26. Chapter 26
Chapter 26
BECKY
“ I can’t help but want a relationship with you,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. My heart thumped wildly within the confines of my chest, thudding against my ribs. “I’m dying for you to kiss me.” As the words left my mouth, I panicked. Had I just set myself up for rejection? Was I being too forward? The gnawing worry of not being enough for him pricked at my heart.
Weston inhaled deeply; his gaze tethered to mine. The atmosphere between us teetered on a delicate edge. A silent yearning having brewed for hours, now spilling over. I felt my pulse quicken, threatening to betray the calm facade I attempted to maintain.
Then, in a move as gentle as it was decisive, his lips found mine. My body responded instinctively, moving closer to him. His powerful arms wrapped me up in a comforting cocoon. His lips traced mine, exploring with a patience that made my heart flutter. Each kiss was a soft whisper, a gentle question, lingering just long enough for me to yearn for more. Then he’d pull back slightly, his eyes searching mine to gauge my response. I’d smile, and he’d kiss me again. It felt as if we were the only two people standing amidst the vast, lapping ocean. Everything else receded into insignificance. I felt cherished, valued beyond words. Each kiss was a promise, a silent vow from this incredible man who, in his uniquely quiet way, had stolen my heart.
Finally, Weston pulled back, his arms still holding me close. “Becky, you are so beautiful.”
My cheeks heated again. “Even with my ocean hair and marks around my eyes from the goggles?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “You are beautiful, inside and out.”
My pulse quickened as Weston spoke, his voice as smooth and rich as melted chocolate. I was drawn to him, to the way he made me feel.
“Is this for real?” I asked.
“It better be real,” he said, and squeezed my waist as if to confirm that I existed. “Come on, let’s head back for some lunch. My treat. I’ve been teaching myself to make omelets this week .
“As long as it tastes better than your famous boiled chicken,” I said with a giggle.
Weston splashed me as we started swimming toward the shore.
We walked home from the beach, hand in hand. It blew my mind how much difference a few hours could make. I didn’t want to scare Weston off, so I followed his lead with this recent development.
After we arrived back, we went our separate ways. We agreed to meet in Gray’s kitchen in half an hour. Eager to get the sand off, I headed straight for the shower. Happy to be clean, I changed into my favorite pair of skinny jeans and a loose summer sweater.
The aroma of something delicious wafted through the air as I stepped into the kitchen. There Weston was, watching the frying pan with a concentration that made me smile. He seemed to have showered too and now wore casual shorts and a simple white T-shirt.
He flashed me that half-smirk, half-smile as he slid a golden omelet onto a plate. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said, his voice low and inviting. I took the plate, and he handed me a fork. We leaned against the counter, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the omelet. Each bite a burst of flavor .
“Why were you cooking that awful chicken, when you know how to make good food like this?” I asked, pointing to the plate with my fork.
“I think that over the past few years, I’ve fallen into a rut of cooking bland food simply because I was hungry, not because I was focused on good nourishment or because I wanted to experience a taste sensation. You’ve inspired me to improve; I’ve been watching some YouTube cooking shows and I’m trying to prepare better food for myself. But your cooking has ruined my taste buds forever.”
I loved the way Weston appreciated my culinary skills. Not only was food my job, but it was also my passion.
“Speaking of good food,” he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement, “my mom and sister are coming for lunch tomorrow. Mom always brings my favorite stew the day before I race.” His voice was filled with genuine warmth and a bit of childish delight. “Do you remember meeting them?”
Did I remember meeting them? I recalled the flurry of formal introductions at Gray’s wedding, the soft handshake of his mother, the aloofness of his sister. From the memories I had, I wouldn’t say they liked me.
“I think I do. ”
Anxiety pricked at my heart, sending a tremble through my body. “But I’m nervous to see them now that I...” I swallowed hard, gathering the courage to say more. “Now that I like you. What if they don’t approve of me?”
Weston looked at me, his amber eyes soft and full of affection. A tiny smile curved at the corners of his lips. “As far as I’m concerned,” he said, his voice firm, resolute, “I want you with me always.” His words washed over me, warm and comforting. Then his smile widened, and he added, “So my family will just have to join Team Becky.”
I blinked at him, a tiny laugh escaping my lips at his unexpected humor. His declaration was a surprise—beautiful and reassuring. It filled me with a sense of belonging that felt wholly new, yet perfectly right.
“Team Becky? Who are you and what have you done with the Weston I met nine months ago? You despised me then.”
