Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(33)

Music to my fucking ears.

“You boys are amazing chefs. Count me in.”

I go back to peeling potatoes in the sink beside Luke but say, “Let’s put some different music on for Willa.” It’s the perfect opportunity to get rid of whatever this happy, danceable shit is.

Horrified, Luke asks me what's wrong with “Watermelon Sugar”, but before I can answer, Willa tilts her head at me and says, “Yeah, Cade. You got something against Harry Styles?”

I glance over at their wide eyes. One set offended, the other amused. “It’s just so . . . pop-y.”

“I have an idea.” Willa’s hand snaps up, and then she strides out of the kitchen.

I try not to stare at her ass in the denim cutoffs she’s wearing.

I fail.

Then I’m back to the potatoes, skinning them aggressively while trying to monitor Luke’s precious little fingers. He’s focusing so hard that his tongue is captured between his lips, eyes narrowed.

He looks . . . grown-up. I know he’s not yet, but he’s also not the fully dependant toddler he once was. He doesn’t wake me up multiple times a night. He can get his own cereal out for breakfast.

It’s terrifying.

The music shuts off, and I turn to the kitchen table where Willa has pulled a chair out for herself and has a beautiful, ornate acoustic guitar slung over her lap. “What should I play?”

Luke shouts for her to play “Watermelon Sugar” before he drops the knife and sits to watch her.

I can’t blame him. She’s practically glowing.

I groan dramatically, just picking on him now. Feeling alarmingly relaxed. Better somehow, knowing that Willa is here under the same roof rather than out in the city or whatever she and Summer got up to on their girls’ weekend.

Perfectly normal outing for two young women, I’m sure, but I’ve never been good at turning off the protective streak. The one that’s constantly worrying about everyone’s safety.

“Pick something easy, like ‘Twinkle Twinkle.’ We don’t know if Willa is any good.”

“Dad!”

Willa laughs and shakes her head, before dropping her gaze to the strings that her fingers and pick hover over, a curtain of warm copper hair shielding her face like she’s a little bit shy. Her long lashes

flutter shut for a moment, and her knee bounces.

Then the smooth hum of the strings fills the kitchen. I immediately recognize it as a slowed down acoustic version of the song that was just playing.

I stop and put down the peeler in my hand. I’d be the first person to confess that I leave my radio tuned to the country station. I’m no connoisseur. And when I’m out in the pastures, the soundtrack is the snorts of our mounts and the thrum of the cows’ hooves against the land.

Truthfully, silence doesn’t bother me in the least.

But she’s impossible to look away from. I figured she’d have some basic knowledge of the guitar, but this is impressive. Or maybe it’s just because it’s her.

There’s something soulful, something that warms me to my bones as I watch her.

“Wait! You missed the part where you sing!” Luke’s tone is accusatory.

Willa peeks up, timidly pushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t sing, Luke. I just like playing guitar.”

“You sang during our dance party the other day.”

She drops her eyes, lips pressing together, cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “That was just for fun.”

“Sing! Sing! Sing!”

A deep laugh bubbles up out of me. Luke is so damn persistent.

Willa’s eyes widen on mine, and I cross my arms with a shrug. “Sing, Willa. Let’s hear it.”

Her blush deepens, crawling down her neck onto her chest. It’s how she’d look with beard burn on her.

My beard burn.

“Fine. But I don’t have a good voice, so no making fun.”

“You do too!”

She points at Luke. “This was supposed to be background music while you cooked, not a concert.”

“It sounds so good, Willa. I want to play the guitar as good as you.”

The shy smile that touches her lips as her head dips down has me softening toward her. She’s so brash sometimes, and then there’s this sweet side. This bashful side. This insecure side.

And she has no business feeling that way at all.

“It’s beautiful, Willa,” I add, hoping to reassure her, but her cheeks go darker.

What I want to say is wholly inappropriate.

You’re beautiful.

How was your night out?

I’m sorry I haven’t been leaving enough coffee for you in the morning.

Words that lodge in my throat. Turn to cotton batting on my tongue. Words and feelings I don’t know what to do with anyway.

She pulls the hair back down to cover her a little and starts the song again from the beginning. A tiny part of me thinks I should turn and keep peeling, but a bigger part of me can’t take my eyes off her smooth legs bent under the guitar. One bare foot propped on the lower bar of the chair. Slender ankle flexed, the curved arch of her foot somehow sensual. I run into this problem where she’s concerned a lot.

The most trivial little details have me obsessing over her.

The tune sounds just as good as it did the first time. Sultry and slow. It’s like she took some teenybopper song and made it sexy.