I look around, genuinely confused, because we literally just talked about this. “I was going to get in the truck and drive us to town.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve been working hard. How about I drive you around?” He starts ushering me to the shiny black BMW.
The sightseeing will be hard, but it will be nice to be a passenger princess again. “Well, okay, I guess we can take your car.”
He nods, the smile on his face is genuine, I can tell by the way it makes the small creases next to his eyes stand out. He walks around to his side of the car and hops in. This isn’t unusual, and before I was back, I wouldn’t think much of it, but now all I can think about is how offended Weston was every time I considered grabbing my own door.
The trip to town was useful in the fact that I got my coffee, and that Josh and my grandpa got along. He met us down at the coffee shop. Gramps can be somewhat of a spitfire, and Josh can be a bit, well, judgmental, so I didn’t want to show him my family home just yet. I want to ease him into this small town. I know it can be a big adjustment, because I went through the same thing, only flip-flopped. The sigh of relief I had when they started joking about football was probably audible around the world. Seeing my two guys get along is nice.
Josh looked genuinely interested in everything I showed him. It was when he started oooing and ahhhing my very small high school that my suspicions started. He’s always kind to me, but never this interested in pretty much anything I have to say unless it’s work-related. We’re very career-driven people, so I’ve never put much thought into it, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe he’s just missed me.
He dropped me off at my truck and is now following me as I drive to the cabin. I did try and warn him that the cabin is more on the rustic side than the one we visited in Vermont when we got engaged. He booked me a surprise getaway, and it’s one of my fondest moments of our relationship. The cabin was like a five-star hotel interior meets the outdoor setting of a small-town Hallmark movie. This cabin is so far from that in its current state, it’s practically in another galaxy.
When we come to a stop and step out of our vehicles, he takes in the property. I try to see it through his fresh set of eyes. The front of the cabin is very worn, and most of the wood framing will need to be restored. The two large windows on either side of the front door also need to be replaced. Years of condensation have weathered the panes, and the paint is cracked and peeling. On the bright side, there’sa quaint wrap-around porch, and the cabin is surrounded by trees. It’ll be the perfect oasis once we put a little TLC into it.
“So this is where you’re staying?” He gives the splintered wood on the porch a dirty look as I pass by him, twisting the doorknob and pushing open the door.
“Do you not lock it?” he asks, looking horrified.
“The only neighbors I have out here are wildlife, and I'm fairly certain Bambi or Yogi the Bear will not be breaking in. I know, it’s a culture shock compared to the city.” This is so different from New York, where hundreds of strangers could pass our apartment building in a day.
“I guess that’s fair. I just want to make sure you’re safe out here. I don’t really like that you’re all by yourself.” He looks around, as if scouting for danger.
Turning the doorknob, I stand in the doorway, blocking the space from his view, “There’s not a lot of space, but it has a lot of potential, so keep an open mind.” I push the door all the way open now. “The primary room is in the back. And you’re pretty much looking at everything else. The hot water is out, so don’t be shocked when your shower is cold.” I fiddle with my fingers, keeping an eye on his expression. I don’t know why I care so much if he likes this place. Maybe because it’s become a bit of a sanctuary to me. It’s quiet, and I feel like I can take a deep breath out here and actually feel refreshed.
“Wow, well it’s…something. What do you think your customer base is going to be?” He walks around and runs his fingers over the old faucet and then the slightly cracked wood on the cabinets.
“People like coming out here to get away from the hustle and bustle; this is a good place for it. It’ll have more amenities after construction, obviously.”
He raises his perfectly manicured eyebrows as if what I am saying is completely foreign to him, and maybe it is. The city took me a long time to get used to, maybe he just needs some time out here. The quiet feels loud when you’ve never experienced it before.
“Well, I’m going to clean up for dinner,” he says and then wipes a piece of non-existent lint off his pants.
He’s already severely overdressed; if he cleans himself up anymore, he will shine brighter than a disco ball. Maybe I should have gotten him some clothes while we were in town to help him blend in.
“This is going to be a pretty laid-back dinner; you could probably dress down.” He could probably step about two steps down from his down, and still be a little too clean, but that’s him. And I don’t want him to feel like he can’t be himself.
“Oh, is that why you’re still wearing that?” Dinners for us are usually a whole affair, so I get where he’s coming from, but the comment still stings a little.
I was planning on changing anyway, but the comment has me quick to reassure him that I’m still me. “No, I was going to change into a dress, actually.”
“Oh, great, either way you would look great.” He walks over and gives my hand a squeeze. “Who is all going to be at this dinner?”
With that the warm feeling from his caring touch fizzles away quicker than it came, “Well, you’ve met Mabel, so her and her husband will for sure be there, outside of that, it’s kind of a guess, most likely, their kids Weston and Aspen, and then the other set of kids who aren’t theirs, Rhett, Mav and his wife, Ava.”
“Ah, so I finally get to meet the infamous Weston.” He says it like he’s going to enjoy this, which makes one of us. This is my literal worst nightmare on steroids.
Chapter 11
Weston
My mom’s name pops up on my phone, and I can’t help but smile. Usually, when she calls me out of the blue, it is to tell me a funny story about one of her chickens or a way Dad made her so mad she went cross-eyed. Both are very entertaining.
“Hello, mother dearest,” I greet her.
“Hi, honey,” she says, her voice teetering on nervousness, which is incredibly out of character for her. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?”
“If you’re cooking it, I’m there,” I assure her. Anytime my mom’s cooking is available over mine, I’m taking it. There’s only so many things you can master on the grill. And breakfast for dinner gets old and is pretty much the only thing I am good at making.