“I didn’t despise you. You just scared me. From the first moment we met, you’ve been chipping away at my armor, my plans. If I had known then what I know now, I would have scooped you up on day one.”
With that Weston gathered our forks and the plate and deposited them in the sink. Then he reached for my hand and started tugging me toward the door .
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To test out Gray’s new swing. I helped him secure it to a tree out back just before he left. I don’t think anyone has officially tested it out.”
“Oh, so it’s your fault. I found the swing last week, but it’s too high,” I said, as I let him lead me outside, a big goofy smile on my face.
“What do you mean?”
I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief. “Who did you guys envision would use this swing? Giants?” I teased.
He chuckled. “I’m not sure what we had in mind. But it does look rather high with you standing next to it. Hop on, and I’ll push you,” he suggested sweetly.
“Can you please give me a leg up?” I requested, not wanting to look foolish while trying to hoist myself up on my own.
“Alright, your wish is my command,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my heart race.
Once I was comfortably seated, he moved in front of me, his presence so close, yet tantalizingly out of reach. He faced me and gently pulled at the ropes. Each motion stirred a whirlwind of butterflies in my stomach, a thrilling mixture of exhilaration and nervous anticipation. As I swung towards him, our eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stand still. Each time I moved away, I found myself longing for the next return, for another moment of that electrifying nearness.
“You know, when I used to daydream about finding the perfect guy, I thought it’d be someone flashy, like Ryder, but I never imagined...” My voice trailed off as I locked eyes with him again, finding a world of possibilities.
Weston’s laughter rang out, warm and genuine. “Well, it’s definitely not Ryder. You’re all mine.”
Weston pushed me a few more times and then slowly brought the swing to a stop. His hands found their place, one on each rope beside my shoulders, steadying me in the quiet world we occupied. My gaze was almost level with his. The proximity sent a delightful thrill through me.
“Can I kiss you now?” he asked, his voice deep and resonant.
I nodded. “I officially give you permission to kiss me whenever you want.”
“Be careful what you offer,” he warned, though the warmth in his voice promised nothing but tenderness.
As if in slow motion, he wove his fingers through my hair, delicately cradling my head and tilting it towards his. My heart raced, every beat highlighting the charged air between us. His lips touched mine. It wasn’t just a kiss; it felt more like a promise, like adventures yet to be shared, like the beginning of everything. In that moment, I was wholly present, every sense heightened. The soft pressure of his lips, the faint scent of his cologne, the gentle caress of his hand on my hair—it all melded into a moment of pure, exhilarating connection.
We lingered by the swing for a little while longer, basking in sweet kisses and shared laughter. Eventually, we made our way inside, and Weston flicked on a Disney movie, its familiar melody filling the room. Yet, the screen barely captured our attention as we nestled into the sofa, his arms wrapped around me.
We talked; oh, how we talked—about everything and nothing. I told him about my excitement for my upcoming final year of studying. He shared about his newfound hope of selling his creations one day. The movie became a mere soundtrack to our conversation, a blend of his deep chuckles and my gleeful giggles. I found myself lost in the cadence of his voice, the warmth of his presence. There, wrapped in the security of his embrace, I realized that this—this was where I belonged. And I was blissfully content.
The next day, I didn’t have a care in the world as we strolled back from the beach, the salty breeze blowing through my hair. Weston and I had spent the morning together, laughing and making memories, and it was the perfect day. As we approached Gray’s house, I could make out two people waiting for us on the front steps. My first horrified thought was Debtsure, but then memories of Weston’s mom and sister floated through my mind. A familiar fluff ball darted between the two of them and I smiled.
Darcy was seated on the steps beside her mother. Darcy was the picture of elegance. Her hair, a rich shade of caramel-blonde, cascaded in immaculate waves down her back. Delicate gold chains graced her neckline, catching the light with every subtle movement.
At a mere glance, she was the embodiment of femininity—the kind you’d expect to see in glossy magazines. But according to Weston, she owned and managed a kickboxing club. Hardly what I would’ve expected. But as my gaze lingered, I could make out the definitive contours of a remarkably toned body; each line spoke of rigorous training and discipline, a silent narrative of her inner strength. She was unquestionably beautiful, but there was a certain aloofness in her bearing that left me feeling somewhat out of place. I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the complexity of her character. What would she think of me?
