Jo looks back at me. "Wyatt!"
I grin at her shock, at how she looks disapproving but also pleased. "I'm not sorry."
A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Why didn't you tell me you'd seen me? Or anybody else?"
I remember Jo clearly from that day, her furtive glance and hunched shoulders. She was embarrassed, but angry too. Resentful. "It felt private. Like something I wasn't supposed to see."
She nods. "Yeah."
It's all she says, and it's confirmation I made the right choice back then. "Your mom—"
Jo sits up suddenly, water sloshing. Her upper half twists so she faces me. "I don't want to talk about my mom. You know what I want?"
My eyebrows lift and I wait for her to finish.
"I want you to take me back to your place and lay me down on your bed, and do everything we just did, but horizontally this time."
She doesn't wait for my reply. She stands up from the tub and climbs out. Goose bumps rise on her skin, and I realize I've forgotten the towels in my truck. I get out too and hand her my shirt. She uses it to dry off, and I do the same. We lock up the house, and then I take her back to my cabin and follow her instructions precisely.
22
Jo
It's…him.Wyatt. Beside me in his bed.
I'm terrified to make a sound, to even breathe. Any disruption to the current atmosphere might wrinkle the moment. I shut my eyes and exhale so slowly it's uncomfortable.
Last night really happened, right? Wyatt really boiled an ungodly amount of water just so I could have a bath? I don't think anybody has ever done anything so kind for me. It's overwhelming.
As soon as I understood what he had done for me, I knew. Wyatt isn't a man who makes empty grand gestures. Wyatt will never do something he doesn't one-hundred-percent want to do.
Wyatt is in love with me.I repeat it two more times in my head, tapping out the rhythm on my chest with one finger. I believe it, but also, I don't. When you've wanted something for so long, getting it doesn't actually make it feel like yours. I can't grab onto it, hold it in my palm, feel its warmth.
Is that what real love is? A measure of faith? Something you can't see, like heaven, or emotions. You just go with your gut, close your eyes, and fall?
It's the scariest thing I've ever experienced.
Beside me, Wyatt shifts. He stretches and groans, protesting the waking world. My breath sticks in my throat. I dare a glance at him.
He blinks twice, those thick, dark eyelashes fluttering and then opening. His tongue darts out, running over the crease in the center of his lower lip. He touches me, fingertips slipping over my shoulder.
"Josephine Shelton, is that really you?"
His words draw a smile from me. "Did you think you imagined last night?" I ask.
"I thought last night was something that could've only happened in my dreams. I figured I must've imagined it."
I push against his chest. "Stop."
He squints. "I'm not kidding, Jo. Last night was important." He looks down and back up. "I know you think I've been sleeping with my best friend's wife. I know you think I drink too much and I don't take enough responsibility on my family's ranch. I know—"
"Stop," I say again. "If all that were true, then I'd be the dumbest woman to let myself end up in your bed again."
His lips purse as I continue. "It might be true that I thought some of that in the past, but that was before. And I'll admit, I still don't understand what is going on with Sara, but everything I've seen from you the past couple months tells me there's something more to the story, and none of us are pausing long enough to understand. Am I right?"
Wyatt's eyes hold relief, and a touch of sadness. He nods. "I can't tell you why I go over there."
Disappointment flashes through me. It's not a lot though, so I don't press. I am curious about something else though.
