I built temporary bridges to transport military equipment. But I also built permanent ones to transport food and people. I set off bombs in buildings where terrorists met and then built a school to educate the little sister who’d watched her bigger one killed for daring to crack a book. I was forever paying the debt for the lives I’d taken, trying to balance out the weight so my handbasket to hell didn’t sink quite so fast.
But today, when Oscar had thrown Sullivan at me like that—at Willow—I’d realized the balance might never tip in my favor, and I wasn’t sure that was something I could let Willow pay for.
I rolled up the greenhouse plans and secured them in the waterproof bin beneath the table in case weather moved in. Then, with the rook biting into my palm, I walked back to the house, where I knew she’d be waiting, because I’d fallen for a woman who might just be as stubborn as I was.
A quick kick, and I dropped my muddy boots in the laundry room and stripped out of my clothes, throwing all but my boxers into the washer and pressing start. Beauty of a tankless water heater? I could shower at the same time and give myself another few minutes of buffer before I went to battle.
I glanced her way as I passed the library, only to see her sitting at the easel, sketching something, oblivious, or at least acting like she was.
Five minutes later, I toweled off my hair, dressed, and headed into the library, where she still sat at the easel.
“That’s where I found the sketch,” I said, breaking the silence but raising the tension.
She put the pencil down and pivoted on the stool to face me. She’d hung her jacket next to mine by the door and was still wearing the same shirt she’d put on inside out this morning.
This morning felt like a decade ago.
“I wondered,” she admitted. “I recognized it when I saw your arm.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, not sure if you’ve caught on, but we tend to leave a lot of things unsaid. We should probably work on that.”
My jaw flexed as I searched for the words I owed her. “I’m sorry you saw that today.”
“Which part? Oscar being an ass or you losing your temper?”
“Yes.”
A wry smile fleeted across her lips. “You don’t owe me an apology for either.”
“Willow, those kinds of comments aren’t going to stop. Not around here. Not if you stay with me.”
“Okay.” She shrugged, and little seeds of frustration took root in my stomach.
“It’s not okay. I know how much this town means to you—”
“Don’t act like it means nothing to you. Not with all your talk of greenhouses and electric systems. You’re just as invested in the future here as I am. Otherwise I’d suggest we move to where it would be easy to be together.” She braced her hands on either side of her hips, gripping the stool, but she didn’t close herself off from me. “We have roots here. We’ve both chosen to live here, so don’t pretend this town doesn’t mean anything.”
“I won’t deny that, but I’ve never given a shit what anyone said about me.”
“What’s your next issue? This one is a dead horse. People are going to talk, Cam. There’s literally nothing else to do here besides prep for the season and make babies. I dated Sully. Now I’m dating you. So go ahead and make peace with whatever kind of derogatory comments people are going to come up with, because we can’t change what people think.”
“Yes, we can. You can walk away from this. Right here. Right now.” My entire body tensed, waiting for her to do just that.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. Do you know why you won’t sleep with me?” she asked, leaning forward and pinning me with her stare.
“Are you serious right now? You want to talk about sex?”
“Kind of. Just bear with me here. You’re afraid that jumping into this”—she motioned between us—“will give me regrets later on that you’re not prepared to cope with.”
“Considering I pretty much said that—”
“And if that were the truth, it would be super sweet, but since you’re lying to yourself—”
“Lying to myself?” I came off the doorframe but halted at the desk.
“Shhh, my turn. You can talk in a minute.” She held her finger up to her lips.
My eyes widened.
“You think you won’t sleep with me because it gives me less to cry about when you break my heart. Which, logically, looking at the bullshit you pulled today—”
“I apologized—” I flattened my palms on the surface of the desk.
“I’m not talking about you punching Oscar. I couldn’t care less about that. Now, shush, really. It’s not nice to interrupt.”
My jaw dropped.
“I’m talking about that crap when you walked away from me. When you stood there spewing out all that self-loathing bullshit and then once again made the decision for me that I was better off without you.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
“Right. So yeah, I guess that could give a girl a little insecurity complex if I didn’t know you so well. But guess what, Cam? I do. If you wanted someone who was going to run every time you lost your temper or got into a pissing contest with Oscar Hudgens, I can name at least three girls in town who would gladly drive up. But you want me.” She cocked an eyebrow and dared me to deny it.
I didn’t.
She rose from the stool, barefoot and 100 percent comfortable in my house—my life. “You won’t sleep with me because you’re scared. Not me. You.”
I was about ten seconds from clearing this desk and showing her exactly how not scared I was.
She stopped so the desk was between us. “You’re scared that you’ll take that step and open yourself up, and no, I don’t just mean physically.”
My jaw flexed, but I kept silent as those little seeds of frustration grew into a giant fireball of…I didn’t even know, but it wasn’t pleasant.
“You’re scared that eventually I’ll see something I don’t like about you and I’ll walk out. Or that I can’t take the gossip and I’ll leave you. The distance you force between us is all on you, Cam. Not me. You’re not scared of hurting me. You’d die before you let that happen, and we both know it. You’re scared I’ll hurt you.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.