Chapter Fourteen
It was still dark the following morning when Wes walked into Grinders, the coffee shop on Main Street. He was gritty-eyed and more than a little cranky, to tell the truth. Sending Bethany on her merry way when she’d been inclined to return sexual favors had seemed like the only option at the time, but around two in the morning, he’d started wondering if he’d fallen out of the Stupid Tree and smacked his head on a couple of branches.
There in the darkness, he’d envisioned himself putting down roots in Port Jefferson, maybe even trying for something real and lasting with Bethany. Something more than sex. Or the wanting of it, rather.
He’d been up and pacing before the ink dried on that thought.
It was getting harder and harder to deny that Bethany made him wonder if more than a vagabond existence was possible. If maybe his presence in Laura’s life was positive and could continue to be that way.
Indefinitely.
But what about the hard lessons he’d learned in foster care? Was he going to completely disregard them now? Life could seem stable one minute and get shaken up like a martini in the next. Without warning or a satisfying reason. Was he setting himself up for disappointment? Loss?
Needing to clear his head with some manual labor, Wes had dropped off Laura at Outlander Ringtone’s house early this morning so he could make up for the time he’d lost on the flip yesterday. Demo was complete, thanks to Ollie and Carl proving their salt (and pepper), and this morning he was getting to work on framing out the walls they’d knocked down due to water damage. Bethany’s budget had allowed him to hire some garbage removers to haul off the debris, including the mangled floorboards, ancient appliances, and old insulation.
Wes could only hope a full day of woodwork would keep his mind off his own wood. But he wasn’t holding his breath. Not when he was already counting the minutes until Bethany showed up on the site. God help him, he couldn’t wait to see how she’d act around him now that he’d rung her bell a little bit.
Had she been everything he’d fantasized about?
Not even close.
She’d eclipsed anything his brain could have conjured up by a good thousand miles or so. All those times he’d gone home to his empty house during lunch breaks and beat off in Bethany’s honor, he’d imagined angry sex. Hate-fucking, to be exact. That wasn’t what he’d gotten. You didn’t have sex, Wes’s dick reminded him.
“No shit,” he muttered, sidling up to the counter of the sleepy coffee shop and waiting for the owner to mosey out of the back room. Oldies played from a radio on a corner shelf, just below a sign that read PILATES? I THOUGHT YOU SAID PIE AND LATTES.
Damn, that usually got a laugh out of him.
Wes leaned onto his elbows and buried his face in his hands, memories from the night before infiltrating like ninjas. No, there hadn’t been anything angry about last night. The whole evening, even before he’d brought Bethany out into the backyard, had been so . . . nice. The tea party, stealing touches with Bethany in the kitchen, putting Laura to bed and getting the L word dropped on him like a sack of stones. For the first time in a long time, he’d just lived in the moment without reminding himself it would end.
He’d let himself belong.
Bethany had a hell of a lot to do with that. Yesterday, they’d both been feeling their way in the dark. Together. Learning as they went.
Their relationship was supposed to be simple. They were going to swipe at each other until one of them gave in and pounced. But when it came time to pounce last night, he’d been more concerned with trust. Building a foundation. His mind kept telling him things weren’t possible, but his . . . heart had cotton stuffed into its ears.
Two college-aged kids, a guy and a girl, stumbled out of the back room, tangling ankles, both of their faces inching toward fuchsia. “Sorry for the wait,” said the girl. “What can I get you?”
Wes tried not to let his theory that they’d been making out show on his face. “Large coffee, please. Black.”
Before he’d finished placing his order, the bell rang over the door and in walked Stephen. Bethany’s brother had a frown on his unshaven face, distracted by a note in his hand, so it took him a moment to register Wes standing at the counter. Wes tipped his hat. “Morning.”
Stephen rolled back his shoulders. “Well, well. If it isn’t the competition.” He sauntered his way through a few tables, the note at his side. “I see I’m not the only one getting an early start. Where’s your partner in crime? Powdering her nose?”
A bug of irritation crawled up his neck. “Women don’t powder their noses anymore, man. This isn’t the fifties.”
The eldest Castle slowed his gait. “What do they do?”
