Wes knockson my hotel room door and I answer. He’s wearing sweats and a T-shirt, and the first thing I think is that it’s incredibly unfair how good he looks when he’s not even trying.
I step back and he walks in, bringing with him the smell of body wash. A paperback book is tucked under his arm. He settles at the small table in the corner. Behind me, the heavy hotel door closes loudly.
I climb on top of the made bed and sit cross-legged. I’m wearing sweats too, and my hair is piled on top of my head.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Wes says, his gaze focused on the wall beside the bed.
I follow his stare to where I’ve tacked up a map of Sierra Grande and a copy I made of Brandt’s blueprints for The Orchard. I’ve drawn on the blueprint in bright colors, mostly landscaping ideas and games, and a book drop in the shape of a large birdcage. “I took the liberty of appropriating the wall space for my use. I’m sure the hotel won’t mind as long as I put their picture back on the wall when I’m done.” I glance down at the generic picture that used to hang on the wall but now leans against it.
“You did your research,” he says, nodding to a sheet of paper taped to the bottom of the Sierra Grande map.
My chest swells at the pride in his voice, eating up his praise like a kitten lapping milk. I climb off the bed and go to the paper, running my hands over the block letters written in black Sharpie. “I was brainstorming ideas for what to name the project. In my research about Arizona I kept seeing the five C’s of Arizona.” I bounce a fingertip off each C: cotton, copper, cattle, citrus, and climate. “But I couldn’t get the pecan trees out of my head, so I went with The Orchard.”
“The sad-looking pecan trees took precedence over what makes Arizona’s economy?” He asks the question with a smirk, but his tone holds wonder.
“I already told you, those pecan trees are special and I’m not afraid to give them what they need to help them flourish. You see some derelict trees, but I see potential.” I shrug and sit back down on the bed. I’m three minutes late for The Bachelorette, so I grab the remote and turn on the TV.
Wes spends a nanosecond looking at the screen, then rolls his eyes and opens his book.
“Don’t act like you’re too good for this show,” I tell him.
He doesn’t respond, but he does smile. I peek at his book. Grisham. I was expecting Louis L’Amour, which makes me giggle and Wes glances at me. I shake my head at him, indicatingit’s nothing, and turn my attention back to the TV.
Fifteen minutes in, I catch him watching. “Ohhhh,” I tease. “Someone likes the show they acted too good for?”
He frowns like I need my eyes checked and goes back to his book. The next time I catch him watching, I keep the teasing to myself.
We order a pizza, and Wes runs down to the front desk when it arrives. We eat the entire thing. The Bachelorette ends and we move on to Wheel of Fortune. I’m good at the game, but Wes is expert-level. He guesses the word long before any of the contestants.
I throw my last piece of crust in the open pizza box. “So far tonight I’ve learned you read novels, and should be a contestant on Wheel of Fortune. I feel our relationship is really progressing. We’ll be married in no time.”
Wes grabs my crust and takes a bite. “Roping and riding aren’t my only talents.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say, then realize how sexual that sounded. “I mean… well, I didn’t mean to make it sound like…”
Wes laughs at my awkwardness. “I know what you meant.”
The show ends and Wes stands, glancing at the digital clock on my nightstand. “It’s late enough to go home now.”
There’s a tug on my heart, like I don’t want him to go. I push it away. “Right.” I get off the bed and bend over, brushing crumbs from the bedspread.
“Thanks for having me over.” He’s swiping at the bed too, brushing off crumbs I’m not sure are really there.
I straighten and find he’s only a foot away from me. It’s the closest he’s been to me all night other than when he walked in, and I’m once again hit with the mouthwatering smell coming off him.
“No prob.” I dart around him, my voice at least two octaves higher than it should be. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
I huff a sound of playful exasperation. “I suppose so. There’s a concert in Desert Oasis park. The one downtown,” I add, in case he needs me to explain.
“I know of Desert Oasis Park,” he responds with a twinge of agitation in his tone, but he’s pretty much sayingI grew up here, remember?
“Great. Spares me the chore of having to send you directions.” I flip him a sassy smile. “Anyway, I’ve heard it’s a big deal. I’ll be there, and I’d like you to join me.”
He nods once, in that slow cowboy way. “Then I’ll be there.” The words are as slow as his nod, and a flush warms the back of my neck.
“Great,” I say brightly, attempting to cover up his effect on me. “I’ll be the one in the red dress.”
