4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
BECKY
“ Y eah, I’m still waiting outside,” I said to Elle on the phone, boredom now present in my voice because I had been waiting so long.
“Sorry, Becs. I don’t know why he is acting like this. He has a good heart, I promise.”
“So I’ve been told. He just seems to hate me. Why me, of all people? But I can’t win with him. I’m not sure what else to do. It all started at the summer camp last year. Gray should’ve never asked Weston to co-lead with me. I even felt sorry for the kids.”
“Yeah, he behaved appallingly,” Elle agreed. “Didn’t you make progress at our wedding, though? I know he was forced to dance with you, but I thought it was progress. Maybe he is stressed about his Ironman coming up? ”
“Who knows with this guy? I’ve tried to apologize for whatever it is I’ve done to make him hate me. I give up. It hurts my feelings when he’s rude to me. And… never mind Elle, I’m just tired from traveling and don’t have the energy for his sour attitude today.”
“Sorry, Becky. You don’t have to stay there if you don’t want to. Gray’s other units are fully booked at the moment, but you can book a holiday another time. Name the date and Gray will book it.”
“No, I’m here now. I’ll just wait him out,” I said, thinking of my troublesome courier guy back home.
“Well, perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Hopefully, this holiday he’ll get to see how fabulous you are. He took forever to warm up to me.”
“Yeah, maybe if we are neighbors for two weeks, we’ll find some common ground. Let me knock again.”
“Okay, bye Becs,” Elle said warmly.
“Bye, Elle.”
I dumped my phone in my handbag and raised my hand to knock again. But before I connected with the door, it swung open.
Weston rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. How does such a grump get to look so gorgeous? He was not your classic handsome. He was tall and brawny and dangerous looking with his coffee-colored buzz cut and dark golden eyes.
“Sorry about that. I had a misunderstanding with Gray,” Weston said, as if it was normal to leave someone waiting outside for ten minutes.
“Can I please just have my keys?” I asked, now more than eager to get out of these gross clothes.
Weston squeezed his gigantic frame past me, and I caught a whiff of soap and fabric softener. Somehow, he avoided touching me.
“They are out here in the birdhouse.” He stomped across the lawn, and I followed him, dragging my roller suitcase over the bumpy grass. The sound of the birdhouse door banging closed made me jump. Weston faced me again and dumped the keys into my outstretched hand, gesturing in the direction of my cottage.
He frowned at me. “Why do you smell like a seventeen-year-old who got into their parents’ liquor cupboard?” I didn’t miss the judgement infused into every word.
A weary sigh escaped me, a testament to a day that had been far too long. “None of your business,” I replied. But then I didn’t want him to think I lived a different sort of life, so I told him the real reason. “If you must know, someone spilled their drink on me,” I said, trying to keep the irritation from seeping into my voice.
As I turned away, heading towards the cottage, I could feel the weight of Weston’s gaze on me, heavy and unyielding. With each step, a part of me yearned to just walk away, to ignore the tension between us. But then I considered what Elle had said. Common ground. I should try to be nice. The idea seemed almost laughable now, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should at least try. So, I paused. Gathering the fragments of my patience. I turned back to face him, offering a smile that cost me more than he would ever know. “Thanks for the keys,” I said, the words floating between us, an olive branch extended.
Weston’s response was nothing more than a grunt, terse and dismissive. It stung. I felt the last of my resolve fray. Infuriating man!
Once inside the cottage, I got to unpacking my bags right away. The alcohol was making my skin itch, and I needed to shower. I pulled several neat stacks of clothes from my luggage and packed them in the small dresser next to the bed. After unloading my toiletries, I decided to plug in my night-light. This special piece of technology made my life a lot less scary. It had a light sensor, and I’d set it to switch on at dusk so that I didn’t get stuck in the dark. It offered enough light that I felt safe while not being too bright to disturb my sleep. As I picked it up, I realized its USB-C cable was missing. I turned my bags inside out, and still couldn’t find it. My phone’s charging cable was different. I closed my eyes and considered the dark night ahead. Unbidden, memories I had been fighting all afternoon flooded my mind.
I was five years old and sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal because Mom hadn’t made lunch again. Dad arrived home much earlier than usual. I used to believe that my dad loved me, even if he didn’t know how to show it when he was drunk. But on this day, I learned otherwise.
He stomped into the room and grabbed my jaw, the motion pulling me to my feet. My spoon clattered to the table as he stared at me. I knew he wasn’t drunk because I could see the clarity in his brown eyes, the same color as mine. His rancid breath hit my face as he told me I was a worthless piece of trash. Then he turned toward the kitchen cabinets and hurled every dish we owned onto the floor. It was as if each crash were an exclamation mark to his cutting words. I just stood there, silent tears streaming down my face.
Elle came running into the room. My first thought at the sight of her was ‘at least my sister loves me’. I tried to hug her, but she just pulled me by the arm down our cramped hallway. She was hurting my wrist, and I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t hug me. Elle bypassed our rooms and opened the small storage room next to the bathroom. It was more like a cupboard. She pushed me inside and told me to stay quiet. The door slammed shut and darkness absorbed all my hope. I heard the click of the lock and in that moment, my dad’s hatred for me settled in deep. I was all alone in the world. Fear soon eclipsed my feelings of despair. I wanted to scream for someone to let me out, but my only ally had shut me in this horrible space. I still don’t know how long I was trapped in that storeroom. It felt like hours, but I’ll never know.
I realized I was shaking, and I squeezed the night-light in my hand to calm myself down. No, I would not endure the darkness without my night-light.
“Shoot.” Hopefully, Weston had an extra cable for me. Great. I seriously didn’t want to disturb him again today. Oh well… I would deal with this after my shower.
The aroma of my shower gel lingered in the steamy bathroom. I breathed deeply, cleansing my nose and lungs. I slipped on a long button-up night shirt, wrapped my silk dressing gown around myself, and nestled my feet into pink duck-feet slippers. Much better .
I left the foggy sanctuary of the bathroom, stepped into the main room, and used my phone to order some groceries. It was moments like these when my inability to drive gnawed at me, making me feel imprisoned. Thankfully, online shopping came to my rescue. The online aisles never let me down. My thumb hovered over the “add to cart” button next to a summer dress. The fabric, a dance of colors and patterns, seemed to whisper the promise of adoration. For a moment, I was lost in the fantasy, imagining myself snapping the cutest pictures, the dress fluttering like a delicate petal in the sea breeze. But with a soft sigh, I resisted the temptation. Instead, I stuck to the essentials and completed my order. After clicking “checkout”, I knew I had procrastinated as much as I dared. So, I grabbed my night-light, needing to get this sorted before I lost my nerve and it became dark.
I hesitated at the door, my feet unconsciously carrying me back to the bathroom where my makeup bag awaited. Grasping the mascara, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, contemplating my next move. For anyone else, I would have applied a decent amount of makeup to my face. But this was Weston, the man who already held such a low opinion of me .
I put down the mascara and shook my head. “No, Weston doesn’t deserve the effort,” I said to the empty cottage as I exited. I walked along the paved path toward the main house. Unable to help myself, I wedged the night-light under my arm and combed my fingers through my tangled hair as I walked. As I knocked on the door, I suddenly became anxious without my makeup. I almost turned and ran back to the cottage, but Weston opened the door.