“I don’t know, but it’s liquid and it lasts all day. That’s what the commercials tell me.” Wes took out his wallet and dropped the appropriate amount of singles on the counter. “And anyway, Bethany has been getting her hands dirty, just like she said she would. Don’t underestimate her.”
“Ah, Jesus. I know that tone you’re throwing at me. I know it because I heard it from Travis when he innocently started hanging out with Georgie.” He put air quotes around the word “innocently,” causing him to drop the note in his hand. With a curse, he stooped down to pick it back up. “All of a sudden, he was an expert on my kid sister and now you’re doing it, too. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this time it’s not going to end in an Italian honeymoon.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean—” Wes reeled his curiosity back in like a ten-pound trout. “You know what? Keep it to yourself.”
Stephen crossed his arms, leaned back against a table, and waited.
Wes took his time with his first sip of coffee. “I mean it. I don’t want to know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can I get you something?” called the guy behind the counter.
Stephen pushed off the table. “I’ll have a fresh squeezed orange juice, please.” He sniffed at Wes’s coffee. “Some of us want to live long, healthy lives.”
“Then I’d stop trying to piss everyone off.”
His old boss barked a laugh. “You’re in a mood.” He drummed casual fingers on the counter. “Maybe you want to talk through your renovation plans?”
Wes tilted his head. “Now, Stephen. You wouldn’t be asking me for inside information on the competition, would you?”
“Please. Like I need help winning.” Stephen unwrapped a straw and attempted to pop it into his orange juice cup, missing the hole several times. He stopped trying with a withering sigh. “I do need help with something, though.”
“What’s that?”
“What else? Kristin. She’s been leaving me these notes around the house.” He waved the piece of paper still wedged between his knuckles. “There’s some kind of significance to them, but I can’t figure it out.”
Wes held out his hand. “Want me to give it a read?”
Stephen hesitated. “As long as you don’t tell anyone the contents. Especially my sister,” he stressed. “Not that I can even decipher the contents, but still.”
“Not surprised. You still think women powder their noses.” Wes took the note and read the handwritten lines.
Things are going to change. Yes, sir. You can count on that.
Signed, your steadfast wife
Wes kept his features schooled. He was seriously regretting his promise not to tell Bethany the contents of the note, because he knew she’d get a kick out of them. Her sister-in-law was definitely as crazy as Bethany claimed. She was obviously hinting at the fact that she was pregnant, but instead of outright telling Stephen, she’d decided to terrorize him first. After that snide comment about Bethany, Wes couldn’t resist getting in on the fun.
He handed the note back to Stephen on a blown-out breath. “I don’t know, man. Sounds like she’s mighty unhappy. You been giving her problems?”
Stephen paled. “No. I-I . . . I mean, I don’t think so. You never know with Kristin. One minute she’s smiling at me like I hung the moon. The next, she’s watching me and chopping onions in this kind of focused, bone-chilling way . . .”
“Sure. Sure.”
“You don’t think she means things are going to change for the better?”
He was now Jim from The Office messing with Dwight. If only there was a camera lens he could shrug at sheepishly. “I don’t know, man. If I know one thing about women, it’s that you can always tell when they’re happy,” he said, pulling from his total lack of experience. “But when they’re suffering in silence? That shit creeps up and bites you.”
Stephen’s head bobbed. “You’re right about that, my friend.” He carefully folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. “I have some work to do.”
“Sounds like it.”
Wes contained his chuckle until Stephen left the coffee shop. He started to follow, but went back and bought a brownie with pink sprinkles for Bethany, rolling his eyes at the sappy gesture. Which was exactly the reaction she would probably give him, too. If he was trying to scare her off, tokens of his admiration ought to do it.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the jobsite. He left Bethany’s brownie wrapped in a paper bag on the sawhorse and brought his coffee outside to get started on the framework. For the next two hours, he went back and forth, inside and out, using the table saw inside since construction couldn’t legally begin until eight o’clock in the morning and he didn’t want the neighbors complaining. He was so focused on his task that he barely noticed when people started to arrive, glancing around from behind his work goggles to find the film crew setting up.
Ollie and Carl were there, too, carting in the insulation and Sheetrock he’d asked them to pick up. They still had a couple of days before they could utilize those materials, since the plumber and electrician were set to arrive today. If they got the all-clear—and that was a pretty huge if—they’d keep on schedule, but Wes was pretty sure the electrical would need to be upgraded, to say nothing of the leaky pipes.
