.
“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?
” I say, setting down the coffee pot, and turning to face her, crossing my arms over my chest. Her eyes follow the shift, pausing momentarily on where the cuffs of my tee hug my biceps.
I fight back the surge of pride at that.
She does it a lot, whether she realizes it or not, and with my walls all but decimated, I’d decided that occasionally flexing just to get a reaction is totally fine and not a violation of the boundaries I have to live by.
Further proof of just how far gone I am.
“It’s just….you…I…” I smirk at her flustered behavior, and she closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath. “You didn’t recognize me after I walked into the office that day. When did you realize it was me?” My head moves back, unsure of what she’s saying.
“You thought I didn’t recognize you?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Well…yeah. I walked into that room, and you looked right through me.”
“Will, honey. You don’t look that different when you’re out of your shield.”
“Yes, I—” she starts to argue, but I shake my head, answering before she can finish.
“Not to someone who’s looking.” It’s the truth: with a hat and her signature hair tied up, makeup free, and without the blue contacts, she could be passed off as not Willa, but I have never been confused about who I met that day, fake name and low-key look or not.
“And were you? Looking?” Her voice is soft and nervous, and it pangs in my chest.
“I’ve been looking at you and for you since that day in the coffee shop.” Her eyes widen, as do her lips, and I sigh, running a hand through my slowly drying hair and pushing a loose lock back.
What does it matter anymore? What do these secrets and the walls matter when she’s here?
“That day I met you in the coffee shop,” I start, unsure of what I’m doing.
I know this is stupid. Something I should take to the grave if I want to salvage any bit of the professional relationship I’m clinging to with her, but that look in her eyes is the only thing I’m processing right now.
“That day, you left, and I realized I hadn’t gotten your number.
I stepped out of the coffee shop, tried to catch you once I realized, but you were gone, already out of sight.
I went to the barista and asked if she knew you and if you came in regularly.
She told me you came in on Mondays, and I made a plan to haunt that place every Monday until I bumped into you again. ”
My mind travels to those moments after I watched her walk off, a cheery smile and an irritated look on her face, as if she were annoyed that her prior plans overlapped with our impromptu date.
“That woman,” I said, tipping my head towards the table I sat with her at for nearly an hour. “Does she come here often?” The barista looked to where we had been sitting, then to me, with an uncomfortable look on her face.
“I—”
“I swear I’m not trying to be a creep. I just had the best forty-five minutes of my life, and she had to leave before I got her number.
I just want to know if she comes here often and if I have a shot of finding her again, or if I totally just fucked up and missed out on my chance.
” The woman’s eyes softened, a tiny smile tilting her lips before she nodded.
“Normally comes Monday mornings around seven or eight like clockwork.” I grinned widely, thanking her and shoving a hundred into the tip jar before walking off, feeling like the world was finally working out for me.
I had a career-changing meeting coming up, I’d met my dream woman, and I had a plan to find her again.
“But then I went to that meeting, and you walked in, and it all clicked into place. Who you were, what we were about to do, and what it meant.”
“What did it mean?” she asks, her voice shaky. There’s barely a foot between us, but it feels like an ocean, so I move, closing that gap until the space between us is closer, but we’re still not touching.
“It meant I couldn’t have you, Willa. I’m not allowed to be with clients. It’s against my contract.” I reach out and push a wet tendril of hair behind her ear.
“Couldn’t?”
Of course, she would take note of the exact words I used. She steps closer until we’re close enough to touch, but neither of us seems to want to be the one to cross that line, waiting for the other to break first. I wonder if her heart feels like it’s about to break out of her chest, too.
“I still can’t have you now, Willa.” The glimmer of hope melts from her face in an instant, making my heart pang.
Even though I had already decided to go for it, that look would have changed my mind if I hadn’t.
“But I don’t really care about what I can and can’t have anymore, Willa.
Eight years ago, I had to choose between my career and my heart, and I’ve regretted it ever since, but I’m not making that mistake again.
Not if it means I have to pretend that you aren’t everything to me for a fucking minute longer. ”
Her breath catches, and I lean in, catching the gasp between my lips, my hand sliding to her neck to pull her to me as my other arm moves around her waist.
There’s no going back now, and even if I could, I know I wouldn’t want to.