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Will has the kind of face that dares you to cross him because he would adore the chase—craves the adventure of it.
“I think maybe you’re too nice?” He says it like a question. “My sisters would agree with you, but one peek inside my head during traffic . . .” I whistle lightly and let the implied villainy dangle.
I suddenly realize that I’m standing here having an effortless conversation with Will Griffin and I have no idea how I’m managing it. All I know is that somehow, it’s easy.
He smiles fully and it slips right into the fleshy part of my heart, inflating it like an emergency flotation device.
Two chapters in and Annie already has my whole heart with her dorky, awkward charm
The sweet one, everyone says. The quiet one. The cute one. I’ve heard folks in that town refer to Annie as every possible synonym of those words—but never once did they give her the adjective that always sprung into my head when I saw her: gorgeous.
I’ve known since the moment I laid eyes on Annie that I needed to stay the hell away from her.
Something about her attracts me in an I-could-get-feelings-for-her kind of way. And I don’t do feelings.
I wanted to talk to her all night. Hell, I would have settled for sitting and watching her read her book. I bet she makes all kinds of faces while reading.
Don’t mind me swooning over here 💕
after talking to Annie and then watching her drive off, I found myself rubbing my chest to ease that damn feeling.
“Annie is so soft and sweet and virginal. Can you imagine her with someone like Will? He’d eat her alive.” I think Emily meant for that to sound upsetting, but for some reason, it’s not sounding all that unappealing to me.
I’m a self-aware gal, and I know my flaws. Falling quickly for hunky mysterious men who look like pirates and don’t do relationships is definitely one of them.
I don’t want to see any part of Annie change. Not a single thing. I’ve never met anyone like her before—and it would be a damn shame for her to morph into some popular social construct of what a woman should be like on dates. I hate it.
“Why do I feel like I just missed out on an important opportunity?” Because you did. Now, get lost, she’s mine.
“What are you doing here?” I sound accusatory only because I wasn’t expecting him, and I need a full five minutes to prepare for his company before I see him. You know, mentally gird my loins and all that.
I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead on the loaves of honey wheat bread because if I look at Will right now, my skin will melt clean off my body. How dare he talk to me like that! Like . . . like I’ve always secretly dreamed of someone talking to me.
This is a secret (along with the box of romance books under my bed) I will take to my death. If anyone ever robs my grave, they’ll be shocked to find me blanketed with shirtless pirates fiercely embracing a lady in a gown that is not even remotely accurate for the era of the book.
“If I waited until I felt confident to live my life and do the things I want to do, I’d never live.”
“It seems to me, Annie, that you are just waiting for someone to give you permission to be yourself out loud.”
And it’s in this moment that I realize BuzzFeed wasn’t able to capture the most wonderful expression I’ve seen from Will yet—tenderness.
Because the only difference in our upbringing is that he had someone older to take care of him—to make sure he was loved and hugged regularly. I had no one. Even now I have no one, but the difference is I’ve stopped waiting for someone to fill that role, and I’m better for it.
That made me irrationally upset. Why doesn’t she have photos of herself? Because no one takes photos of her or because she’s not comfortable enough to be in them? I made a silent promise after that to take photos of Annie while I’m in town.
“No,” I say honestly. “Annie asked me not to. So I have to keep my promise to her.” And for some reason, having Annie’s trust feels like holding the world. I never want to break it. “Good man. I knew I liked you.” She raises her mug. “Woulda lost a lot of respect for you if you’d caved right away.”
I swear the sunlight hits this woman differently than other people. It seeps into her skin, makes her glow.
I wiggle my fingers in front of her smug face. “Can you do less of this please?” She bats her eyelashes. “Less of what?” “The matchmaking. I can feel it. This town has seeped into your brain and turned you into a disgusting hopeless romantic.” “And I can turn you into one, too, if you’d just quit fighting it so hard. You’re not going to want to be a player forever, you know? And if you happen to meet a cute blonde flower shop owner and want to give dating a go . . . well, then—”
What do I do now? Especially with my hands because I’m getting the urge to wave them around for no reason.”