My palms grew clammy, and I let go of Weston’s hand, suddenly self-conscious. Weston leaned down and whispered in my ear, “They’ll love you.” He wrapped his arm around me, guiding me toward his family. I tried to calm my nerves, but the closer we got, the more my anxiety mounted. Thankfully, Eeyore bounded up to me and I bent to pet him, grateful for the distraction. I stood and could see that Weston’s mom had a peculiar grin on her face. She was a striking woman. Her short hair, a similar color to Darcy’s, with silver strands sprinkled throughout, framed her face gracefully. Her amber eyes scanned me.
“Mom, Darcy, you remember Becky from Gray’s wedding? Becky is Elle’s sister,” Weston said by way of introduction.
“Yes, of course I remember her,” Susan said and glanced at my proximity to Weston. “I didn’t know you guys were so close?”
Shocked at the immediate interrogation, I remained silent and let Weston answer .
“Mom, can we settle in and have a meal before you start with the third degree, please?” he said and popped a kiss on her cheek. The presence of Darcy and Susan and her probing question brought with it a dose of the real world. How would Weston and I work? I lived in Atlanta, and he lived here on Hilton Head Island. We’d spoken about so much, but we’d never discussed the future. Our future. Was this all just a temporary dream? My thoughts were interrupted by Susan’s response to her son.
“Yes, of course. Where are my manners? Come, let’s get lunch heated up. Will you fetch my slow cooker from the car, Weston? It’ll just take a few minutes to heat it up.”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
Weston headed to the car, while the rest of us filed into the house. At first, Susan seemed uncertain, her gaze scrutinizing me from head to toe. As we talked, however, I noticed her warming up to me. Our mutual passion for cooking proved to be the bridge that connected us, and before I knew it, we were conversing as though we had been friends for years.
“Would you make a salad for us, Becky? This will need to heat for ten minutes or so,” Susan said, as she tapped the large pot Weston had brought inside .
“It would be my pleasure,” I replied, glad for a chance to show my competence in the kitchen.
Darcy perched on a bar stool, her eyes occasionally flitting up from her phone with a cautious curiosity.
“Darcy,” I began, my voice laced with a hint of nervousness, “Weston shared quite a bit about your new kickboxing gym. It must be incredible to run something like that.”
She looked up from her phone, and to my surprise, her response came with a friendliness that contradicted our previous encounters. “It’s my passion,” she said, a soft smile playing on her lips. “It’s tough but rewarding. Do you do any sports?”
Her tone was light, inviting, and I eased into the conversation. “I used to do a bit of Pilates and I run,” I confessed, “but nothing as intense as kickboxing.”
“That’s cool,” Darcy nodded, putting her phone down. “Pilates requires a lot of discipline and focus, similar to martial arts in some ways.”
The prickling sensation of unease that I had felt before was slowly being washed away by her unexpected sweetness. I was still wary, wondering if this was just a facade, but her next move was genuinely reassuring.
She picked up her phone again. “Sorry for being so invested in this,” she gestured to her phone with a chuckle, “ One of my students is competing today and I want to keep tabs on her progress. I feel like a mother hen.”
“Oh, no worries.”
“You should come by the gym sometime,” she offered. She climbed off the stool and picked up Eeyore who had been jumping at her feet, eager for attention.
“Really?”
“Yeah, Weston comes through now and then, though he sometimes struggles with the complicated combinations.”
I laughed, the sound more relaxed than I expected. As we continued to chat and prepare lunch, the kitchen filled with the aroma of food and the lighter aura of budding friendship. I found myself genuinely smiling, not just out of politeness but because Darcy, much to my relief, was turning out to be someone I could imagine becoming friends with.
“Oh honey,” Susan said, as she snapped her fingers to get Weston’s attention in the open plan lounge. “While we were waiting, a courier man arrived and said he had a delivery for Rebecca Knight. I had no idea Becky was staying here, so I told him he had the wrong address.” She turned back to me. “Becky, I’m so sorry. I hope I haven’t ruined anything for you.”
As she turned to me, my heart thudded heavily, like a drumbeat of impending doom. The mention of the courier sent a cold shiver down my spine, twisting my stomach into knots. Debtsure. The name flashed in my mind like a neon sign, a reminder of a nightmare I thought I had escaped. “No problem,” I stammered, forcing a smile that felt as brittle as glass. My voice was a little too high, a little too quick.
Weston’s gaze was piercing, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. “I thought you said you sorted out that courier guy?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.
I swayed slightly, my eyes darting around the room, avoiding everyone’s probing stares. “Um, I’ll make arrangements with them to contact me when I’m back in Atlanta,” I said, trying to sound confident, yet my voice betrayed a hint of desperation. “It’s probably just my new bank card.” I lied, but I couldn’t have them trying to guess why the courier was here.