Page 131 of Holding On To Good

“It’s killing me,” he murmured, “not to touch you right now.”

“You didn’t,” she said, sounding bewildered and, to his mind, disappointed. “Before. When you kissed me, you… you didn’t touch me.”

He took another step closer. “I wanted to. But when… if… I touch you, I need you to be sure. No doubts. No fears. No regrets.”

She kept silent, but the worry in her eyes, the apology there, told him she was battling all three.

“Why did you come here?” he asked.

She lifted her hands helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“Why, Willow?”

“For some crazy reason,” she grumbled, lifting her chin—the better to glare at him, “I can’t seem to recall.”

Bella whined and quivered against him, sensing the tension in the air, not liking the tone of the humans’ voices. Urban reached down to give her a comforting pat.

They were getting nowhere—one step forward, two steps back. Worse, if they kept going, they were going to end up even farther apart.

“Then I’d better walk you to your car.”

Willow’s heart jackhammered in her chest and she lifted her hand to the base of her throat where its frantic beat echoed. Tried to convince herself that she’d heard Urban incorrectly. That he hadn’t just said he’d walk her to her car, like he was finished with this conversation.

Time seemed to slow as she watched him raise his arm and reach for the door handle. He wanted her gone? Fine. She’d go. And she’d do it with grace.

She still had her pride, after all.

And the moment his long, tanned fingers wrapped around the handle, that pride nosedived into the deepest, darkest depths, taking any and all grace she possessed with it.

“Are you really kicking me out?” she asked on an incredulous squeak.

“It’s late,” he said, still facing the door, still holding that stupid handle. But then he looked at her over his shoulder. “And we have nothing left to talk about.”

They stared at each other, neither one willing to budge or give in. Her determination against his stubbornness. It was hardly a fair fight. She was the middle daughter of two living parents, a little spoiled, a tad pampered and a lot adored.

Whereas he’d survived the loss of both his parents and the desertion of his fiancée. Had managed to help four grieving, troubled young brothers to adulthood. Was currently raising a teenager.

“You ruined my date,” she blurted.

He faced her, his eyes unreadable. “What?”

“I’m here because you ruined my date.”

“I was nowhere near you tonight. Or your date.”

“Oh, you were there. You were right here” —she jabbed her forefinger at her temple with enough force to drill a hole through her skull— “inside my head. All. Night. Long. I spent well over two hours with an extremely nice man and I can’t tell you one thing he said because I was too caught up in my thoughts of you.” She glared at him. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Not yet,” he said after a moment. “But getting closer.”

And she knew exactly what she had to say to get him to that point. Those three little words all men longed to hear.

“You were right.”

His eyebrows rose. “About?”

This was why she was there—to give him the truth. But she was so scared. Not just because it was a huge risk, one with unknown consequences.

Her truth was embedded inside of her. Her feelings for Urban had somehow become an integral part of her being, a part she’d kept safely tucked away all these years alongside the rest of the outlandish hopes and dreams she’d never, not once, seriously considered would ever come true.

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