Something we forget ever happened.
I guess only time will tell.
Chapter Ten
The Beale Street
Ingrid
Wilder still feels distant as we meander down Beale Street. Hordes of people move around us as neon lights flicker overhead. Somewhere, the sound of a blues guitar permeates the air.
When I reach for his hand, I let out a sigh of relief as Wilder twines our fingers together.
Thankfully, Cash noticed we needed some space, so he stayed back at the motel to watch a baseball game, completely abandoning the first item on our Road Trip Bucket List. Not that I'm complaining. I'd rather bealonewith Wilder for a few hours. I can't help but wonder, though, if Wilder would much rather be holed up in a small, dank room with Cash watching sports than meandering down Beale Street at night with me.
When did I become this insecure in our relationship?
“Are you hungry?” Wilder asks me, distracting me from the full-blown meltdown I was internally heading for.
I shrug. “Only if you are.”
“There's a BBQ place up ahead,” he points out.
“Sounds delicious,” I try.
He doesn't say anything after that, and I find myself running through a checklist in my head.
Did Wilder tell me he loved me today? Yes.
How many times? I don't know. Maybe twice.
What am I doing? Wilder loves me. And he doesn't have to constantly remind me. It's not fair to him. He's not the keeper of my self-worth and self-confidence and self-assuredness.
I am.
Wilder loves me. I know this.
Why, then, do I keep doubting him?
The BBQ place is packed when we enter, and Wilder suggests taking our dinner to go. My heart sinks when he mentions bringing Cash something, too.
“This is a bucket list item,” I let out, begrudgingly. “We're supposed to walk Beale Street at night.”
“We are,” Wilder responds. “We have.”
I run a hand over my face as we get in the long line. “I thought the point of the bucket list was to bond?”
“We are bonding,” he says with a shrug.
I know I shouldn't say anything, but I've never been great at keeping my thoughts—and feelings—to myself. At least, where Wilder's concerned.
“You've been distant since the expensive sensor fiasco,” I inhale sharply.
“I'm not trying to be distant,” he defends himself.
“Then why can't we go back to how things were?” I ask. “BeforeI let Cash pay.”
Wilder shakes his head. “I'm trying to.”
