“It’s why I want the cover so badly,” I say quietly. “I would really love to shut all of those assholes up.” I force myself to loosen my fingers on the steering wheel before they start to go numb and let out the sigh I’ve been holding in. “I’d much rather focus on Tracy and Matt’s wedding, though. You up for playing assistant?”
Wes stares out the window, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his breaths slow and measured as though it’s taking effort to calm down. I reach across the front seat and wrap my fingers around his. I appreciate how much he cares, but I also don’t want to waste another minute on yet another asshole with shitty opinions.
“I’ve never shot a wedding,” Wes says eventually with a sigh. He gives my fingers a light squeeze and kisses the back of my hand. “But of course I’ll help you, darlin’. Whatever you need.”
“I’ll give you some pointers,” I promise. “You’ll do great.”
“What equipment do you usually use? I’ve got a few different lenses with me. No flash or reflectors, though.”
“Me neither,” I admit with a rueful laugh. “Should be able to make it work, though. My good portrait lens is at home, but it’s not like Tracy and Matt want formal portraits.”
“We’re not that far from Colorado. We could run back to your place and grab your usual gear.”
We’ve talked about finishing the season together. Wes hasn’t faltered since that conversation—but he also hasn’t had much of a choice, has he? Not without having to rely on me tobring him back to his car. This is the closest we’ve been to Colorado in weeks.
“I don’t think we would miss much,” Wes goes on, his attention on his iPad. “Tomorrow’s a car wash, but the day after is looking pretty good up north. We could detour to your place and spend the night there instead of a hotel. Grab your extra gear, maybe a little extra sleep with how hard we’ve been going. If you agree, that’s my vote.”
I let go of his hand and reach for my water to give myself time to think past a twist of unease. What he’s saying makes sense. Iamexhausted, and while I could make do with the gear I have, I’d prefer the lens I left at home.
We would also have almost the entire night to ourselves. In the privacy of my house, away from paper-thin hotel walls.
As for the lingering fear that Wes could change his mind once his keys are in his pocket, well, if that’s how it’s going to end, at least I’ll know. Before I get myself in any deeper.
“Colorado it is.”
Chapter Eighteen
Daylight is little more thana pink splash across the peaks when we pull into my driveway. Wes’s SUV, new windows gleaming in the fading light, is right where Eric said it would be.
There’s a weird ache in my chest at the sight. In the five years since I bought the house, there’s never been anyone but my family waiting for me when I get home—and those unannounced visits never end well. What would it be like to come home to someone?
What would it be like to come home toWes?
The sudden longing brought on by the thought surprises me with its strength. I kill the ignition and lean back into the driver’s seat without looking at him before he can catch thewantthat’s probably painted all over my face. It’s too big. Too dangerous when I still don’t entirely trust that he’s in this as much as he says he is. No matter how badly I’d like it to be true, if I learned anything from my mother’s parade of men,some of life’s biggest disappointments come packaged in pretty words.
Wes reaches for the door handle. “I guess we better go inside.”
“A break from the car would be great,” I reply with a laugh that hopefully doesn’t sound as forced as it feels. With his arm slung around me, we grab our bags and start for the door.
“If there’s time before we leave tomorrow, I’m fixing that death trap stair,” Wes grumbles when he steps over the rotting step. “It won’t take long, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re not going to hurt yourself.” He yawns, waiting at my side while I fiddle with the lock and pretend I’m not having feelings about how casually he insists he’s going to fix something I’ve been meaning to do for a year. “I’m thinking we order a pizza and crash early. You in?”
Like we’re a couple who just got home and are about to spend a night curled up together on the couch. It’s a fleeting glimpse of the life I just imagined—and I like it far too much.
“As long as we can get something green with that pizza,” I tell Wes as we shuffle into the house. “And I don’t care what sort of insane delivery fee they want to charge. We arenotgetting back in the car tonight.”
“What do you want? I’ll take care of it.”
I blink. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He gives me an odd look and mutters something about a low bar and people with shovels. “It’s just pizza, darlin’.”
“I know. I just…” I flush. “It’s really nice, that’s all. I get tired of deciding all the things. You don’t make me do that.”
It isn’t until that moment I realize how true it is. In the last three and a half weeks on the road together, I can’t remember Wes once turning to me at the end of the day and demandingto know what the plan was for dinner. Most of the time he’d already looked at the options and gave me two or three to pick from. It made the decisions so effortless that I hardly realized I was deciding at all.
“I like looking after you.” Wes presses a kiss to my temple. “Go relax. You mind if I throw laundry in while we’re here?”
“If I ask you to throw mine in too am I going to end up with all my clothes three sizes too small?” I ask. I’m only half teasing.
