Page 70 of Somewhere You Belong

“I’m only returning the favor,” he says with a smirk before I stand up and spin to face him. But I must have misjudged how much blood went to my head because I topple over, headed to smack my face on the shelving to my left.

However, Dallas catches me before I make contact. “Fuck. Are you okay?”

Holding my upper arms, he keeps me steady as I stare up at him, getting lost in his stormy brown eyes.

“Yes, I—I’m okay. Thanks.”

He releases me hesitantly and I blow out a breath, turning around again to gather myself while cursing this storm and where it’s landed me.

This is bad.

But he smells so good.

Jesus, shut up, Willow!

I take a seat at the head of the seating area I made and grab the food from the shelf, gesturing for him to take a seat right next to me.

“Uh, I’m still wet.” He points down to his jeans.

“Oh. Well, I don’t have anything that would fit you,so...”

He chuckles, and the sound instantly calms me a bit. His rare laugh is something I didn’t know I needed in this moment. “I didn’t think so.”

“You could grab a towel from the bathroom next door if you want.”

“Yeah, I think I will. I’ll be right back.”

Waiting for him to return, I sigh as I open the containers of food. The sandwiches are packed with turkey, bacon, lettuce, tomato, and mayo—a perfect club sandwich that I remember eating the other night and devouring, along with fries and onion rings.

“I knew I made the right call bringing the club.”

Staring up at him as his voice alerts me to his return, I watch him run the towel through his hair, taking the moisture out of it before tossing it aside and placing the other one right next to me, situating it under himself as he sits.

“That was…” I look over at him, finally at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Willow,” he says in a low voice, just above a whisper.

“You don’t?” I sound comically shocked, his unexpected admission throwing me off.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you Saturday night before you ran off.” His words make the air around us shift.

Oh.

Oh.

Regret fills me as I look into his eyes and see the heated intensity I’ve noticed before.

Before Saturday, I was ready to stop fighting him too. I was ready to give into this attraction and physical need I feel every time he’s near.

But then I discovered that explosive secret, the unlit stick of dynamite that will inevitably blow up both of our lives, especially after my unexpected visitor the other night.

Now I’m torn. Should I light the fuse while I can still try to contain the flames? Or do I foolishly explore this fire between us, hoping to stamp it out before anyone gets burned?

“I’m sorry.” Staring down at my lap again, I pick up a piece of the sandwich and begin eating, trying to keep my mouth busy so I don’t say something else I’ll regret since that seems to be the norm around him.

Why is it that this man makes me feel unsteady, unsure of who I am and how I’ve been for so many years?

Maybe I was never sure of who I was in the first place.

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