Chapter 12 #2
Except, he’d been making actual progress in the whole forgetting Willow stakes.
He’d even been out at one of his usual bars, the night she’d called.
Okay, he hadn’t actually spoken to another woman—hadn’t really been interested in that—but it was a step forward to get back into his usual rhythms. Proof that he hadn’t been as unravelled by their time together as he’d started to fear.
And he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that seeing her name come up on his screen hadn’t super charged his whole body like some kind of dump of electricity.
Now, he just had to wait, another six days, and he’d see her again, for one last fake-date night. He refused to acknowledge just how much he didn’t want to wait…
They’d agreed to meet in the little underground bar just off Oxford Street at six, and Willow had deliberately faffed about, meaning it was a quarter past when she strode in wearing a thick woollen coat over the top of her slinky dress and heels.
She saw them the second she entered the bar, despite how busy it was, and stopped walking altogether, taking a second just to stare at Francesco, as if by looking at him she could steel herself to get through this.
But the truth was, just seeing him again sent her whole body into a state of turmoil; she could hardly move, much less trust herself to speak.
They should have met up before this. They should have spent some time together, to get beyond any butterflies and awkwardness.
Except, those would all be on Willow’s side.
She was the one with the butterflies, who felt awkward.
Who realized, and accepted, that she was fully and completely in love with this man, who’d never love her back. Who wanted to be her friend, full stop.
She moved slightly, and whether it was that movement or simply a coincidence, but Francesco glanced across the bar at that moment, towards the door, and his eyes glanced across her, at first, before tearing back, like they were pulled by a magnetic force.
They stared at each other for what felt like a very long time to Willow, before he stood and started to move towards her, and the heart that had been in her throat skidded back into her chest but pounded with such urgency she wondered if it was actually dangerous.
He cut through the crowd with ease, coming to stand toe to toe with her, his eyes probing hers for a beat before he dropped his head and brushed his lips over hers, so Willow’s pulse began to rival her heart, in terms of sound.
“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured, because she felt like she needed to say something.
“No big deal. You ready?”
No. She wasn’t. And at the same time, there was nowhere else she wanted to be.
It made everything more complicated by a mile, but the thought of another hour with Francesco was suddenly like a gift.
She knew she’d take these breadcrumbs and then, in a few days’ time, they could end it, as they’d agreed.
He reached down and laced their fingers together; she didn’t want to think about how perfect that felt.
As they approached the booth, Rocco stood, followed by Maddie.
“So good to see you again,” Maddie grinned in her broad New York accent.
“How were the flowers?” Willow asked, sliding in across from Maddie.
What followed was a good ten-minute exultation of British horticulture, then some utterly adoring comments from Rocco, and when Maddie excused herself to go to the bathroom, Rocco confided in them that he was looking at buying a nursery in the Cotswolds for Maddie to manage.
“She just loves this stuff. And she’s so good at it,” he continued.
Willow grinned and nodded, and sipped the dry French white wine, but inside, a spark had been ignited that wouldn’t die down, no matter how much she tried to subdue it.
She was angry.
Angry to see Rocco, who’d had the same childhood, the same upbringing as Francesco, who presumably had all the same reasons to be skeptical of love and damaged by trauma, in total a freefall of love and not caring one single bit.
Here was Rocco, opening himself up to this woman like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because they were soul mates. Because he’d found his other half, and not committing to her hadn’t been an option.
And maybe it would be the same for Francesco one day.
Maybe one day, he’d meet the woman that made him throw caution to the wind and fall headlong into love.
It just wasn’t going to be Willow. She wasn’t enough.
He might think her ‘special’, but that didn’t mean special enough for him.
He might think she deserved better, but that didn’t mean he would be the one to give her what she deserved.
The thoughts kept swirling through Willow’s brain, so when Maddie floated the idea of cancelling their dinner reservation and just grabbing some bar snacks, if it meant Willow could stay with them a while longer, she felt like she was being suffocated. She had to get out of there.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, shaking her head. “I really can’t stay.”
Maddie looked a little surprised and beside her, Willow felt Francesco stiffen. “I’ve got a huge week,” she repeated the same lie she’d given Francesco. “I have to get home and catch up on social media stuff.”
“Oh, that’s such a shame,” Maddie cooed, and Willow tried not to focus on how much she liked the other woman.
How much, in other circumstances, she might have just settled back into the booth seat and let herself lap up this sense of belonging.
Of being wanted. Of having other people actually talk about changing their plans so she could spend more time with them.
“Another time,” Willow said, blithely, her glance incorporating Rocco, before she steeled herself to turn to Francesco. “I’d better get going.”
“I’ll come with you,” he offered, contrary to their agreement.
“No, that’s not necessary,” she responded, a little too sharply. She softened it with an over-bright smile. “Catch up with your family.”