The sound of Bethany’s voice in the distance broke into his thoughts. Eager to lay eyes on her, Wes pushed his goggles back on his head and crunched through leaves and broken-up concrete on his way around the side of the house. Familiar voices reached him before he got to the driveway, one belonging to Bethany. The owner of the other one was Slade.
Something sharp drilled into his gut. Instead of making himself known and telling the cheesy host to get lost, he forced himself to wait and listen.
“You look beautiful today, Bethany,” Slade said.
Wes ground his teeth.
“Thanks. You look nice, too.”
He ground them harder.
“So listen, I was thinking . . .” Here it came. Slade was making a move. “I’m staying in town while we film and I don’t know any of the local spots. Would you be interested in showing me the best place to get dinner? My treat.”
Wes turned and braced his hands on the house, his gut a lake of fire, and it was in that moment he realized there was no turning back. He was invested in this thing between him and Bethany. Like, send-a-motherfucker-to-the-hospital-for-looking-at-her-twice invested. Their mouths and bodies had been in perfect sync last night, but there was more here. He didn’t just like her. Or lust after her.
He was falling for her.
This feeling wasn’t a fleeting one; it was sticking around.
Did that mean . . . he was considering sticking around?
His throat grew tighter while he waited for Bethany’s answer.
It finally came. “That’s a great offer, but . . .”
“But?”
Don’t push her, Slade.
“Are you involved with your foreman? That might have been insinuated, but I just couldn’t see the fit. If I’m being brutally honest.”
Wes ground his fist into the wall of the house.
“Um . . .” Bethany again. “‘Involved’ is a strong word. But it’s definitely complicated, I guess you could say. With Wes.”
He threw up a victorious fist. It’s complicated. She’d said it was complicated.
He’d fucking take it.
“I see,” Slade said. “Well, if something changes, I hope I’ll be the first to know.”
“Sure,” she said with a smile in her voice.
Footsteps moved in Wes’s direction and he arranged himself in a casual lean against the side of the house, ankles and arms crossed. Bethany entered his line of vision with two to-go coffee cups in her hands and stopped dead, flushing to the roots of her hair. “How much did you hear?”
Wes rubbed his jaw with the backs of his knuckles, unable to subdue his grin. “Exactly how complicated is it, darlin’?”
She put her cute nose in the air and breezed past him. “I hate you.”
“You do not,” he said, hot on her heels. “Who is that second coffee for, because it sure as hell ain’t for Slade. He’s off somewhere right now trying to piece his balls back together, baby. That was poetic.”
“Your epitaph is going to be poetic once I strangle you.”
“Having your hands on me is the ideal way to go.”
She stopped on a dime, gave him a prim look that made his fly feel tight . . . and then she started to dump one of the coffees on the ground.
“You’re going to feel real guilty when you find out I brought you a brownie with pink sprinkles.”
Her wrist twisted, saving a couple inches of coffee from spilling out. “You did?”
Wes hummed an affirmation. “To match those pants that make your buns look all tight and sexy.”
With a slow shake of her head, she finished dumping the contents of the cup on the ground. “I can’t believe I let you kiss me.”
“We did more than kiss and you want to do it again.”
Continuing her journey toward the back of the house, she threw him a snort over her shoulder. “It’s sad how delusional you are.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“Not unless you want this coffee on your head.” She slowed to a halt in front of the frames he’d spent the morning building. “When did this happen?”
Wes came up beside her and let their shoulders brush. Let himself take a whiff of her magnolia scent. “Told you I’d make up for the time I lost yesterday. I keep my word.”
“So you do.” Her light brows pulled together. “Who took Laura to school?”
Her concern for his niece and her routine bled warmth into his chest. “Outlander Ringtone is an early riser. She was excited for the company.”
“Oh. Good.” Bethany firmed her shoulders, her gaze dancing up to meet his and flitting away just as fast. But not before he saw that she remembered last night, every beat of it. The way he’d nibbled on her delicious tits until she came, the way their mouths felt like they’d been reunited after a long absence. She remembered and was in the middle of being thrown for a loop, same as him. “Well, um . . . the window guy is here to take measurements. I guess I better get to work.”
Wes nodded, reluctant to part ways with her. “Okay.”
