Chapter 10 There is No Try #2
“I have a bunch of these notebooks. I don’t remember where I got them.” He shrugged. “Everybody likes Wordle. Pandemic hobbies die hard.”
Wes spoke like Sasha was dragging every word out of his mouth, against his will. He went back to his notetaking.
“My pandemic activity was Lego,” she said, determined to connect with him. “I tried to build a three-foot-tall Yoda. Almost finished, too, but I sneezed and lost balance, knocking his right arm off. The whole thing fell apart. Oh well, I tried.”
“Do or do not,” he mumbled under his breath. “There is no try.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s a Yoda quote.” Wes glanced up, again. “Why’re you building the Jedi Master when you’re a fake fan?”
“Because he was voted 2020’s most challenging Lego set. I wanted it to be hard.”
“I think you set up your life so that it’s harder than it needs to be.”
Sasha stared at him, speechless. He ordered another coffee from the waitress and then, calmly, neutrally, clasped his hands together on the table.
She let out a defensive little laugh. “Excuse me?”
“Just an observation.”
“I don’t complicate things on purpose, Wes.” Mirroring him, she clasped her hands together on the table. “Life just gets that way on its own.”
“Your life gets that way on its own.”
Distractedly, he scratched his biceps. Sasha’s eyes traveled down to his beautifully cut arm and accidentally lingered there. For one, two, three beats too many.
“Hey.” Wes tapped on the table, grabbing her attention.
“Yeah?”
“Eyes up here.”
Sasha rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Don’t need to. You flatter me.” The left corner of his mouth curved a bit and then went neutral.
Feeling exposed, her stomach fluttered under his gaze. Could he read her mind? She couldn’t help but be attracted to him. It was a reflexive, automatic thing, without intent. Like being attracted to a gorgeous doughnut or a Jacob Lawrence portrait. She needed to work on her poker face.
“Are you good with just black coffee? The pinot grigio’s decent here.”
“I don’t drink on the job,” responded Wes, with stony restraint.
Sasha’s mouth parted, a wisecrack poised on her tongue.
“Anymore,” he clarified. “I don’t drink on the job anymore. I’ve changed.”
“I see. You’re a lot more buttoned up.”
“You could say that.” Wes took a sip of coffee and peered, brow furrowed, out the window. This seriousness was so unlike him. What was it about him that made Sasha want to push his buttons?
“So, um, I was thinking about our case,” started Sasha. “Maybe I could help you? Like, go on your investigative missions. Be the Watson to your Sherlock.”
Wes’s expression tensed into an exasperated scowl. Sasha discovered that, even while frowning, his dimple popped. It was as if his face was determined to radiate almost-intolerable levels of desirability, even when annoyed.
“It’s not appropriate for the client to be present on missions. It could put you in danger.”
“Danger?” she scoffed. “We’re tracking down my man who doesn’t know he’s my man. The only thing in danger, here, is my ego.”
“It’s a conflict of interest. The only reason you’re with me right now is because you were already here.”
“But I’m an asset. Our skill sets aren’t that different. We both notice people for a living.”
“I don’t need help.”
“I know you don’t need help, but . . .”
“Look, we said we weren’t going to talk about the previous case. But I broke a lot of rules last time, before. I need to put up a firm boundary.”
At the mention of their last case, her fingers traveled to her bracelet.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, her voice sounding a bit strained.
“I let you live in my office for days. That’s a massive breach. You could’ve sued me for taking advantage of you, a vulnerable client. I could’ve lost my license.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “I . . . we . . . that was me.”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“It’s just that, it was my fault . . .”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“You saved me. The last thing you did was take advantage.”
“I could have, though. If I were a different kind of man.”
“I knew I was safe with you,” confessed Sasha. “I can’t explain how I knew. But I did.”
“That’s naive, Sasha.” He frowned. “You know that’s naive.”
Something passed between them, an energy that left Sasha feeling lightheaded.
Had she drunk her wine too fast? Almost automatically, Wes slid her his coffee.
Again, he read her mind. Gratefully, she grabbed the mug with both hands, taking a sip.
And then, silence bloomed between them. He pulled out his journal to take more notes, and she idly glanced out the window.
Memories hung in the air, naked and unaddressed.
“I was being stalked,” she said finally. “I was terrified to go home. What you did was heroic, Wes. You did the right thing.”
Wes let out a short, resigned breath, as if giving in to the pull of her. “Can I ask you one thing? After the case, did your life go back to normal?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” she said breezily. “It’s back to normal.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“My ‘normal’ has changed, though.”
