22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
GRAY
K nocking on Weston’s door, I braced myself for the conversation ahead. As the door swung open, Weston’s imposing figure filled the frame. He offered a grunt that passed for a greeting in his book, and I trailed behind him into the chaos of his latest project—a workshop that was slowly taking shape amidst a sea of sawdust and timber. The transformation was impressive.
“It’s looking good bro,” I said, slapping his back lightly.
He merely nodded, his attention briefly meeting mine before diving back into the task at hand. Together, we delved into the creation of a shelving unit, the rhythmic sounds of hammering and sawing filled the air. I was bursting to talk about Elle, yet the words seemed lodged in my throat. It wasn’t until we had wrestled a particularly troublesome plank into place that I found the courage.
“Hey, I’ve got something to tell you,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow.
Weston looked at me, his expression wary. “What’s up?”
I took a deep breath. “I’ve decided to pursue a relationship with Elle.”
His reaction was immediate. “Are you serious, Gray? That’s a bad idea.”
I leaned against the workbench, meeting his gaze. “I know you have concerns, and I understand them. But this is something I have to do. I can’t explain it, but I feel it.”
Weston shook his head, clearly not convinced. “You’re playing with fire, bro. Why the rush? What about your rule about vacationers? There are at least ten eligible women at church who you can take your time to get to know. And bonus—they are likely to stick around.”
I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mix of excitement and determination. “I get that. There’s just one problem—she’s the only woman I want. I know it’s risky. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Time’s not on my side as she will be leaving soon. So I want to explore a relationship with her while I can. I’ll keep it low-key, I promise.”
Weston sighed, a resigned look on his face. “Okay, man. I still think it’s a mistake, but I’ll support you. Just be careful.”
I nodded, grateful for his understanding despite his reservations. “Thanks, man. That means a lot. I know you’re skeptical of Elle, but it would mean the world to me if you made an effort to make her feel more welcome. For my sake,” I said, the pleading in my voice almost bordering on desperation.
Weston’s gaze met mine, a silent conversation passing between us. “Gray,” he started, his tone warning.
“Please,” I interjected, my eyes conveying my plea more intensely than any words could.
He let out a small, conceding breath. “Fine. I’ll try my best,” he said, and I could tell he meant it.
A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you.”
“By the way, did you hear anything more from the hit-and-run guy?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah, they replied last week. Settled everything a couple of days ago. Weird though, they never gave their name. But at least it’s sorted out.”
“Good. ”
We went back to working on the shelf, the tension easing as we fell into our usual dynamic of jokes and light banter. But in the back of my mind, thoughts of Elle lingered.