Weston’s parents have a knack for making everyone feel like one of their own, but when Weston left me, they distanced themselves. At least I know why now, can’t say the same for my dear old dad.
You would think that, after people keep walking out on me, I would be numb to it all. And I try to be, if I don’t think about it, and I just shove it really far down. It doesn’t hurt as bad, but being in this house makes it impossible to shove into that tiny little box in my heart. It makes it raw and real and something I have to deal with. Maybe that’s why life brought me here, so I can deal with all the things I’ve avoided for years.
For once, I want somebody to pick me. Make me a priority even when it’s hard, or the future is uncertain. I realize just how sad that is, but you know what, I pick me, and for today, that’s good enough.
Walking into the kitchen. I grab a glass of water and take a few big chugs. A few drops escape my bottom lip and trail down to my chest as Weston walks through the garage entrance to the house.
His eyes immediately meet mine. They slide down my body, perusing it, and I feel a sudden rush of heat. I know that look in his eye. I've seen it many times before. He used to make me feel like the most powerful woman in the world when he would look at me with pure hunger.
His mouth quirks up on the side as he starts to kick off his boots. “Glad to see you still like running.”
“Glad to see you still like staring.” My retort was purely instinctual.
He laughs a little bit, no shame in his game at all.
He looks me dead in the eyes as he says, “Believe me, if I stared at you as much as I wanted to, you would be serving me a restraining order.”
Having spent the last twelve years of my life in New York, I’m used to people being bold. But I’m not used to this. I’m not used to itcoming from Weston and I’m not used to it coming from someone I’m supposed to be having a professional relationship with right now.
Clearing my throat, I try to move past the moment because I feel awkward even though he clearly doesn’t. He’s still sporting that stupid sexy smirk. Part of me wants to throw my glass of water at it to wipe it right off, but really, he hasn’t done anything besides make me feel utterly discombobulated and stand up for me.
That’s what makes it so difficult not to let my walls down again. He hasn’t done anything, aside from completely turning my world upside down years ago, and it would make things a hell of a lot easier to hate him if he did. It’d be easier to want to stay away if he did, but no, he shows up like a perfect gentleman and does all the right things and says all the right things all the time. Disgusting, really.
Steering the conversation back to professional grounds, I say, “The new contractor will start on Monday. They somehow were able to start right away, and I genuinely cannot believe it. Or the fact that they have a shorter turnaround time than the last group. We might just finish these cabins in time, after all.”
“That’s great. What sounds good for dinner tonight?” He walks into the kitchen and swings open the refrigerator.
“I wasn’t under the impression we’d be eating meals together,” I respond, setting my glass down and leaning against the kitchen counter. I’ve been here a few days, and this is the first time he’s approached this particular topic.
“I think it’d be a waste for both of us to be cooking in this kitchen. Last time I checked, we were trying the whole friends thing out, remember? I’m pretty sure they eat dinner together sometimes.”Friends. Why does that sound like a taunt? And why do I feel like he’s using it against me?
After that run, I am absolutely famished, so I’m not going to argue with him. “How do you feel about grilling some burgers?” I suggest.
“Whatever you want, Sunshine.”
My heart does a little flip-flop at the sound of my nickname coming off his tongue. I used to have dreams where we were still together, and that was the only time I’d hear his voice, the only time I’d hear that nickname. I miss it. So as much as I want to tell him to stop calling me that, I don’t have the heart to, or my heart doesn’t have the strength to. It’s almost like it lets me pretend for just a second that that moment twelve years ago never happened.
So for now, I am going to play pretend. Pretending that twelve years ago didn’t happen and that I haven’t spent every single day thinking about Weston.
Chapter 20
Willow
“You’re going,” Aspen says, yelling outside of Weston's front door, which is currently my front door, too.
“Oh, no, I am not,” I sing-song to her through the door, “but you’re welcome to hang out here with me while I work.”
The lock on the door clicks and in walks Aspen. I throw my head back and ask the Lord what I did to deserve this.
“Wipe that sorry look off your face, we’re going to the fair. It only comes once a year, and Ava is pregnant, so she can’t have the type of fun with me that I’m looking for. But we do have a ride home.” I feel like we shouldn’t bother the pregnant woman to drive us home, being that she’s busy growing a whole human, but sure.
Aspen struts in and makes herself at home by dramatically flopping down on the couch next to me.
Crossing my arms, I sigh, “Aspen, I love you, but I have a million things to do.”
She sits straight up, “It’s Saturday night, enough work. Whatever you don’t have done will be there tomorrow, or better yet, Monday. I’ve been working my ass off, and I want to go shove my face full of turkey legs, funnel cakes, and beer, and you’re going to do it with me.”
The idea of going to the fair is not the worst. I used to look forward to it every year since we moved to Windy Peaks when I was in elementary school. I just know this will be a mini high school reunion, and thethought of seeing everyone after all this time gives my stomach a solid drop into overwhelming anxiety. What would they think of me? Are they going to question why I am hanging out with my ex-boyfriend’s little sister? And what happens if one of them knows I’m living with Weston?
