“I’m aware.”
I hold my tongue until a group of four people passes us. “So you were going to… what? Walk around by yourself until you sobered up?”
“Sit in my truck, actually. Read the news on my phone.”
I make a disbelieving face. “I think you can still get a DUI for being behind the wheel, even if your car isn’t actually in motion.” I only know that because I looked it up on the internet after I got drunk with Waylon and was curious about the law in Arizona.
“Then I’ll walk around for a while,” Wes says.
Why is he acting like he can’t wait to be away from me? Was my choosing that spot in the park that bad? I thought I was being considerate.
I shrug like I don’t care. “Suit yourself. I’m going to get some pie.” I start to turn around but his voice stops me.
“Pie?”
“Yes, have you ever heard of it?”
He almost smiles. Considering it’s the most he’s smiled in the past two hours, I’ll take it. He walks beside me, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Here we are,” I announce, holding out my arm to the windowed storefront with the words $9.99 Dinner Special painted on the glass in bright pink and orange.
Wes doesn’t look convinced but he opens the door for me. We settle into a booth and he peeks at me from over the top of his menu. “Is this like that show? Where they find dives that serve great food?”
I laugh. “Nope.”
Wes’s mouth falls open. “Seriously? It’s not a hidden treasure or something like that?”
“No. It’s your run-of-the-mill diner with varying shades of brown food and most of it is fried.” I pick at a chip in the Formica tabletop. “Have you never been here? It looks pretty old. It must’ve been around when you were in your heyday.”
He looks like he wants to comment on my use of the word heyday but decides against it and instead glances around, studying the place. “It does look familiar,” he says haltingly, as if trying to understand why.
The server from the time I was here with my dad steps up to the table. “Hi there. What can I get you?” She takes another second to look at me and her eyes light up in recognition. “It’s you! The out-of-towner. Still in town, I see.” She glances at Wes. “And if it isn’t the oldest Hayden boy. I haven’t seen you in a very long time.”
Wes shifts in his seat. He picks up the menu only to drop it with a plastic-y thwack on the table. “Yeah, uh…”
“Don’t worry”—she bats at the air—“I don’t expect you to remember me. I worked here when this place was a pizza joint. You used to come in here after Friday night football games with all your friends. You all made a hell of a mess and you were loud, but you tipped well.” She chuckles at the memory.
Recognition lights up Wes’s eyes, and the effect it has on his entire face is captivating. It erases ten years of stress from him in an instant. He snaps his fingers and points at her. “Cherilyn.”
My eyes fly to her chest, searching for the name tag she wore last time. It’s not there.
She grins broadly. “Bingo. Now tell me, are you two in here for the peach or the cherry pie? Because I have one slice left of each.”
“We’ll take them both,” Wes answers. “À la mode, please.” He winks at me.
I’m too stunned to say anything. Where is the brooding man from the concert? Did one connection from someone in town turn his frown upside down? Remind me to introduce him to Waylon and every woman at the book club. Maybe he’ll perform an Irish jig.
Cherilyn is back two minutes later with the pies. She sets both plates in the middle of the table along with two forks.
“Cherry or peach?” Wes asks, fork poised.
“Both,” I tell him, loading up my fork with a bite from each and waggling my eyebrows.
“I thought you’d say that.”
“Oh, so you think you know me?” I don’t even attempt to hide the flirtatiousness in my voice. Sitting beside him on that blanket in the park, but feeling as if he might as well be back on the ranch, was excruciating. Now that Wes is back from his quiet place, I’d like to keep him here with me.
He sinks his fork into the peach pie and takes a bite. “I like to think I know you pretty well.”
I’m almost positive he’s going to take his comment somewhere sexual, but he shocks me when he says, “I know you’re more ambitious than you admit. You get uncomfortable when your dad compliments you. You have great ideas, but you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to know it. Also, you have a big heart. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be intent on using local suppliers to build a business that will create jobs and offer a place for people to showcase their goods.”
My stomach flips and tears sting behind my eyes, but I keep eating just so I have something to do with my hands. I’ve never felt so stripped bare by a person’s words.
Wes’s fingers reach under my chin and force me to look at him. “Even right now, you can’t accept what I’m saying.”
“That’s not true,” I argue, even though I know he is one hundred percent correct.
I’ve been looking at the deal we struck as a rouse meant to fool everyone else, but our next words make me wonder if we’re really only fooling ourselves.
“If only you could see what I see when I look at you.” These tender words are in sharp contrast to the rough man speaking them. Something gentle lies beneath his jagged exterior.
I look into his eyes, and with as much meaning as I can muster, tell him, “That makes two of us.”
He blinks twice, and in a shocking turn of events that my brain can hardly comprehend, I think he might actually be trying. Trying to let me in, to open up, to allow goodness to shine its warm light on him.
We finish the pie and pay. Wes promises Cherilyn he won’t be a stranger. My hotel room isn’t far, and although I’m more than capable of walking back alone, he insists on accompanying me. The food coma and post alcohol exhaustion sets in almost as soon as we step foot from the diner. By the time we both reach the front door of the hotel, we’re taking turns yawning.
I linger at the entrance, trying to choose my words carefully. “I’d rather you not drive on those dark winding roads when you’re this tired.”
“I’ll be fine,” he insists, his voice husky. “But it’s nice to know you care.”
“Well, you are my soon-to-be fiancé. What is it, nine more days and you’ll announce our engagement?”
A short stream of air huffs from his nose. “Something like that.” He turns his head and yawns again.
“Wes, just sleep here. I have a couch in my room. I mean…” I fumble over my words and blush. “It’s not like we haven’t stayed in the same room together before.” Though, admittedly, what happened before will not be happening tonight.
He eyes me for a long moment. “Is me driving home really going to worry you that much?”
“I’m not usually a huge worrier, but exhaustion while navigating dark winding roads sounds like a recipe for a car accident. So just stay. If anything, it’ll get the town talking, which we need to do anyway.” Nothing about our behavior during the concert tonight would have tongues wagging. If anything, we looked like two people forced to share a blanket.