“You’ve got me there.” I lounge against one wall.
His smile is rueful. “Almost.” Wesley leans against the wall opposite. “Secret for a secret?”
His tone instantly has me on guard, but I can’t turn down the chance to uncover one of Wesley’s secrets. “All right.”
“You first. Go ahead and ask me something.”
I’m not prepared for this, so the question that tumbles out isn’t one I’d pose if I were employing any sense. “What do you really think about when you lie down to sleep?”
The glow of the living room television flickers at the mouth ofthe elevator, painting the left half of his face an eerie, otherworldly blue. The rest of Wesley falls to darkness. “I think about you,” he says, each word deliberate. Forced to admit. “I think about you, and it doesn’t help my insomnia at all.”
My breathing grows labored. “One more.”
He smiles, letting it slide. “All right.”
“What’s inside all those boxes in the shed?”
I can tell this question takes him by surprise. “Artwork. The boxes used to be in my old bedroom at the cabin, but when you moved in I had to hide them somewhere.” I digest this, speculating whether he’ll let me take a look at his other drawings. I like being able to see the world how he sees it, discover what interests him enough that he feels compelled to capture it on paper.
Then his tone drops. “My turn.”
Damn. “Go ahead.”
“Do I even have to ask?”
My first thought is to deflect, or distract. But then it dawns on me that none of this is easy for Wesley.Of courseit isn’t. Wesley is standing in front of me in trousers he wears only on very special occasions and cologne he never wears at all, trying to impress a woman. He has opened up to me even though it’s hard. Facing his fears. Terribly shy, but putting himself out there anyway.
And I think: Maybe I’m not making the mature decision after all in deciding we shouldn’t go a little further, seeing what might bloom between us.
Maybe I’m making the safe decision. The coward’s one.
He shifts his weight, jarring me from my self-reflection. Right. He has anxiety, and taking my time coming up with answers to questions that required valor to ask is essentially torture.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say slowly, “because I think I might bewrong.” Anyone can hurt me, but at this point choosing to miss out on whatcouldbe is going to hurt me, too. What if it ends badly?
What if it doesn’t?
Hoping for the best isn’t necessarily reckless, and nothing—not the good nor the bad—is guaranteed in life.
“Maybell,” he presses. “You have to tell me what that means.”
I step forward, summoning all my courage. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour.
Wesley just might be the most anxious, most relationship-shy person I’ve ever met, but here he is putting himself out there anyway. Maybe it’s my turn to be brave.
I raise my hands into his hair, watching his pleased surprise register. “I’m not the type of person who takes risks,” I say, letting the silky strands ripple through my fingertips.
His eyes are solemn. “Neither am I.”
“I stayed at a job I hated, that didn’t appreciate me, for too many years because I was scared of giving it up for the unknown. All the men I’ve been involved with in the past were bad for me, and I think a part of me knew that deep down, but I picked them anyway because I knew subconsciously there wouldn’t be a future with any of them. I knew none of them would last very long, and my life wouldn’t be changed. I’d go on being the same, with the same life.” I draw a bracing breath. “The devil you know.”
His hand slides up my arm to cover my wrist, a small, melancholy smile on his lips. “I understand.”
“But I quit my old job, and my life got better. I moved here, and my life got better. Such big changes. I met you.”
His smile widens, just a fraction.
“And my life got better. So what I’m saying is I would verymuch like to kiss you again, if you wouldn’t mind. I have nowhere to go from here but up.”