She turned toward the house, but made no move to go inside. “Wes?”
He followed her line of vision to where a cameraman was taking a panning shot of the backyard, including them in it. “Yes?”
“Is this going all right?” She gestured to the house. “Everything?”
By sheer force of will, he stopped himself from reaching for her. Burying her face in his neck and talking away her worry. Jesus, he loved this woman asking him for reassurance. “It’s going just fine, Bethany.”
She turned to him with her lip caught between her teeth. “Fine?”
“Renovations are messy right up until the last stroke of paint, baby. That’s just how it goes,” he said. “That’s . . . hard for you?”
Her nod was slight. “It has to be perfect.”
Tell me everything. Lay it on me. “Why?”
“Why what?” she asked, confused. “Why does it have to be perfect? Because that’s what people expect from me. It’s what I expect from myself.”
“Well, don’t. Expecting perfect can only lead to disappointment. Besides, it’s the flaws that give a person character. That’s where the beauty hides.”
She seemed to chew that over and disregard it. “We’re talking about the house, not a person.”
“Right.” He caught her hand trembling and frowned. Upon studying her closer, he noticed the little red patch of skin on her neck. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it with the pads of his fingers. “What’s this?”
Quickly, she stepped out of his reach. “Nothing. Just some irritation.”
“It wasn’t there last night. I remember every inch you showed me.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then let me see it.” She rolled her eyes at him and cocked a sassy hip, but went still as a statue when he came closer, easing down the collar of her white cotton T-shirt. Outwardly, he gave no reaction, but a tractor plowed through his middle, turning over soil. “You do this to yourself, darlin’?”
“It’s not a big deal. It’s just a stress thing.”
“When things aren’t going perfect.”
“Yes. Sometimes.” He heard her swallow. “All the time.”
The plow dug deeper. It killed him to know he’d once believed she had it all together, when in actuality, she’d needed someone to confide in. She wasn’t cool and unflappable the way people assumed. Not by a damn stretch. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my truck. Let me put something on it and then you’ll leave it the hell alone for the day.”
“Don’t boss me around.”
Honesty made his voice raw. “I don’t like seeing this mark on you.”
Her lips parted on a puff of breath. “You can’t see it unless you get really close, but people will be able to see a bandage if you put one on. It’ll peek out.”
“Who cares?”
“I do,” she muttered. “I do.”
There was a lot going on here. Wes wanted to know every doubt and insecurity in her head, but he suspected if he pushed any more, she’d dig in her heels. In fact, he was going to be grateful for as much as she’d revealed this morning. He was willing to bet she didn’t do that with many people, if anyone. But she’d done it for the man she’d once claimed to hate.
It’s complicated, indeed.
“Just some salve, then, all right?”
She gave him a grudging nod and Wes led her to his truck, a hand on the small of her back. He kept an eye on her while retrieving the kit, in case she tried to make a break for it. She settled for drinking coffee and looking impatient instead, but he could see through her. Giving him access to the red blemish probably hadn’t been easy for her and he was . . . humbled.
A lot like he’d been last night when Laura said I love you.
These females were carving him up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
He wanted to kiss this one in the worst way, though, and the resulting knots in his stomach made his fingers unsteady as he applied the salve to the smooth base of her neck. But he’d never been a coward. Not a single day in his life. Plus she’d given him a strip of pride by letting him fix up her neck. Now it was his turn. “At the risk of complicating this more, Bethany, I want to take you out.”
“What?”
“Don’t act like it’s some crazy-ass notion. You’d have let me take you to bed last night if I hadn’t sent you home.”
She gaped at him, but Wes could see gratitude in her eyes. This woman preferred sparring over coddling and he’d given her a way to stomach the latter. “I went home voluntarily, thank you very much. But even if I’d stayed, it’s a huge leap—huge—to land on dating.”
“I didn’t say dating. I said a date. But if you insist we’re dating, I’m not going to contradict you.”
“Were you working with polyurethane this morning? Did you sniff it?”
Wes laughed. “So you’re telling me you need some convincing.”
Bethany moved out of his reach. “I am not encouraging that.”
“You said it’s complicated, baby. Heard it plain as day.”
“I meant you give me indigestion.”
