20. Definitely Not a Couple #2
Greg and Wyatt stop under a light by the dock to argue, moths circling the flickering bulb overhead. If we don’t get inside soon, the mosquitoes, who love me with a very unrequited love, will suck all the blood from my body.
“His coaching style is ruining the players,” Greg says loudly.
Wyatt responds, “He’s got one of best defensive programs in the country.”
“I hate basketball,” Wanda says with a sigh, but when I glance at her, she’s smiling fondly at her husband. “But a successful marriage isn’t about aligning on all points. Just the ones that matter. Which is fewer than you might think,” she adds with a wink.
Okay, Wanda. That’s quite enough matchmaking from you.
But apparently, it’s not.
“A successful marriage takes place in the gaps,” she says.
Despite the appeal of diving off the dock instead of finishing this conversation, I find myself asking, “The gaps?”
“People always say opposites attract or like minds find each other. But it doesn’t matter whether you’re opposites or like two halves of a whole.
There will always be gaps where you don’t agree or don’t understand or don’t align.
Lots of gaps. A successful marriage is one that works even in those gaps.
It’s all about navigating and bridging the gaps, even if they never close. Do you see?”
I’m not entirely sure I do, but I know I’ll be thinking about her words for a long time to come. Even if they’re not exactly relevant right this second.
“I appreciate the advice. And I’ll keep it in mind when I find someone I might consider marrying.”
“Mm-hmm.” Wanda raises her brows. Her upturned mouth calls me a liar as clearly as if she’d said the words aloud.
“He doesn’t see me that way,” I say, lowering my voice. “He never has.”
But I don’t think I believe my own words. Maybe they were true once.
Now, though, I think of Wyatt running into my room when I had a nightmare, Wyatt buying new furniture for his cottage because I complained, Wyatt standing behind me at the wheel of the boat until I felt secure piloting alone.
The way he said our with Jib earlier, the way he said this is our trip. The way my words hurt him earlier, but instead of stewing over them or letting me continue to blunder, he swooped in and saved me.
I realize I’m expecting Wanda to argue with me, to say something like “I see the way he looks at you, and you’re wrong,” but she doesn’t, and my heart shrivels a little in disappointment.
I am fully torn. I want to end this conversation and I also want her to argue with me. To talk again about the storm brewing between me and Wyatt. To provide more outside confirmation that there is a storm and I’m not just imagining the way things have shifted between us.
But now she shrugs and gives me a final squeeze before letting go. “Well, then. When you do find that person, remember the gaps. Or, as they’d say in England, mind the gap.”
A familiar bark startles me, and I glance back to see Jib running over, tail wagging.
Only she’s not coming from the direction of the boat, where I left her in my cabin. She’s jogging from the direction of land, and she’s not alone. An English bulldog trots along beside her, mouth open and tongue lolling. As Jib nears us, though, the other dog runs off.
I scoop her up. “Jib! You ripped your sailor shirt cavorting with that bulldog!”
The little outfit is hanging off one shoulder, torn along the seam. There’s a stick tangled in the fabric and grass stains on the back. Jib looks wholly unrepentant. The other dog turns and heads back where they came from without a backwards look.
Wyatt is suddenly right beside me. He frowns, staring into Jib’s eyes, and she wags her whole rear at his attention.
Wyatt plucks Jib from my arms and she nestles into his chest. “Did you figure out how to open the door, smart girl?”
It’s funny when Wyatt talks to Jib because he doesn’t use a baby voice like most people do when they’re talking to dogs. He just speaks to her like an adult human who can understand everything.
His eyes narrow, meeting mine over Jib, though he’s still talking to the dog. “Or did someone fail her basic door-closing course?”
“Hey!” I step on his foot lightly. His good foot—of course. “I know how to close doors, Wyatt.”
“Do you?” he murmurs, but there’s a smile in his voice.
“ Yes .”
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Wanda says. I realize how close Wyatt and I are standing and step back. “But is your little dog fixed? Because that guy is definitely not.”
I glance at the bulldog, who’s making his way up the steps toward the parking lot. She’s right. He’s definitely not fixed.
“Thankfully, yes.” And I’m grateful because dog pregnancy is one worry my brain doesn’t have room for right now.
