Chapter 37
Willow
I’m a bag of nerves right now.
The Christmas markets are packed—families wrapped in scarves, couples taking cheesy pictures, kids darting between stalls on a sugar high.
The air smells unreal. Cinnamon and mulled wine.
Freshly fried dough. Something savoury and cheesy drifting from one of the food trucks makes my stomach growl despite the knots.
Fairy lights are strung everywhere, crisscrossing above. Christmas songs play from hidden speakers, the old classics that everyone secretly loves. My breath fogs in front of me.
Wow, it's freezing.
When I messaged Elijah before, I genuinely thought he might say no. Or at least take a while to respond. Maybe make me sweat a little.
He replied within seconds.
I wouldn't be surprised if he had the phone glued to his side till I messaged him back.
It's sweet.
My chest had done this little hopeful flip when his name lit up on the screen.
Fortunately, he wasn't home when I quickly stopped by to drop off Sassy and change clothes. I also brought the letter I had found. Not sure how I’ll bring it up, though.
I shift on my feet, scanning the crowd for what feels like the hundredth time.
Maybe he's changed his mind or decided that I’m not worth all this.
Honestly, I deserve that.
The two paper cups of hot chocolate and coconut latte occupy my hands, which means I can't dig my phone out of my pocket to check if he's messaged. I debate risking third-degree burns just to ease my paranoia.
“Willow.”
His voice.
It hits me like a chord I've been waiting for all week, warm and familiar with the husk I love so much. It sends a rush straight through me.
But it also startles me.
I spin around too quickly, my boots catching awkwardly against each other. My feet tangle, and I stumble forward with an undignified yelp, heart dropping into my stomach as I brace for the humiliation of face-planting in front of half the town.
I don't hit the ground.
Strong arms catch me mid-fall, wrapping around my waist and steadying me before I can make a complete spectacle of myself.
I’m pressed against him, breathless, the scent of his aftershave cutting through the cinnamon and sugar in the air.
Unfortunately, the drinks are now on the floor.
Well, at least it's not me.
I look up and only then do I realise how close we are.
I’m practically flush against him, his hands firm at my waist, keeping me still. He isn't wearing a cap today, so his dark hair is free, messy strands lifting in the wind. The urge to slide my fingers through it is immediate and embarrassingly strong.
His eyes are on me, bright with amusement, that familiar warmth dancing in them. And just like that, the nerves that have been strangling me all morning shift into something else entirely.
Butterflies. Violent ones.
Relief floods through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy. He came. Of course, he came.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips before I can stop it.
“Caught you this time,” he says, voice low, teasing.
Warmth blooms across my cheeks.
I remember the last time this happened—months ago, when he’d just come back from his holiday and when I didn't like him. I’d tripped right in front of him before heading to River’s football game.
God, that feels like another lifetime.
I clear my throat and straighten up. His arms fall away, and I feel the loss of his touch instantly, like stepping out of warmth into the cold air.
“I did get us drinks,” I tell him, gesturing to the sad puddle on the ground. “But I dropped them.”
“I can see that,” he replies with a smirk.
I've missed that smirk. Well, I've missed his face.
“Let's grab some more. Then we can talk.”
He steps over the spilt drinks and lightly catches the edge of my sleeve, tugging me along with him. I’d follow him anyway. Always.
“Have you been okay?” he asks as we join the queue at the drinks truck. “Aria told me you haven't been to the studio.”
Blabbermouth.
“I've just had a lot on my mind,” I say, keeping my eyes on the menu even though I haven't really read a single word of it. “But I did call Aria this morning.”
That gets his attention.
“About the dance show she asked me to perform in after New Year's,” I continue. “I told her I’d do it.”
He's quiet before I see a small smile appear on his face. “You'd be stupid not to. You're an incredible dancer.”
He has no idea how much that means to me.
“Have… you been okay?”
He huffs out a weak breath.
