Wes told me to be honest with myself. And, honestly, I like Tenley, but I also can’t fully grasp the concept that it’s okay for me to like her.
It feels like a betrayal to a life that is no longer mine.
15
Tenley
As promised, Warner is at my door (Wyatt’s door?) with coffee. It’s in a tall stainless steel carafe, and I can smell it even with the top securely fastened.
I step back from the open door, ushering him inside. He brings the chilly morning air in with him, swirling around my bare legs as he passes. I shudder and nudge the door closed with my foot.
Warner walks straight for the kitchen, setting the carafe on the table and removing two cups from a cabinet. It’s clear he knows this kitchen, and his familiarity makes me think of my own kitchen in my own home. Where, presumably, my underwear still sits in my drawer, not stolen by some unknown person doing God knows what with it.
“Were you awake already?” Warner asks, his eyes on my hair.
“Yes,” I lie, my hand smoothing the hair at the back of my head. It’s lumpy and wild, I can tell just by running my palm over it.
Warner smirks, somehow knowing I’ve just fibbed. He pushes a cup across the table from where he sits. He’s wearing a zip-up hoodie sweatshirt and jeans, and his hair has been combed.
I snag a throw blanket from the back of the couch, and drape it over my shoulders like a cape, then settle at the table. My fingers wrap around the mug, absorbing its warmth.
“Good morning,” I say, after I’ve taken my first sip.
Warner grins. “Good morning.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just sips his coffee, and I’m okay with that. I need this jolt of caffeine before I can converse. Each time I’m around him feels more intense than the last, teeming with growing emotions, feelings that ebb and bend.
He’s pouring my second cup when he says, “Ready to ride today?”
I suck in a breath, my brain automatically going to our ride almost a week ago, and the antelope, and the kiss. The kiss. The kind of kiss they ask for at the end of the movie, the one where the main characters have realized they love one another at all costs, the kind of kiss that needs multiple takes to get right.
Or just one, with Warner. When it’s genuine.
I clear my throat and lean back in my seat, propping my foot on the empty chair to my right. All movements meant to make me look like I’m chill. Nonchalant.
I look at Warner, but his gaze isn’t on me. I watch his eyes sweep over the entirety of my leg, from the hem of my sleep shorts to the tips of my toes, then looks away.
Friends, my ass.
I’m too old to play games, but for Warner this isn’t a game. These are the first timid steps, a shaky confidence on unstable feet. I won’t push him. If he wants me, he can come for me. The decision must be his. I can, however, stop putting up a fuss about learning to ride a horse.
“You just tell me where to be and when, and I’ll be there,” I nod my head and pretend to touch the brim of my nonexistent cowboy hat.
A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. His face is a touch darker than yesterday, the product of a missed shave. “Nine o’clock. Meet me at the stable.” He drains his coffee and rises from his seat. He takes his carafe, removes the glass coffee pot from Wyatt’s countertop coffee maker, and pours the remaining coffee into it. He flicks on the Warm button and replaces the pot on the burner.
“Wouldn’t want you under-caffeinated,” he says with a wink. “See you out there.”
He walks to the front door, then pivots as if he has remembered something. “Wear jeans,” he instructs, his gaze dusting my bare legs again, but much faster this time. Then he walks out, leaving me behind with the coffee and my feelings.
***
“Mom, hi.” My voice is breathless as I hop up and down, trying to fit the tight jeans over my hips.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Freshly washed jeans,” I explain, sucking in my stomach to button them.
“Squat,” she tells me. “Deep squat. Works every time.”
It’s a trick I’m well aware of, but I don’t tell her that. “Thanks,” I say, bending my knees and pressing the speaker button. I slide the phone onto the dresser and continue to stretch out the jeans.
“How are you? I haven’t talked to you since you got a new ranching instructor.”
I look out the window at her mention of my new instructor, my gaze swinging toward his cabin. “I’m good. Getting ready to learn how to ride a horse.”
“Kind of important.” The way she says it makes me picture her with a wry smile.
“Just a smidge.”
“So everything is okay, then? You’re okay?” Worry trickles into her voice. And guilt too. Probably a sliver of embarrassment. She feels bad for how they’ve pulled me into this mess. She doesn’t need to feel that way. I’d do anything for her and my dad. Anything.
“Mom, I’m good.” I haven’t told her about having to leave the house I was staying in. I don’t want to worry her. She put up such a fuss about me driving out on my own, and she’d been right. I mean, yeah, I lucked out as much as a woman could when Warner stopped to help me, but what if I hadn’t? She’d also fussed about me staying in that house on my own, in a town I didn’t know. Turns out, she was probably right about that too.
“How are you, Mom?”
“Good, good. Just going through my closet. Getting rid of some things.”
I pause, a mascara wand in my hand. My mother’s closet is her treasure. She keeps everything, and I mean everything. My sister and I learned the hard way that Mom’s closet was not for dress-up, no matter how much we wanted it to be. Once, while she was out of town, we snuck in and tried on her red carpet gowns, and even though we’d been meticulous about how we’d rehung each item, she knew. So her offhand comment about going through her closet is complete and utter bullshit.
“Oh, cool,” I say, arranging my voice to be light and airy. She is a pot of water just before it boils, the bubbles swirling under a calm surface. She is acting also. “What are you doing with the items you’re getting rid of?”
“Oh, you know, maybe give it to the local women’s shelter. Might sell some of the designer pieces on consignment.”
There it is. What I’d assumed all along. I don’t say this though. I know better. “That’s great, Mom, but don’t you dare give away that white pantsuit. I’ve had my eye on it for years.”
She laughs, and I recognize the throatiness, the way it curves around the edges. It’s her Cassidy Malone laugh. The character she is most known for playing.
I understand how that can happen. You can move on from a character when filming wraps, but the character stays inside you, hooks set. I suppose I am Brooke from Single and Loving It, Janine from Little Black Book, and Jody from Worst First Date, among others. The characters have brought out parts of me hidden in shadow, facets unseen because of larger, brighter sides of my personality. And as much as I appreciate what each character has meant to me, I’m looking forward to my next chapter, whatever that may be.