5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
WESTON
I unlocked the front door, wishing by some miracle it was anyone but Rebecca. I was expecting the alcohol-soaked Rebecca I saw an hour ago, so this version of her surprised me. She had showered and instead of sour vodka wafting my way, I smelled sweet coconut. Her hair was wet, and her face looked almost vulnerable without her usual makeup. This was why I couldn’t have her staying next door.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, her eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion. “Never mind,” she finally whispered, her voice barely carrying. She turned slightly, as if to leave .
Confused, I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but she was already retreating. Fine by me. I shuffled back inside and shut the door behind me.
But seconds later, another knock sounded. I reopened the door, and there she was again, her face now full of determination.
“Hi,” I managed to say, still not entirely sure what was happening.
“I think this is where you say,” she said, and then switched to a deep voice, “How can I help? Do you wanna come in?”
I struggled to suppress a chuckle at her clumsy theatrics.
She cleared her throat and then continued in a girly voice. “And then I say, ‘Why thank you, Weston. I’d love to come in’.” With a confident step forward, she gently nudged me back, crossing the threshold into my space. “And thanks for asking. I do need your help.”
“Um, what do you need?” I asked, my voice less than steady. I shifted on my feet and tried to collect my thoughts.
“I need a USB-C cable for this night-light. See, it needs to fit this shape,” she said, holding the night-light up between us .
I let out a breathy laugh. The situation seemed so absurd. “A whole grown woman like you, needing a night-light?” I said, half-expecting her to burst out laughing and admit it was all a joke.
But Rebecca’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she quickly clarified, “I don’t actually need it. I just... I like the ambiance of a dimly lit room. Can you help me or not?”
Was she serious? Suddenly, I regretted my initial reaction. “Um, Gray keeps a stash of plugs and cables in one of the kitchen drawers,” I suggested, pointing in the general direction. “I just thought night-lights were for kids,” I added, attempting to justify my first response. However, her stiff posture made it clear I’d only made things worse.
Without a word, Rebecca headed towards the kitchen, her determination evident in every step. “Well, some of us prefer a little magic in our lives,” she called over her shoulder. “Now, which drawer is it?” she mumbled to herself, beginning her search. “Oh, it’s this one.”
I walked over and leaned against the counter, not wanting to get close enough to help her search.
“Yay. I found one,” Rebecca said, as if she had just found a lifesaving pill instead of a silly plug. “Ew,” she said, while holding her nose. “What is that? ”
“I’m cooking dinner,” I said.
Rebecca flitted over to the stove and lifted the lid on the pot. “Please tell me you are not eating plain boiled chicken for dinner?”
“So what if I am? I’m eating veggies too,” I said, my defenses up. Rebecca looked around the kitchen and spied a steaming pot in the sink. I was not about to have her lecture me on the veggie situation as well, so I dashed over there and pressed the lid shut. “My food is my business. You got your cable. Now, please leave.”
“Fine. No need to be so rude. I’ll leave,” she said, her hand on her hip and a scowl on her face. A scowl that I’d never seen before.
I kept my hand on the pot lid, not trusting her to stay true to her word. “Go on. Walk toward the door. I’m not taking my hand off this thing until you are halfway to the door. Go on, get moving.”
“Didn’t your momma ever teach you not to talk to a lady like that?”
“Nope. My mom was too busy grieving my dad’s death.” It was a raw, unintentional confession. I was surprised by my candor, the words hanging in the air awkwardly. My face heated, and I wished I could rewind the last thirty seconds .
Her face crumpled, remorse overtaking her features as her eyes dropped to the floor, unable to hold mine. “Oh, Weston. I’m so sorry. That was thoughtless of me. I knew that about your dad, but I didn’t think just now. I’m so sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I just want to get on with my evening. You should take your night-light and return to your cottage.”
“Okay,” she said in a way that made me regret bringing my dad into this.
Once she was near the door, I left my station and followed her, eager to lock up and return to my peaceful evening alone.
“Thanks for the cable,” she said, remorse still evident in her tone.
“No problem.”
I shut and locked the door. I let my shoulders drop. How did she do that? Ten minutes in her company and everything felt off kilter. So much for a peaceful evening.