I still haven’t asked him about the cars again, now that we’re here. Now that the choice isn’t one he’s making at the risk of being stranded hundreds of miles from home.
Wes finds me in the kitchen nursing a glass of water, my free hand braced on the counter. Nervous energy tightens my grip on the glass. It’ll be fine. I want this. I wanthim. He wants me.
I’m still terrified of taking down this last wall between us.
Wes stops in front of me, a slight furrow between his brows. He reaches out to gently tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, darlin’?”
“It’s nothing.” I summon a smile, toss back the last of my water, and set the glass in the sink. He hasn’t done anything to deserve my doubts. I’ve been in and out of therapy enoughto understand that I trust the familiarity of chaos in a way I don’t trust peace. I was fine when we were on the couch earlier. There’s no need to ruin the evening with my anxieties. “Ready for bed?”
“Not until you tell me what’s got you all twisted up,” he says from behind me. He’s close enough that I can practically feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t touch me. As though I’m a feral cat he doesn’t want to spook.
Even lost in the spinning vortex of my doubts, I know Wes deserves better than being hissed at. He’s been nothing but honest with me. Far more patient than I deserve. Coming here thinking I’d be testing him, testingus—it’s the sort of thing my mother would do. Keeping my worries to myself, pretending they’re not real to keep the peace, is something I learned from her.
And Wes sees right through it.
I stare at him helplessly, struggling to push past the instinct to hide. His expression remains open, posture relaxed. Patient. Wes is so damn patient with me. Even now, he could easily accept my brush off.
I’ve been trying so hard to avoid turning into my mother. To not pick the kind of men who leave wreckage in their wake. But she’s never been entirely blameless in those relationships either, keeping secrets, playing pretend. If I keep going down this path, it will eventually poison this fragile thing that’s been growing between me and Wes for weeks.
“I told you I don’t do casual,” I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I remember.” Wes slowly runs one hand through his hair and peers at me, concern morphing into something sharperbefore he takes a long breath. “I told you…has thisfeltcasual to you?”
I don’t know how to explain the paradox of my thoughts. How to communicate that the reason I’m crashing out is that ithasn’tseemed casual. That ever since he said anything between us wasnevergoing to be casual, I’ve wanted—badly—to believe him. That deep in the most hidden corners of my bruised heart, it terrifies me that I’ve started to want so much more than I ever thought possible.
“No,” I say quietly. “It doesn’t feel casual.”
“Good, because my feelings for you aren’t casual, Sloane. But you brought this up for a reason.” Each syllable is carefully controlled, but I know Wes well enough to see the frustration beneath the calm he’s trying to project. “Talk to me, darlin’.”
“Wes, I…” Forcing air into my lungs, I lean back against the counter and curl my palms around its edge in an effort to ground myself. “You don’t think this is all happening really fast? There’s a lot we haven’t talked about. Life stuff. Big stuff.”
“Then let’s talk about it.” He takes a step back, then another, until he’s leaning against the opposite counter. “Fast isn’t always a bad thing,” he says softly. “Not for me. Sometimes when you know, youknow.”
My breath catches at the implication, but I’m not ready to ask if he means it the way I think he does. I stare down at the floor, tracing the cracks in the tile I keep meaning to fix, and reach for the truth.
“My mom jumps from relationship to relationship. She throws herself in headfirst from the start. She’s done it my whole life. Every single time, she says sheknows. Not one of those relationships has ended well, including three marriages.”
“You are not your mother.” Wes pushes off the counter, takes a step toward me, and then stops with his arms folded across his chest. “I don’t have many dealbreakers. Not when it comes to you. You already know I travel a lot. Is that going to be a problem in the future?”
I bite my lip, hating the flicker of hurt that crosses his face at my hesitation. “It won’t be easy,” I admit. “But it’s not a dealbreaker for me, no. I travel for weddings more and more myself.”
“That’s one down. I’m not particularly attached to Houston. Do you want to stay here, close to your family?”
“Not so much my family.” I shrug, some of my tension starting to uncoil at his matter-of-fact approach. “But I like being near the mountains.”
“Okay.” Wes breathes out a sigh. “Now a big one. Kids?”
I shake my head, internally bracing for his answer. “Considering I pretty much raised my brothers…no, not for me.”
“Me neither.” He unfolds his arms and comes to stand at my side, adopting a similar pose with his hands braced on the counter at his back. “Is marriage on the table? Not now,” he adds, probably because my eyes almost fall out of my head. “But one day.”
“I think so, yeah,” I whisper. My heart pounds at the enormity of the thought. “One day.”
His lips curve with familiar mischief. “Dogs?”
“With the amount we both travel?”
Wes shrugs. “Dogs travel.”
