Weston has clearly just showered, clean shaven, golden hair and tanned skin popping with that fresh white tee stretched across his muscular chest and biceps. It reminds me of the beauty there can be in fresh starts.
Some things I have to look forward to on my last night, tomorrow.
I give him a smile, a real smile he’s earned, and nod my head at him. “Yeah, you’re good to take her. I gotta warn you though, she’s the least valuable Van Gogh on the planet. You might be wasting your efforts here.”
The burning look he gives me—in lieu of cracking another joke like we normally would—tells me I’m not the only one with their mind on tomorrow night. When he speaks, his voice is low,the timbre raspier than usual. “She’s worth more to me than any painting, Amelia. I’ll take good care of her.”
Taking one last glance around the space I’ve called home my entire adult life, I grab the bag with everything I’ll need for the night and turn her over into the care of the Grady brothers one last time.
They’re going to start the installation on the transmission tonight, but since they’re squeezing this in after hours Wyatt has warned me that he’s going to need tomorrow night for the engine, so she won’t be ready to drive until sometime tomorrow evening.
That leaves me homeless for the night, except for one benevolent gentleman. A Boy Scout, if you will.
The brothers move my van, my whole world, into the shop for the rest of her stay here, and I watch them work together, grumbling and laughing as they take out whatever’s left of the old parts inside Van Gogh and place the new ones in.
And I get it. Over the course of the evening, I see how important this is to Weston. This relationship with his brother, why he wouldn’t want to jeopardize this bond that I’ve seen grow in the past couple of weeks. Even if I was willing to abandon my reasoning in the name of one steamy night together, he wasn’t, and after watching them all this time, I get it.
The rare twitch of the lips that passes for a smile from Wyatt, the looks of respect and pride as he checks over Weston’s work. I’m guessing it’s a tenuous sort of peace that’s new for both of them.
I might not understand why Weston being happy would trigger Wyatt, or why Weston is okay with putting himself on hold for someone else, but I do see the beauty in what he’s going for here.
If making things right with my family was an option, I’d probably suffer through a lot to make it happen too. But thereisn’t a happily ever after for my family, not even a family reunion is possible at this point.
The Grady brothers get to a point they’re happy with for tonight and assure me it shouldn’t be as long of a wait when they wrap it tomorrow.
By ten p.m. Weston is giving me the very abbreviated tour of his current home. A small Craftsman he’s renting with one bedroom and one bathroom, it’s barely bigger than my van. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but the tour takes about as long. There’s the kitchen, there’s the living room, there’s the bedroom, there’s the bathroom. I get it.
The problem comes when he tries to insist I take the bed while he takes the sorry excuse for a couch.
I drop down onto it to test it out, and a metal spring nearly gives me an enema.
“Not to yuck your yum or anything, but how are you going to sleep on this without getting a prostate exam? You weigh, like, twice as much as me and it’s already breaching fifth base with me.”
Weston gives me a look that reaches every single nerve cell all the way down to my toes before answering. “We’ve got one more night to last, darlin’. I can put up with just about anything tonight knowing I’ll be in your bed tomorrow.”
That wink he follows it up with should be illegal.
“I mean, if this is what you’re into, if you want a romantic night alone with the couch, let’s just pick a safe word now and I’ll say no more. All you’ve gotta say ispolar bearand I’ll take the hint.”
“Is that your safe word?” The way his lips pull up and curve into a smile promises to give me a reason to use it.
“No, mine isI’ve got mace,” I joke.
Weston pulls a tight grimace and shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to give me some clear boundaries before westart tomorrow. I’m not risking some Vixen-worthy move below the belt because I pulled on your hair when you only wanted me to stroke it.”
Only one word of that diatribe stands out to me.
“Vixen?” My eyes light up, finding his. “You listened toVengeful Vixens?”
He pops a shoulder up casually, almost carelessly. “I had to hear it for myself after all your talk about it.”
“And?” I practically shriek the word.
“Getting vengeance for those victims who aren’t here to tell their own stories,” he says in a scary accurate impression of Jynx’s husky voice as he nails the delivery on the show’s tagline. “No, it’s pretty solid actually.”
“I knew it!” That was definitely more of a shriek, and I jump up off the couch and hug him excitedly. It’s a testament to his character that he doesn’t let that be weird, that he doesn’t pull back or shrink away from me.
For two people who are used to staying detached, that was aweebit personal. But he runs with it, holding me close with one arm and rubbing my back with the other for just a moment, releasing me as I pull back and pretend I didn’t just memorize the way his body felt against mine.