“Honestly? No. And I might be a prick for saying it, but it's been the shittest week of my life.”
At least he isn't pretending.
It's been the same for me.
Our turn comes up, and he orders for both of us. I watch him as he speaks, the calm confidence in his voice, the way his hand rests casually on the counter.
I start fiddling with the ends of my coat sleeve, twisting the fabric between my fingers.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him quietly when he's finished. “For leaving like that. Without actually speaking to you.”
He hands me my drink, his fingers brushing mine.
“I get it. Doesn't mean it wasn't hard knowing you found it easy to leave.”
That stings.
Elijah starts walking, a little faster than before, weaving away from the thickest part of the crowd. I have to hurry to keep up, nearly spilling my drink.
“I didn't find it easy,” I insist, catching up to him. “I panicked. That's all it was. I panicked, and before I knew it, I was at Quinn's.”
“You sent me one message.”
“I know.”
“You said you wanted to end it.”
“But I don't."
The words come out firm this time. Certain.
I reach for his hand and grab it, forcing him to stop walking. He turns to face me, and I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes.
“I can't keep up with your stupidly long legs.”
Despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitches.
I loosen my grip, but I don't let go.
“Why would you even think it?” he asks, and there it is. It's not anger he’s feeling.
He's hurt.
Truthfully, I would be too if he ever suggested ending what we have.
“I let her get into my head. She knows exactly what to say to make me doubt everything. It was Dad's birthday, and I was already emotional and drunk and—” I exhale shakily. “It all felt too big. You and me. What it means.”
The lights flicker overhead, voices buzzing around us, but it suddenly feels like we’re standing in our own little bubble.
“I don't want to end this. I was just scared.”
All I want to do is close the distance and wrap my arms around him. But there are too many people. Too many eyes.
He's quiet for a moment.
Too quiet even in this crowd.
We stand still, staring at each other as the market noise carries on around us. I wish he’d say something—anything at this point—before I explode with nerves.
His jaw ticks, and before I can even process the shift in him, he's moving.
One second we're in the middle of the crowd, the next he's guiding me firmly out of the flow of people and into the shadowed space of a narrow alley between two buildings. My back meets the cool brick, and his body is right there, close enough that I feel the heat of him through my coat.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?”
I nod slowly because I understand exactly what he means.
“All I think about is you,” he admits, the words leaving him in a quiet breath. “It's starting to feel … unhealthy.”
My chest constricts.
His palm drifts to the side of my neck, warm and steady. There's a quiet claim in the touch that makes me swallow. “You don't get to walk away again.”
“I won't.” I cradle his cheek. “I think I was more scared for you.”
His brows knit together. “Why?”
I hesitate, “Because you have more to lose than I do.”
“Willow. You have no idea what losing you would do to me.”
The raw honesty in his voice catches me completely off guard. There's a slight break at the end of the sentence, so small people probably wouldn't notice. But I do.
Sometimes it still amazes me that this man wants me. That he looks at me like I’m the only person who matters when he could have anyone.
“You won't have to find out,” I whisper.
His shoulders loosen. “Good.”
He leans closer, our foreheads touching now.
“It's only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime. And I don't ever want to feel that lost again.”
Lost is exactly how I felt.
“Elijah, I’m not going anywhere,” I promise him softly. “Not again.”
Our mouths linger a breath apart, the space between us taut, trembling on the edge of something inevitable. His breath brushes my lips, and the tension stretches, delicate as a thread about to give.
For a suspended moment, neither of us moves until he finally moves, his lips on mine.
He kisses me like it's our first, as if we’re something new he's afraid to break. The loneliness we’ve both carried this past week melts together between us, dissolving into something softer, something whole, until there's nothing left but him.
It feels like being put back together in the simplest way. Like every hollow space in me finally makes sense because he's there to fill it. And even if the rest of the world fell away, even if I had no one else left at all, I know it would still feel like I have everything, just by having him.