“Oh, Maddy, you’re killing my confidence,” he groans.
“Sorry, I’m a lady and you’re a milk-person. Is that better?”
“Yeah, it's not the ‘man' part that bothers me."
“So, you'd rather me call you my man? Is that what you're getting at?"
Wesley's dimples deepen on his cheeks as he glances at me for a short second before returning his focus on the road. “I think I already told you. I'd love to be your ‘man.'"
“You did, but you didn't mention the part about me to calling you ‘my man' instead of milkman. It might be a dealbreaker.” I poke him in the shoulder since he can’t take his eyes off the road.
“Are you playing hard to get?" Wesley asks, reaching over and squeezing my knee.
“If Layla was here, she'd tell you how I play hard to get, but I can tell you on my own this time. I'm more of the type who blocks numbers, changes email addresses and hides at the sound of a knock on the door if I'm avoiding someone. So, there isn't a gray area with my interest in a man."
Wesley places his hand on his chest as if he's feeling relieved. “That makes me feel better, believe it or not."
“I'm not a monster," I tell him, wondering what I've done to give him that feeling. He's been more hot and cold than I have these last few weeks.
“I know, it’s just that there isn't anything really solidifying us, and we've each gone through massive life changes in the past few weeks, which isn't a great foundation for any new—I don't want to say the word relationship—but that might explain what I mean a little more."
I understand what he's saying, and I feel the same way. I'm aware who is calling the shots on what comes next for the two of us, but the moment I give in to my feelings, my walls come down, and I will become a flashing target, asking to be let downagain. With how I already feel about Wesley, the thought of that happening is keeping me from— “I want to be your girlfriend, Wesley."
The words shoot out of my mouth like a cannon, and I only intended to tell him about the pedestrian who jolted into the street. Thank goodness he saw him on his own, or there would be a dead guy to use as an omen to our one-second-old relationship.
“Wow, we've only known each other for a couple of weeks," he says. He's serious, like bone-dry serious. “Don't you think things are moving a little fast?"
“I was just kidding. I thought when you said what you said last night and just now or a minute ago, you meant—I take it back."
The truck jerks forward at a stoplight, not because Wesley purposely catapults the truck, but because I can feel the brakes are old and worn. “I'm messing with you, Maddy." He made me wait almost thirty seconds before saying anything. I think my heart stopped. I think I almost vomited too, and that would have been a health-codeviolation for the milk he's delivering.
“You're an ass!" I shout at him.
“So are you. You can't take your commitment issues out on every guy you meet. What if I'm the one for you, and you're the one for me? Because, shit, Maddy, I think you are the one, and if it's true, and I happened to be sensitive to rejection, I might have thrown in the flag yesterday when you admitted your uncertainty with us. Instead, I offered to stick around and put myself out there, hoping you might realize I'm not your ex-boyfriend or your parents, and that I do, in fact,care about you so much that I want to see where we go. I’m excited to see where we go.“ I wasn't expecting to hear that. He seemed so easy going after Layla's obnoxious announcement about my past, and then my confession on top of it all.
“You think I could be the one?” I ask, feeling my breath catch in my throat.
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think so. My God, I’ve never felt the way I do with you, Maddy. I’m all in here. I’ll be whatever you need because my gut is telling me to hold onto you as tightly as I can.”
I might not be relationship material. I'm not always sure how to handle an argument because for most of my life, I thought screaming it out was the answer. The behavior I grew up with feels like it's a part of who I am, and I will most likely always suck at communicating. “I'm a little scared, feeling so much for you. It hit me hard and fast, and I’ve been alone for so long. I don’t want to lose you. That’s what my fears have been about. You know, people say, ‘It’s too good to be true,’ and I don’t want that for us.”
“How about instead of being scared, you think about all the fun we can have together?" His words offer comfort and my shoulders lower in response to the release of tension. Wesley must notice because he reaches over, takes my hand and presses my knuckles against his lips. “This—youfeel right."
“While sitting in a milk delivery truck?" I remind him.
“Sitting in a goddamn milk delivery truck, yes. I can't drink the shit, but I sure can sell the hell out of it, and don't forget what brought us together. Milk is the cornerstone to all the success in my life."
My brows furrow and I look at him with question, wondering if he's joking, or maybe just partially kidding, but he seems pretty serious, so I guess it is what it is. “I think that's a tagline my new company uses, but with the word ‘breast' at the beginning of the statement."
“See? We're meant to be."
“We are meant to be,” I say, confidently. “We really are, Wesley Moon, the milkman extraordinaire.”
“I have got to come up with something better than doll-face. You’re really one-upping me here.”
“That’s a girlfriend’s job, isn’t it?” Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
I was so caught up, watching Wesley's mouth move as he explains his life's philosophy, and I didn't realize we pulled into a driveway in a small suburban area of Cambridge. These houses are out-of-this-world expensive, which brings me back to my curious question of who the hell is Wesley's ex-girlfriend? I guess it's better to get all these surprises out in the open now, but I'm not blind to the fact that I'm sitting in a milk truck on a driveway of a two-three million dollar house. “So, how did you two meet?"
