Chapter 4
RYAN
Of all the ways I expected my day to end, this wasn’t one of them.
But it’s the best way, really.
Yes, I was taken hostage in the town gift shop and held at gunpoint.
Yes, I took an incredible risk.
As hopeful as I was about my plan, it could have easily gone south.
The flashlight might not have been as bright as I remembered.
My aim could have been bad. Or Daniel could have gotten a shot off right away and I could be spending Christmas Eve in the hospital instead of at Willow’s very cute apartment.
But everything worked out.
Willow got her insulin in time.
Daniel was towed off to jail.
All the hostages were free to go back to their families, still shaken, but safe.
Emily Diamond hugged me, crying, before she went home with her husband. “Thank you,” she sobbed. “I was so scared I wouldn’t see my babies again. But thanks to you, I will.”
She wasn’t the only one of the hostages who implied—or outright said—I was a hero. But I don’t feel like I am. I feel like an ordinary man who was just trying to protect someone he cares about.
Except I think the feelings I have for Willow go deeper than that.
It’s like Ben said. When I was faced with the possibility of losing Willow, my perspective changed.
All the excuses didn’t matter anymore. And just friends wasn’t enough.
I’ve been thinking about it ever since we left the store. How life can change on a dime, as my dad likes to say. You can be living your life, thinking everything is fine as it is. Then something happens. Something big. Something scary. Something that makes you wonder if fine isn’t enough.
You wonder if your life could be incredible, if you’re willing to take the risk.
I know it’s too soon to know for sure. Despite our years of friendship, tonight is only our first date. But something just feels right about being with Willow.
And I think life with her would be incredible.
One step at a time, my dad would say. He loved to remind me of that whenever I got impatient, whether it was trying out for the varsity soccer team or applying for pharmacy school. Slow and steady wins the race.
I’m okay with that, though. It’s not like I’m planning on rushing Willow to the altar tomorrow. But I will keep taking one step at a time, from the first date to the second, and the second to the third.
And if that takes us to marriage eventually? I think I’d be okay with that, too.
“Ryan?”
Willow’s voice carries from the living room and into the kitchen, where I’m supposed to be refilling our drinks instead of staring out the window, lost in my thoughts.
“Yeah?” I call back, pitching my voice up so she can hear me over the sound of the TV. “Is everything okay?”
While I wait for her to reply, worry nudges at me again.
Maybe she’s not feeling well, despite her insistence to the contrary.
Maybe the events of today are catching up to her.
I’m not an expert with diabetes—though I’m going to be doing plenty of research in the upcoming days—so I don’t know if she’s still suffering side effects from her blood sugar imbalance earlier today.
I probably should have pushed the date off for another day. But when Willow asked me to come over to spend Christmas Eve with her, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to.
“I’m fine,” Willow calls back. Her voice carries a hint of amusement. “I was just wondering if you got lost in there.”
“Of course not.” I quickly top off the two glasses of eggnog and stick the pitcher back in the fridge. Then I pick up the glasses and head back into the living room. “I was just—”
Woolgathering? Thinking about our future together? Contemplating a hypothetical marriage when it’s only our first date?
“Thinking,” I finish lamely. Setting the glasses on the coffee table, I take a seat on the couch again, close enough for my leg to bump against hers.
“Thinking?” Willow asks. She turns and crosses her legs pretzel-style in front of her.
Now both her knees are brushing my leg, setting off frissons of heat where she touches me.
It’s funny, I’ve never felt this attuned to such innocent contact before.
Well, maybe I did back in high school, when I went on my first date with Veronica Edwards. We went to a movie, and I spent the entire time debating if I should reach for her hand or not.
But that was different. Veronica was different.
I didn’t picture a future with Veronica past the homecoming dance.
I didn’t trust her with my secrets, like how I was so homesick during my freshman year of college that I begged my parents to let me come home. Or that sometimes I secretly pay for prescriptions for some of my patients and tell them it was some special coupon, so they never know.
But I told Willow those things, and many others. During those shifts at the Corps, when it would be just us waiting for a call, we’d talk about everything.
I learned that Willow decided to become a doula instead of sticking with her better paying job as an RN after her sister went through a traumatic delivery.
I know Willow wants to get a dog, but every time she goes to the shelter, she feels too sad to choose just one of them.
And I know she loves competitive reality TV shows and her dream is to be on The Amazing Race.
As a thirty-six-year-old man, the sensation of a woman’s knees touching me shouldn’t affect me so deeply.
But it does. And though I’d love more—would love to feel Willow’s lips against mine, to find out how she tastes, to memorize the curves of her body and how she feels in my arms—I’m grateful for this.
“Thinking,” I confirm.
Willow cocks her head. “Anything important? Or were you thinking about how amazing my homemade eggnog tastes?”
“Um.” While it’s not awful, I wouldn’t call her sugar-free eggnog good, either.
She laughs. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
“No. Of course not.” I reach for my glass and take a healthy gulp for emphasis. “It’s good.”
“I use monk fruit sweetener. So it doesn’t have that artificial taste like some of the other sweeteners.” She peers at my glass. “I could sprinkle some nutmeg and cinnamon on top. That might help.”
I take another gulp, hiding my grimace at the thick consistency. Then I set the glass down. “It’s really good, Willow. The best eggnog I’ve tried.”
She stares at me for a second before laughing again. “You’re not a very good liar, Ryan. I can tell you don’t like it.”
“It’s not that. I do. I’m just… not a huge fan of eggnog, period. But yours is very good.”
“We can have something else. I’ve got soda, sparkling water, beer, wine…”
“This is good,” I insist. “And anyway, it’s Christmas Eve. We should be drinking something Christmassy.”