I step out of the bathroom— head , I mentally correct—after brushing my teeth and step right into Wyatt. I barely manage not to shriek.
He could step back toward the saloon to give me some space. He doesn’t. I shove him in the chest. But the hallway outside the bathroom is tiny and there’s nowhere for him to go. We’re practically on top of each other.
“You scared me, Wyatt! Why are you lingering outside the bathroom door?” I ask, heart racing. “What if I was pooping?”
“Were you? Because I can wait a few minutes before going in.”
“ No . Not that it’s any of your business when I’m doing...my business.”
“Okay,” Wyatt says easily. Then he takes a step forward. I have to tilt my chin to meet his eyes. “Did you mean what you said earlier—that we’re barely friends?”
Barely friends would have described us before I arrived in Kilmarnock. But even in the first few days there, things started to shift. Honestly, it might have happened the second day, when I met goofy, fever-fueled Wyatt who stuck his nose in my hair and said I smelled like pie.
Now...we’re something more. I just don’t know what we are. Or what I want us to be.
“No,” I whisper.
The answer takes no thought. No debate. It’s as simple and uncomplicated as breathing.
Yet the moment I say it, I’m terrified by the enormity of my admission. I freeze, the only movement my erratic heartbeat.
Wyatt reaches out one hand slowly, giving me time to say something or to move. I do neither, and he gently cups my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
“That’s not what I want either,” he says.
I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel the sweep of his thumb over my skin, the warmth of his body so close to mine, his breath on my cheek.
“But what do you want, Josie?” he asks, his voice a quiet murmur that has the hairs standing up along my arms. “Do you want to be barely friends?”
“No.”
“Good friends? Only friends?”
I swallow. “I don’t know.”
I expect his hand to drop. For him to flee or sigh with frustration or press me for a clear answer. To try to force the conversation I avoided earlier about what comes next.
The one I’m still—mostly—wanting to avoid.
Instead, he says, “Okay.”
I open my eyes, blinking sleepily at him. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he repeats. Then adds, “For now.”
“For now?”
He nods once, decisively, and his hand flexes against my jaw, like he’s barely restraining himself from sliding his fingers into my hair.
And maybe, from the look in his eyes, pulling my mouth to his.
I suddenly want nothing more than exactly that.
And yet.
And yet.
Something still holds me back. A little pocket of fear, a tiny hiccup of hesitation.
If Wyatt kissed me now, I wouldn’t stop him. I wouldn’t be sorry.
But I’m also not sure I’d be ready.
With no warning, he wraps me in his arms and tugs me closer until my cheek rests against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart. I stiffen in surprise, not fear, and one of his big hands slides up my back, his palm a comforting sweep of warmth.
“This is called a hug,” he says, and I remember saying this same thing to him a few weeks ago.
I snort. “I’m aware. Thank you.”
Sighing, I snuggle in, allowing him to pull me closer, hold me tighter. When I breathe in his masculine scent, I feel comfortable. Sheltered. Safe.
Yet also like I’m dancing unsteadily on the edge of a blade.
“I’m a patient man. I won’t push you,” Wyatt says then. “At least, not too hard. Hopefully, just hard enough.”
“How do you know what’s just hard enough?” I ask, my fingers flexing on his lower back.
“You may not realize this,” he says, “but I’ve become an expert in reading you, Josie.”
“An expert, huh?”
“Certified.”
“Or certifiable?”
He hums, a low, rough sound that’s almost a growl. With my face pressed against his chest, I can feel the vibration move through me. I want him to do it again, to feel the rumble on my skin.
“Just know that you’re in charge,” he says. “If I push too much or if you want me to stop or if you don’t feel safe, say the word. Do you understand? It’s about when you’re ready.”
“Yes,” I whisper, my fingers clutching his shirt, tugging the material into my fists, torn between wanting to be closer and wanting to run away.
“Good.”
Pressing a kiss so quickly to the top of my head that I barely register it, Wyatt lets go of me and strides back to his room. Leaving me standing in the cramped hallway, wondering what I just agreed to and if it’s too soon to tell him I’m already ready.
Or if I want to run to shore, find Wanda, and hitch a ride up north with her and Greg.