“How so?”
Sasha leaned forward on her elbows, her voice dropping.
“I was here only twenty minutes before you arrived, and I can tell you that this restaurant has three exits. One behind the bar, one in the back, and the front door. And there’s a guy at the bar who’s been staring at me this whole time.
He’s paying in cash and has a wedding ring.
Oh, and I can also tell you that there’s a window in the bathroom.
I don’t fuck with public bathrooms that don’t have an easy escape.
” She sat back in her seat. “So, uh, that’s my new normal. ”
Wes’s jaw locked, his face etched with concern he couldn’t hide.
“Understandable. To my knowledge, the stalker experience doesn’t leave you.
I hate that you need to be on high alert.
That’s my job. And it’s exactly why I need to do this alone.
I’ve dealt with stalking survivors, domestic abuse survivors—it’s easy to get pulled into those same fears. I don’t want to re-traumatize you.”
“You won’t, though. I think it’ll help to be around you, again. Even just as friends.”
“We’re not really friends, though,” he insisted. “We haven’t spoken in years. This is a professional relationship.”
“Why can’t we be friends?”
“Are you friends with the talent you audition?”
“That’s different,” she insisted.
He smiled, fiddling with a sugar packet.
“Is it? Look, I feel the need to remind you. When I find him, it’s against the law for you to be with me.
Because you’d be cornering him, unawares, which basically makes you a stalker.
That way, he’ll have the option to reach out to you, and the ball will be in his court. That’s how it works.”
She was practically vibrating with excitement. “This is thrilling. It’s been so long since I’ve felt hopeful about anything.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Come on, we might be sitting here awhile. There are three more showings tonight. Let’s get to know each other. How’s your day going?”
Sasha was committed to dismantling Wes’s walls, whether he liked it or not.
“Before now? I burned two batches of brisket. I’m trying to perfect my recipe for a competition.”
“I’m dying to try it. I was too nervous to order something at F.E.A.S.T. the other day.”
“You wanna sample my food?” His expression lit up, just a tad. And then, he must’ve toyed with the sugar packet too aggressively, because it tore. Sugar crystals exploded all over the table. Hurriedly, he swiped the sugar into his palm. “This is your fault, by the way.”
“What? How?”
“You make me nervous,” he admitted in his real voice. “I’m discombobulated. Stop talking to me, I’m trying to focus. Maybe I do need a drink.”
His walls were coming down. She couldn’t help but smile a bit.
It must’ve been contagious, because he smiled, too—in an exasperated way.
How could she have forgotten his mouth? Was it just that she never really noticed mouths before her Seraphina project?
Could be. Perfect Cupid’s bow, luscious bottom lip.
She wondered . . . no, it was stupid. But maybe it wasn’t.
Would he ever think to audition for her commercial?
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a big-screen face?” she started.
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“You, four years ago.” He grinned. “You trying to cast me again?”
“It’d be a shame to waste that face. You were made for close-ups.”
“Close-ups, as opposed to what?”
“As opposed to background work. Look over there. The bartender has the unremarkable but interesting face of a character actor. Look at our waitress. She feels like a brassy, no-nonsense barkeep at a Western border town in 1850. Juicy role, but it’s a side character.
You look like a leading man. In a rom-com, specifically. ”
“Why can’t I be in the Western? Would I get to ride a horse?”
“I’m being serious. Listen, there’s an audition coming up for my Seraphina commercial. Multi-genders. You have the perfect mouth for it. You’d have to wear lipstick, though.”
He shot her a bemused look. “Ain’t no way.”
“You wouldn’t do it?”
“No, and don’t give me those judgmental eyebrows. I’m comfortable in my masculinity. My eight-year-old niece made me wear glitter on my face for her Latin ballroom recital,” he said proudly.
“That’s really sweet. How’d you feel?”
“Like Rick James,” he confessed.
She burst out laughing. “Tell me you have a photo, Wes. I’m begging.”
He took a swallow of his second cup of coffee and shook his head with a rascally smirk.
“I’ll get it out of you,” she said.
“You can try,” he dared, playfully. “Is this commercial easy for you, after casting big movies and shows?”
“It’s harder. I don’t know what I’m doing. But it’s a fun way to get back to work.” She paused. “I need to have fun. I spend so much time focusing on safety. Worrying and obsessing. I feel like I’m choking, sometimes.”