Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(47)

Assholes.

I told them they were all fired, and they just laughed more.

Closing my truck door as gently as possible to keep from waking them up, I head toward the front door, wishing away my agitation. My worry. My confusion. I don’t want to step into this house as anything other than what they need.

I’m halfway expecting Willa to be up when I step inside. That wobble in her voice on the phone has haunted me all night. It boggles my mind that a self-possessed woman like her can doubt herself so thoroughly.

She’s all swagger and confidence ninety-nine percent of the time. But now and then, I get this flash of insecurity. It leaves me shaking my head.

After toeing my boots off, I walk through the house on socked feet, desperate for a shower, but more desperate to check on my son.

Willa too.

I head to my bedroom first, absently wondering if it will be weird if I pop my head into her room to check on her.

But those thoughts come to a screeching halt when I step into my darkened room and see copper hair floating across my pillows. The light from the hallway illuminates her creamy, pale arm wrapped around Luke’s tiny body.

My heart seizes in my chest. Stops right in its fucking tracks. And I can’t look away. I let myself stare, shoulder propped against the doorframe, arms crossed against my chest—my only armor against the intense feelings the sight of Willa snuggling my son stirs up in me.

I soak them in.

I think about her saying she loves him.

I think about the moment he reaches for her hand, the way he looks up at her—just a little uncertain that she’ll want his hand in hers.

I think about the curve of his lips and the way his tiny shoulders drop on a sigh when she effortlessly wraps her fingers around his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I stand here and think way too damn much as I stare at them curled into each other. I let myself imagine things that I have no business imagining. Things I’m not sure I could ever live up to.

With a shake of my head, I tiptoe into the room, hovering over them carefully as I reach out and lay the back of my hand over Luke’s forehead.

Blissfully cool, which means either the fever broke, or she managed to get enough medicine into him.

I sigh shakily and just before I straighten, her eyes flutter open.

“Hi.” Willa’s voice is soft and sleepy.

“Hi,” I whisper, and I can hear the smile in my voice.

“Oh God. I’m sorry. He wanted me to lie with him. He got sick again. He got sick . . . a lot.” Her head turns as she takes in her surroundings. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your bed.”

I like you in my bed.

It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back, opting for, “It’s okay.” I reach out and run a hand over her silky hair, gently pressing her head onto the pillow. “Just go back to sleep.” Luke is crashed out on top of her arm anyway.

“Where will you sleep?” She blinks groggily.

“In Luke’s room.” I should take my hand off her, but I stroke her hair.

Soothing her or myself? Of that, I’m not entirely sure.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thank you. You were a godsend today.”

“That’s overkill, Eaton,” she mumbles, nuzzling her head into my pillow to hide from the compliment.

I wonder if she can smell me there.

Thumbing some of her hair, I push it back behind her ear, letting my fingers trail over the line of her jaw. “You need to learn how to take a compliment, Red. A simple thank-you is all it requires.”

“Oka—”

I press my thumb against her lips, entranced by how supple they feel under my touch. “Red. Just take the thank-you. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

Her lips press together and she gives a firm nod. The motion makes Luke stir, but rather than waking up, he turns over and nuzzles into her chest, small hand splayed on her arm.

I watch Willa blink down at him, like she’s still trying to wrap her mind around where she is and



what she’s doing. And when she looks up at me, uncertainty painted all over her pretty face, all I can do is smile.

Willa Grant looks way too good in my bed.

“I think I watched a porno like this once.”

My head snaps up from where I’m scrubbing the upholstery in the back of Willa’s Jeep. “Pardon me?” I pop around the open door and take her in, sitting on the top step of my front porch, wearing black leggings and a black tank top.

She looks good.

There is not a single place in this house this woman doesn’t look good.

I can see the outline of her nipple piercings, but more than anything, I’m entranced by the way her pale skin contrasts against the dark fabric of her clothes. The way her fiery hair seems even brighter.

“The grumpy mechanic guy with bulging muscles. A girl who can’t pay her bill. A tale as old as time.”

“The shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes.” I dry my hands on a piece of torn towel. It’s a pale pink. Like Willa’s lips.

“It’s the backward hat.” She points at me with a light chuckle. “You flipped the switch.”

“Have you ever been told that you use humor to cover up being uncomfortable?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.” She smiles, and I shake my head at her in wonder. “My mom’s a therapist, remember?”