On the walk home, Wes glances at the purse slung over my shoulder. “I bet that purse is a lot lighter now.”
“It was kind of a workout,” I admit, using my free hand to rub my neck. “How are you feeling?”
Wes glances at me. I can tell he’s about to say fine or its equivalent, but he pauses, mulling something over. “Weird.”
I perk up at the idea of him actually admitting how he’s feeling, but try to dampen the response so I don’t spook him. “Weird how?” I press, keeping my tone light.
His head tips side to side as he considers his response. “Seeing them was a shock. But after it wore off, it was kind of… good.” His eyebrows scrunch together. “And that’s what is weird. Something feeling good is, well, weird.” He glances at me. “Am I using the word ‘weird’ too much?”
My head shakes. “You can use whatever word you want to describe how you feel.”
We reach the end of the houses and start on the sidewalk that puts us back into the main part of town. “How’s your dad?” I ask.
“Stubborn as a mule. He and Wyatt were out working with a horse today.” Wes glances at me, eyebrows drawn. “Actually, he mentioned he saw you coming out of the hardware store with Dixon earlier today.”
Wes pauses, waiting for me to explain. I groan. “It was nothing, I promise. I went there on my way to the jobsite because Scott needed a tool, and Dixon was in there. We left at the same time, and he walked out behind me. He tried to talk to me, and I was as polite as I needed to be to get on my way.” That’s mostly the truth. He also asked me out, and I declined. Politely. I don’t think Wes needs to hear that part of it. He already despises him, no need to stoke the fire.
Wes nods. “I told my dad you knew the deal with Dixon.”
“All good,” I respond. I hope we’re done talking about Dixon. I’m more interested in the beginning of the sunset, the way the vivid pinks and oranges slip through the street, bouncing off buildings. Restaurants and bars are waking up. Music spills from a place on the corner.
Wes hesitates when we reach the hotel. He looks as if he’s weighing his words. “Still planning on doing laundry tomorrow?”
The question confuses me. He looked like he was thinking of something a little more serious than laundry. “Yep. Should be tons of fun.”
“My cabin has a washer and dryer. You could use mine. Sitting at a laundromat doesn’t sound like a good way to spend your Sunday.”
Actually, it would be nice to see Wes’s place. “What time do you want me to come over tomorrow?”
“You could come over right now? It’s still early.” He glances up at the sky, using it to tell time instead of his watch.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, acting nonchalant, when it’s the opposite of how I feel. Someone please hand me a pillow that I can scream into.
Wes gives me directions, telling me how to get to the cabin he lives in on his parents’ property.
I tell him I’m going upstairs to gather my things and I’ll meet him at his place. I’m so startled by his suggestion that I almost forget the black pants that are the most in need of washing. I throw those into the suitcase with nearly every article of clothing I brought here and zip it up.
The elevator is busy and I’m anxious to go to Wes’s cabin, so I use the stairwell, my suitcase bumping down each step. The door opens up on the side of the hotel, and I have to walk all the way around the building to get to where my car is parked. My impatience has cost me time, but maybe that’s a good thing. I need to take a deep breath and slow my racing pulse.
I load the hefty suitcase into the back of my car and head to Wes’s, my fingers tapping the wheel the entire way. So much for calming down.
I don’t think this invite to Wes’s place is him wanting to be considerate of my weekend time.
Maybe…just maybe…he didn’t want our night to end.
25
Wes
I picked up Dakota’s favorite wine on my way home. Just in case she wants a glass while she waits for her clothes to go through the washer and dryer.
I also noticed Dakota didn’t eat any of that appetizer she took to the happy hour, and neither did I, so I picked up a few ingredients to make dinner. It might just be an evening of laundry, but I can’t have her over and not have anything to eat or drink.
I know my place is clean, because I keep it that way, but even so I take a walk around to make sure. It doesn’t take long. My cabin is cozy, which is to say that it’s small. My parents built three cabins, one for each son, when I was overseas. Two bedrooms, one bath, a living room, laundry room, and a kitchen. The size is perfect for me, but Warner needed more when he and the kids moved back to the ranch after Anna left, so they added on to his. Maybe someday soon, they’ll need to build one for Jessie.
In less than a minute, I’ve determined the place is ready for Dakota. But am I?
I’ve never had a woman here. And I can’t believe it, but I’m nervous. Standing in the kitchen, I look out across the island and into the living room, trying to see my home through new eyes. Dakota’s eyes.
So much of it is basic and forgettable. The couch, the bookshelf, the TV, the area rug my mom picked out. Dakota’s sharp eyes will zero in on the framed pictures on the shelves. For a guy who keeps the military locked up tight in his chest, there are still parts of it I can’t put away, and that group shot of my platoon is one of them. The other is the shadow box with my medals. It’s confusing how much pride you can have in something that taught invaluable lessons when it’s also responsible for ruining parts of you. Maybe that’s not just the military though. Maybe that’s the case with anything truly momentous.
A car drives into the clearing. From the front window, I watch Dakota park and get out. By the time I get to her, she’s already at the back of her car, struggling to lift a massive suitcase from the trunk.
“Let me,” I say, not waiting for her response. My hand bumps hers as my fingers wrap around the handle.
“I can do it,” she grunts her argument, still trying.
I stand back and watch her struggle. “You can be really stubborn.”
She tries again, then backs away with a huff. “Tenacious,” she clarifies. “It has a better ring to it than stubborn.”
To her credit, the suitcase is surprisingly heavy. It hits the ground with a dull thud. “Are you washing cement blocks? I should warn you, my washing machine doesn’t do well with those.”
Dakota follows me to the cabin, pausing on the first of three steps leading up to the front porch and looking it over. “It’s a smaller version of your parents’ house.” She runs a hand along the wooden railing. “I already like it.”
I look down at her from the porch. “You might want to reserve your judgment for the inside. Maybe it’s atrocious.”
She hops up the remaining two steps. “Given how great the outside is, I’m going to make a bet that the inside is just as good.” She side-eyes me meaningfully and sails past me into the cabin. I remain outside for a moment to get my bearings. Maybe she was only talking about the cabin, but I don’t think she was.