This woman. She was such a fucking work of art, it was torturous standing this close without holding her, kissing her, tickling her. Something. “One drink. Think about it. We already had a beer in my backyard. It’s not such a stretch.”
“In this town, it would be. One drink and people would start asking me if we’re planning on having one or two kids and if we’ve decided on a color scheme for the nursery.”
“A neutral yellow sounds about right.”
She dismissed him with a groan, leaving him standing at his truck. Right before she turned away, though, Wes caught sight of her blooming smile and he held on to that memory for the next half hour while Slade interviewed him on what would eventually be the porch. He was forced to pretend like the son of a bitch hadn’t tried to ask out his woman while answering questions like “Are you worried about losing? How worried? Do you wish you’d stayed with your original team? Would you like to know which team is farther ahead?”
Wes answered no to everything and didn’t elaborate, no matter how vigorously the director rolled his finger, begging Wes to keep going. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Bethany and the window guy moving from room to room, the middle-aged man taking notes on a clipboard until they were finished. Finally, the producers let Wes get back to work and called Bethany over for the same interrogation.
It wasn’t easy working with the cameras in his face all day, but they made a hell of a lot of progress while listening to Slade do the same pun-tastic takes twenty times. Bethany worked on sanding down the salvageable walls in the back bedrooms. Wes, Ollie, and Carl started framing the new floor plan, which would transform the dining and living room into the open concept space Bethany wanted.
The film crew started packing it in for the day around three o’clock, thank Christ. If someone approached Wes with a boom mic one more time and asked how he felt about their progress, he was going to snap that thing over his knee. Thankful for the chance to work a few hours in peace before heading home, Wes was getting ready to staple insulation into the frame he’d just installed when his phone rang.
His head fell back and he issued a prayer at the ceiling that it wasn’t the babysitter canceling again. If he kept cutting out early, they weren’t going to finish this job in time. But when he looked at the screen, ice prickled along his skin. It wasn’t Outlander Ringtone calling, it was his sister.
“Hello?”
“Wes. Hey.”
Hearing the anxious note in her voice, he slowly set down his staple gun. “Becky. What’s up? Where are you?”
“I’m back. I’m in town.” Traffic buzzed past in the background. “I’m at the train station. Can you come pick me up?”
Bethany appeared in the room to his left, but stopped moving when she saw whatever expression was on his face. Shock? Dread? Both? “Where is your car?”
“Had to sell it. Can you come or not?”
Her agitation was like worms burrowing in his bones. Was she using again? He’d have to see her to be sure, but the defensiveness she was already employing had him leaning toward yes. And that meant he didn’t want her around Laura. Protectiveness lapped at his neck like a rising current, surprising him with its intensity. When he’d arrived in Port Jefferson, he’d been determined to do his best, but he’d never considered himself a better option than anyone, even his sister. He’d just been the only option. Now, though? He couldn’t help feeling like the gatekeeper between his niece and anything remotely negative. Not happening.
Becky wasn’t a bad person. She’d just grown up with very little guidance and it hadn’t been enough to overcome the challenges that came with being orphaned and moved around so often she couldn’t find stability. It was no wonder she didn’t know how to provide it now. But his sympathy for her didn’t override his need to do what was best for his niece.
“Yeah, stay where you are. I’ll come get you and we’ll talk, all right?”
Silence passed. “Fine.”
“See you soon,” Wes said, hanging up the phone. He smacked the device against his palm a few times, but didn’t feel the impact. “That was my sister. I’m sorry, I have to go pick her up. She’s at the train station.” His hands were unsteady when he tried to dial the babysitter. “I should let the babysitter know I’m going to be late. I don’t know what Becky’ll be like . . .”
Bethany appeared frozen, but recovered to say, “Cancel the babysitter. I can go get Laura. I don’t mind staying as late as you need.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Yes. I know how to order a pizza.” She fussed with her ponytail. “Go.”
Wes didn’t think. He just did what felt right, leaning in and kissing Bethany hard on the mouth. “Thank you.” He slipped his key ring out of his pocket and detached the house key, tucking it into the front pocket of her jeans. “I’ll call the school on the way and let them know you’re coming.”
He only allowed himself a few seconds to watch the flush spread across her cheeks before he turned and left. On the way to the train station, one phrase repeated itself over and over in his head.
I’m not ready to go.