Weston (Broken Falls #6)

Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Melanie

I 'm nervous as I wait for Weston to come home. He texted me and told me that he normally works out on Tuesdays after work, so I knew I had a little extra time. As part of the payment for working today, Kara allowed me to bring home some carne asada. So I've made carne asada fries, and I'm nervously waiting for him to come home.

Because the old Melanie wasn't a cook. She still isn't, but she's learned to be self-sufficient. And to be honest, I want to impress him. I've changed a lot. Obviously, he has too, and we have to learn each other again. And I want him to know the adult me, who is a lot less shy about things, and who has a little bit more confidence about herself.

It's important. And I didn't make the best impression when I showed up on his doorstep, so I'd like for him to know that I'm not just here because I want him to save me. I'm here because I also want to have a life with him. If there's one thing I've learned over the past few years about him being with me, it's that I miss the fuck out of him. And the few dates I've been on, none of them compare to him and who he was to me.

I'm standing in the kitchen, pulling the fries out of the oven when headlights glare through the kitchen windows. It's his truck. And I'm getting that same excited feeling I used to get when we were first married, first dating, and he would come pick me up. I haven't had this giddiness in years.

I can almost hear my dad in the background telling me, "Don't make stupid decisions with that boy, Mel. He'll hurt you." Little did he know I'd be the one hurting Weston.

Weston stomps through the back, trying to get the snow off his boots. And when I get a good look at him, I snort and cackle. He's wearing a Carhartt jacket with a pair of basketball shorts and boots. This is the most ridiculous I've ever seen anyone look.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I laugh.

A smile spreads across his face, one that's boyish and makes him look so much younger than he is. It's reminiscent of the first one he ever gave me.

"What, you don't think I look hot like this? I mean, look at these thigh muscles, girl."

I giggle, snort. "I mean, they're not thigh muscles, don't get me wrong, but aren't you fucking cold?"

He shrugs, putting his stuff up. "That's relative. I stay cold during the winter. So honestly, I just didn't want to change. It was a pain in the ass at the time. I just wanted to make sure my feet were taken care of. So I changed out of my sneakers. But no, I just wanted to get home."

Hearing him say he wanted to get home warms me. Maybe he wanted to get home to me. But I don't ask him because I'm afraid of the disappointment. I'm not sure I can handle it.

"Well, I'm glad you're here. I made us dinner."

He raises his eyebrows. "You made us dinner?"

"Yeah, I know you're surprised, but it's basically made around some stuff Kara had left over. So you know it's good."

He bends his knees and rocks back making a groaning noise in the back of his throat. "Fuck Kara can make some good fucking food."

"Yes. Yes. Let me go take a quick shower and we'll eat some dinner. Thank you for making it."

"No problem." I smile, happy that he's excited. He appreciates me, and it feels great, being able to do something for him after all he's done for me.

Forty-five minutes later, we're sitting in the living room with our plates on our laps, surfing the streaming service to see what we can watch.

He takes a bite and chews until it's small enough that he can talk. "So, what are we going to do? I don't know what your viewing preferences are anymore. But do you want something serious? Something not so serious?"

"You're going to laugh at me," I say nervously. "But I'm a sucker for bad reality TV."

He snort, placing his hand on his chest as if he's shocked. "No, not you. Not the person who watched every season of MTV's Road Rules and then The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. Not you. Sucker for bad reality TV? Get the fuck out of here."

This is the Weston I fell in love with. The one who teased me and knew when to take things seriously and when not to. I take a drink, swallowing slowly.

"I told you that you'd be surprised, right? I'm sure you want to watch some sports thing or some true crime thing or a serious show."

He leans back against the couch, sticking his legs out in front of him, stretching them. The movement causes my eyes to catch on the muscles he was talking about earlier. He leans forward, grabbing his bottle of beer and taking a drink.

"You would think that, right? Because that's who I was when you left. But no. After you left, I needed something that reminded me of you," he admits slowly. "So, I also developed an unhealthy addiction to trashy reality TV."

I squeal, giddy, bouncing up and down in my seat. I turn so that we're facing each other. I always knew he would if given the chance. "What's your favorite show? What are we going to watch, Weston? Tell me now."

He rolls his eyes, scoffing. "Okay, so work with me. I'll count to three. You say yours, I'll say mine, and we'll see what it is."

"Okay," I know I'm excited to be doing this stupid little thing with him because it brings us closer together.

He looks at me, his Adam's apple moving up and down as he swallows. He holds up his hand and then one finger, two fingers, then a third. Together we shout.

"Love After Lockup."

"Holy shit." He laughs. "Let me guess. You have Peacock, and it showed up, and you can't stop watching."

"Yes," I shout. "Yes, that's exactly what happened. I am now on like episode ninety-five of season four." It's not even an exaggeration. This show is the longest one I've ever watched.

He chuckles. "Same. Come on, let's dig in." And together we sit on the couch, watching our trashy reality TV show. Somehow, the moment heals us slightly, and I'm thankful. More thankful than I've ever been in my life.

As the credits roll on another episode of "Love After Lockup," we're both leaning back on the couch, plates empty and forgotten on the coffee table. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that's rare and precious. Very much like what we had before, but new at the same time.

Weston turns his head slightly to look at me, his eyes catching the dim light of the television. There's something in his gaze, familiar yet electric, that makes my heart race.

"You know," he says softly, his voice just above a whisper, "I missed moments like this. Simple. Normal. Just us."

I feel a warmth spreading through my chest, his words sinking into places I hadn't realized were cold. "Me too," I manage to say, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me.

He shifts closer, his thigh brushing against mine, and the contact sends a thrill up my spine. The air between us grows charged, anticipation hanging heavily. I can see him hesitating, eyes flicking to my lips and then back to my eyes.

Before I can second-guess it, I close the distance between us, leaning in. Our lips meet softly at first, testing familiar waters, and then the kiss deepens. His hand moves to cup my cheek, thumb gently grazing my skin, and I shiver at the touch.

His kiss is a promise, a mingling of old memories and new beginnings, and I can't help but melt into it. Time seems to slow as everything else fades away, the only thing that matters is us, here, now.

When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine. We're both breathing a little harder, a shared smile tugging at our lips.

"Wow," I whisper, still feeling the lingering tingle of the kiss.

"Yeah," he agrees, his voice oddly breathless. "Wow."

For a moment, we just sit there, foreheads touching, basking in the warmth of the moment. The weight of uncertainty seems lighter, the future a little brighter. Whatever happens, we know we have this, something real, something strong.

And as I settle back into the couch, Weston's arm slipping around my shoulders, I realize that home isn't a place or a building. It's a feeling, a sense of belonging. And right now, with him next to me, I finally feel at home.