Willow takes a sip of her own eggnog and hums in pleasure. Then she places her hand on my leg. “Are you sure you don’t have someplace else to be tonight? I didn’t think when I asked earlier, but with it being Christmas Eve, maybe you were supposed to spend it with your family.”
I put my hand over hers. “No, I’m not supposed to head to Rhinebeck until tomorrow morning. I was just going to hang out around the house tonight.” Glancing at the familiar movie playing on TV, I add with a smile, “And watch A Christmas Story.”
She follows my gaze, smiling at the part of the movie where Darren McGavin is opening the shipping box that holds the leg-shaped lamp. “My dad always makes us watch it on Christmas Day. On a loop.”
I chuckle. “Same. It must be a dad thing.”
Willow leans closer. Her scent—a blend of cinnamon and honey and vanilla—wafts towards me. “Well, I’m glad you came over. Even though it’s not a very exciting date.”
“This is a perfect date.” A strand of her hair falls over her forehead, and I tuck it back behind her ear. “But are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
“I’m sure. Once I did the injection and replaced my patch, I was fine.”
I turn her hand over and stroke my thumb across her palm. “And your family wasn’t expecting you tonight?”
“No. Same as you, I’ll head out tomorrow morning. Early, so I can hopefully miss the worst of the Long Island traffic.”
A moment later, she frowns. “Shoot!”
“What?”
“The present for my sister. With everything going on, I forgot to buy it.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand. Being held hostage and all…”
Willow’s expression goes pensive. “True. I guess in terms of a meaningful gift, surviving a hostage situation to make it to Christmas is right up there.” She pauses. “Ryan.”
“Yes?”
“What you did in the store. That was really—”
“Foolish? Dangerous?”
“Brave.” Her gaze holds mine. “You were so brave, Ryan. I was so scared—”
My heart squeezes. “Willow. I’m so sorry.”
“For what? Protecting me? Being amazing? You have nothing to apologize for. And yes, I was scared for myself. But I was scared for you, too.”
“You were?”
Willow unfolds her legs and moves closer to me. “Yes. And do you know what I thought before you did that incredibly brave thing with the flashlight?”
“What?”
“Well, first I prayed that you’d be okay. But I also promised myself that I’d take a chance on you.”
“Take a chance on me? Are you worried I’ll hurt you?”
“No. Never. I guess… before, there was always a reason to keep things platonic. Not good reasons, I’m realizing. But they were safe ones. Ones that protected me from being disappointed if things didn’t work out. Or feeling rejected if you weren’t interested—”
“Not interested?” My voice rises. “I’m interested. Trust me.”
Framing her face with one hand, I continue, “I’m very interested, Willow. I have been. But I kept clinging to those same excuses. The safe ones. But.”
“But?”
Hope lights her expression.
I lean closer.
Close enough to smell the cinnamon and vanilla on her breath.
Close enough to see the flecks of gold and copper and emerald in her eyes.
“But I don’t care about those excuses anymore. I care about spending time with you. Seeing where things go. And maybe… hopefully… having a future with you.”
“Ryan.”
“Would that be okay?” I ask. “All of those things?”
Willow puts her hand on my thigh as she leans towards me.
Her gaze heats. The green in her eyes is almost swallowed up by black. “Is there anything else you want?”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. All the things you said about seeing where things go and a future, my answer is yes. But what about other things? Like…”
She doesn’t need to say it when it’s all in her eyes.
“I want to kiss you,” I reply. “Very badly.”
Willow’s lips are just a whisper away. “Then I think you should.”
So I lower my mouth to hers.
The instant we touch, my body sparks to life.
Her lips are soft. Welcoming. Sweet.
Her hair falls forward, brushing my skin.
A soft breath escapes as she parts her lips, inviting me in.
As our kiss deepens, our tongues stroking and exploring, my hand moves from her cheek to the back of her neck.
My fingers tunnel through her hair, and I distractedly note that yes, her hair is just as soft as I imagined.
And she feels just as right in my arms as I thought she would.
Willow clutches my shoulders.
She makes a low, humming sound in the back of her throat.
My erection jerks, hard and aching.
My body begs for more. It wants to feel Willow on my lap, her heat pressed against mine. It wants me to pull off her shirt so I can take her breasts in my mouth. It wants Willow naked, the body I’ve fantasized about more times than I can count on glorious display.
And from the way Willow is throwing herself into the kiss, I think she might feel the same way.
But.
It’s our first date. Our first kiss. And Willow’s too important to rush things with.
So I command my body to stand down.
When we finally break apart, flushed and breathing hard, I don’t immediately go back for a second kiss. Instead, I just look at Willow, committing each beautiful detail to memory.
“Well,” she finally says. “I guess I was right.”
“Right about what?”
“That you’re a good kisser. I had a feeling you would be.”
“Oh?” I smile at her. “I am, am I?”
She laughs. “Yes, you are.”
“You’re not too bad, either,” I tease. “Although I suppose I should probably kiss you again. Just to make sure.”
Willow tilts her head and purses her lips like she’s thinking. “You probably should. And I should probably make sure the first kiss wasn’t a fluke.”
I set my features in a solemn expression. My lips twitch. “That would probably be best.”
A few silent seconds pass. Then Willow presses her lips to mine. As she pulls away, she says with a smile, “Nope. Not a fluke.”
I smile back at her. “Nope.”
“You know,” she adds, “earlier, in the store, I thought my day couldn’t get any worse. But now? Spending Christmas Eve with you? Sharing our first kiss of many to come? I think this might be one of my best days ever.”
Happiness swells in my chest.
And with it, gratitude that things worked out as they did.
“I think it’s one of my best days ever, too,” I agree. “And I can’t wait to make more of them with you.”