Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“If we hadn’t had an illicit night in the woods and then things got really awkward for eighteen months?” I supply, seeing what he’s up to now.
But I’m not angry about it.
In fact, I’m kind of…relieved.
I’m not good at holding grudges. Being angry with Wes and hurt by Wes, then awkward around him, once the anger and hurt faded, has sucked. And the whole Daria and Darcy thing has only made it suck more.
This is probably the only vacation I’ll be able to take until late August, when I’m planning to tackle part of the Appalachian Trail on my solo trek. Do I really want to spend that being upset about Daria and angry at Wes all over again?
“Yeah,” Wes says, his voice husky and low. “I’m sure that sounds selfish, and it is, I guess, a little. I just don’t want to cause you any more pain and I thought, this might be a way to make the trip something you can truly enjoy.”
I sip my wine, studying him over the rim of the glass. What do I have to lose? Just because Wes and I decide to let the past go for a week, doesn’t mean I’m going to forget what happened. Once we’re back home, all the history and drama and expectations from our family and friends will still be there. We’ll have no choice but to deal with reality.
But until then…
I set my glass down. “All right.”
His expression lifts. “Yeah? You want to give it a try?”
“I do,” I confirm as a food runner delivers our charcuterie, a gorgeous spread that makes me at least ten percent happier just laying eyes on it. “Let’s figure out who we want to pretend to be over meat and cheese.”
He smiles like a kid set loose with a bag of potatoes and a sheet pan shield and I laugh.
“What?” he asks. “Am I too excited?”
I shake my head, still laughing, “No, you’re funny. I like this silly side of you.”
“And I love your dimple,” he says fondly. “I’ve missed seeing it. You haven’t smiled much around me lately.”
I touch a finger to my right cheek. “You noticed that?”
“I did,” he murmurs.
“I hated it when I was a kid. I thought it looked strange. Having a dimple on only one side and not the other.”
“I think it’s cute. Really cute,” he says, reaching for a slice of salami. “So, we’ve established you’re an extremely cute woman with an adorable dimple that I’m pretty obsessed with.” He sighs dramatically. “It’s a start, but we’re going to need a lot more backstory.”
Grinning, I agree, “So much more.”
We spend the next hour and a half eating, drinking, and dreaming and it is, without a doubt, the best night I’ve had in ages. With our past set aside, Wes and I are free to be who we truly are, two people who get along really well. Who share similar senses of humor and taste in food and enjoy an impromptu juggling act when one breaks out at the table in the corner.
“I’m so glad the new me isn’t afraid of clowns,” Wes says when the show is over and the applause from the rest of the dining room has died down.
“Really?” I ask. “You don’t feel sweaty and twitchy anymore?”
He laughs, leaning in as he whispers, “Maybe a little, but I’m going to fake it until I make it.”
“Good for you,” I say, hoping I can do the same.
Fake it until I’ve made it home and Wes and I can go back to politely avoiding each other.
But until then, I’m not going to think about the future. I’m going to be right here, right now, with my old friend, “Preston”—Wes’s middle name—a treasure hunter who has a mission for us in the wilds of Southern Utah.
Chapter 15
WESLEY
It’s an amazing night, the best I’ve had in ages.
The food is incredible, and the company is a hundred times better.
We finish our meal and head outside, to a sky dark and full of what feels like a million stars.
I stop beside the camper, tilting my head back. Beside me, Tessa does the same, sucking in a breath. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s been way too long since I slowed down and looked up.”
I hum in agreement. “Makes me feel small. In a good way.”
She shifts to study my profile. “I say that all the time. About being outside. When I’m on a trail, I feel small in the best way. It’s like suddenly I realize that all the things I’ve been worried about aren’t such a big deal, after all.”
I glance down at her, admiring the flush in her cheeks from the wine. She’s even more beautiful like this, relaxed and well-fed and not worried about holding me at a distance. Reminding myself the only way to keep her that way is to keep this role-paying platonic—at least for now—I refrain from telling her so, and simply add, “I get it. It makes me feel braver, too. When I think about how that tree in front of me is probably two hundred years old, and I only have half that time on earth, if I’m lucky… Makes you realize there’s no time to waste playing it safe or holding back.”