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I chuckle, even though I know Willow is immensely capable. Not only did she excel at three jobs, working long hours, she built a home and made friends in a new city. Even now, she’s processing a life-changing medical diagnosis with positivity most don’t possess, all while sitting on incredible artistic talent.

But since I don’t know how to articulate all of that, I step forward to nudge the screaming kettle off the hot burner. Then I pull down the pink mug, drop in a bag of green tea, and pour hot water over it. It’s only after seeing the tea bag swirl that I realize I haven’t let Willow go. She’s still banded against me like my own personal shield.

The whole reason I’m here early is to give Willow another opportunity to back out. Yet, here I am, holding her hostage, inexplicably drawn to her charming chaos.

“Why is last night’s game on?” It’s not the question I should be asking.

“Delilah put it on. She and her husband are big fans.”

I hum.

“Is it…” She pauses, smoothing down her bangs. “Is it okay that I don’t know anything about sportsball?”

A broad grin lifts my lips, though Willow can’t see since she’s facing the kitschy wall covered in antique colanders and framed graphic prints.

“I honestly prefer it.”

I’ve dated far too many women who were only interested in me because of my status as an MLB player. I thought Brielle had loved me for who I was and not what I did, but clearly, I’d been wrong about that.

“Really?” Willow spins, her fingertips lightly resting on my lapels. Her nails are all painted pale pink, and the drop of disappointment that they’re not multicolored is jarring.

I nod, frowning now that she’s turned around, because I really should let her go.

Why can’t I let her go?

Man up, Seaver.

The voice in my head isn’t my own, but at the moment, I’m grateful for it. Gritting my teeth, I release Willow, handing her the mug of tea just to put something physical between us. Then I reach into my left breast pocket for the folded piece of paper.

I clear my throat. “I came here this morning because I wanted to give you another option.”

“You…what?” Her dark brows furrow at the swift change in topic.

“I have more than enough money, Willow. There are private insurances—good ones. I looked up several options for you. You can stay here. You can still paint. We’ll just figure out a payment system or—”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

She snatches the paper, crumpling it into a ball. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Pushing away the people that care about you?”

The air puffs out of me. Willow might as well have sucker punched me in the gut. Her eyes narrow, and it’s as if she’s using her perceptive gaze to cut through all my barbed layers. The sudden sensation of nakedness makes me squirm because I know Willow won’t like what she finds.

I close my mouth, licking my lips. “You don’t—”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” she says, voice sharp. “We might just barely be friends, but I care about you.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

Willow just threw an emotional bomb in the center of her cozy kitchen.

Unfortunately for her, I only know one way to respond.

Chapter 13