“You don’t need to do anything with your hands.” “It feels like I do. How’s this?” I perch them on the table, and he watches, tracking my movements as I adjust them again. “No? How about like this then?” I spread my arm over the back of the booth. I scrunch my nose. “This feels manly. Do I look manly? Does this look like I’m asserting dominance, because I can tell you right now I’m a beta all the way.”
“You’re safe with me.”
“No, Annie. Don’t get it twisted. I already think you’re sexy without a tattoo. So I know for sure you would be with one.”
“Your ass is a work of art. Two absolutely perfect slopes of soft curvy sensuality that absolutely kill me, Annie. Your ass kills me. And I need you to know that if we weren’t doing this just-friends thing—I would have already . . .” I let the sentence dangle as my eyes rake over her, implying everything I’ve dreamed of doing with Annie but not saying it out loud because I think I’ve already said too much as it is.
“So I was wondering if you’d be the someone to help me practice taking risks with, doing new things, and . . . maybe finding who I am now?” “Be your all-encompassing practice someone?”
“No one has kissed you in years, Annie? How is that possible?” I’ve wanted to kiss her every second since I met her.
Someone could blindfold me and spin me around and set me loose in a room full of people, and I’d still be able to find him.
something about being with Annie makes me want to be cautious for once. I have the distinct feeling of holding something precious and not wanting to let it drop. I feel protective. Possessive even.
We’re both laughing and she’s crying and I’ve never experienced this kind of emotion with anyone else. It’s so fragile and vulnerable.
Unhelpfully, my brother’s words fly through my head: “I’m helpless to do anything else.” Is this what he was talking about? This intense magnetism my body has for hers? Surely it’s just desire, and if we were to finally have sex it would go away. Right?
And besides,” I say, scanning from the west to south entrances, “three days is nothing. Definitely not enough to make me compromise your safety by needing to talk to her before we go.” But it is enough to have me sneaking out of Mabel’s Inn after dark that night and driving to Annie’s house—leaving my truck on a side road and then cutting across lawns to get to her window.
My knees go weak because the word pretty coming out of his mouth feels like the most enticing juxtaposition. It’s achingly tender and innocent—which forcefully combats his worldly and dangerous appearance.
“Okay, well now that you have my number, feel free to . . .” my words trail off when I turn around and find Will toeing off his shoes and sitting on my bed “. . . stay.”
Because I happen to know what was written about on the page I was reading when he arrived: the couple’s first kiss. And that may sound sweet, but that’s only if you’ve never read a historical romance before.
I need to think of a discreet way to distract him. Something really casual and easy so that he sets the book down but isn’t suspicious. “Stop reading!” I blurt. Super. Really discreet.
“So dramatic, this captain. I mean I know the feeling, but I’ve never thought I’d die from an erection before.”
And that’s when I realize that never again will I be able to settle with simply nice and soft and stable. I mean, yes, I want those things still. But I also want this. Dangerous, untethered, and demanding. How did I ever think I didn’t need this?
This isn’t even a relationship with Annie, and I’m clawing out of my skin with a need to be more for her. To always be around when she needs me. To be the kind of man I never saw modeled growing up.
Until I met her and held her in my arms, I never knew I could be capable of so much tenderness. And I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about tender conversations. Tender words. Tender understanding.
ANNIE: You’d do that for me? WILL: I’m quickly learning I’d do anything for you.
But the thing about quiet people is, we’re only quiet because our brains are so busy overthinking everything.
I just wish I could say it didn’t sting to realize it meant so much to me, and was only part of a maneuver on her end. I thought . . . never mind. Doesn’t matter.
I’m terrified to admit that holding her in my arms is the closest I’ve come to feeling truly happy in a very long time.
I didn’t even know I was lacking happiness. But now that I’ve realized it, I can pinpoint it with scary accuracy.
I’m not the good guy—even though spending time with Annie makes me feel remarkably close to one.
