15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
WESTON
W hy did I interrupt Becky’s conversation with Ryder? I don’t know what came over me. As I stood there, watching Becky’s animated conversation with Ryder, a curious impulse surged through me. It was an impulse I couldn’t quite understand yet found impossible to resist. I’m not usually one to intrude, but something about her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm when she spoke to Ryder, compelled me to act. It was a bold move, one that went against my better judgement. Yet there I was, acting on a whim, driven by emotions I couldn’t fully comprehend.
This morning I’d suggested we go to church together. It felt like the right thing to do. She could connect with God, and I could show her a part of my world, albeit a safe, neutral one. I hoped it would keep things light and friendly between us, maintaining the delicate balance I was so desperately trying to uphold.
But as the morning unfolded, I found myself wanting more. Her touch was electric—but it wasn’t just her touch; it was her presence. If she just so much as leaned in my direction, it felt as though my world tilted on its axis.
I should have kept my mouth shut and let her go off with Ryder, but now I had an impromptu lunch date, and I didn’t hate the idea. Cooking food she’d like was beyond my skill set, a fact I readily acknowledged, so I opted for the next best thing—I drove us to a nearby restaurant. I picked one that I was certain offered healthy options that would appeal to her.
The restaurant had a warm and inviting atmosphere, with soft lighting and rustic decor. The aroma of freshly cooked food wafted toward us as we entered the dining area, making my stomach growl in anticipation.
“This place is cool,” Becky said.
We snagged the last table smack dab in the middle of the room. I hoped the bustling atmosphere didn’t mean we’d have to wait long for our food. I was rather hungry. Church always made me hungry .
Becky seemed to thrive in lively surroundings like this. She had a knack for striking up effortless conversation with strangers, a skill that I lacked, but admired. This time, it was with our waitress, Kendra. They connected as if they were long-lost friends, laughing and chatting within moments of meeting. I watched in awe. How did she do it? There was something about her brilliant smile, a kind of magic that made everyone feel seen and important.
We placed our orders, and before I knew it, the food was at our table. The waitress left us to our meal and Becky turned her focus on me. “Are you looking forward to your race?”
“Yes and no.”
“Why do you say no?”
“It brings with it lots of memories, but I have to do it.”
Not wanting to elaborate, I turned the tables on her and asked a question. “Why do you need a night-light?”
Becky blushed. Yikes, she was gorgeous.
“Do you want the truth or the answer I give everyone?”
“Truth,” I said, as I popped a piece of grilled salmon into my mouth.
“Um, I’m not sure where to start,” she said, suddenly fidgety .
“Start at the beginning,” I said, now curious about her answer.
“Phew. Okay.”
Becky paused. I waited.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she said and laughed nervously.
“Ah, I was looking forward to the story behind the night-light. Please?”
“It’s not a fun story, I promise.”
The vulnerability in her eyes made my heart squeeze. “I can handle difficult stories, but you don’t have to tell me,” I said, trying to reassure her. I wanted her to feel comfortable with me.
“Okay, fine.”
Becky paused again, and I waited.
“When I was little, Elle had to lock me in a storage room to protect me from my dad during one of his fits of rage,” she said. “It was so dark in there and I got so scared. Anyway, I need a night-light because every time I’m in the dark on my own, I get overwhelmed by the same feelings from that day in the room. As an adult, I can objectively see that Elle was trying to help me and I was safer in that room. But it’s like the dark flips a switch in my brain and I might as well be five again. Elle says I need to go to therapy about it, but I figure a night-light is an easy fix.” Becky shrugged her shoulders like she’d just told me something trivial. She picked up her fork and moved her food around the plate.
“I...,” I held back, struggling to find the right words. “I had no idea, Becky.” A sour taste spread in my mouth as I recalled the careless way I had ridiculed her about the night-light. A deep sigh escaped me, “Goodness, Becky, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for teasing you about your night-light. You’ve every right to have it.” The words felt insufficient, yet I was at a loss for what else to say.
Becky blushed. “Don’t worry about it. It was long ago. My dad died a few years back, so he can’t terrorize us anymore. And you’re right, night-lights are for kids, but mine has saved me from hundreds of panic attacks.” She flashed a wistful smile before ushering the conversation along. “Anyway, I’ve shared enough. Tell me more about you.”
I probably wasn’t the best company, but having Becky across from me, entrusting me with fragments of her life, meant something. I felt a sense of gratification that she was confiding in me.
“Hello, Weston. Did you hear me?”
I hesitated. “Um, I’m a super private person. Sharing stuff doesn’t come naturally to me. I don’t even know what I’d tell you. ”
Becky, with her innate warmth and understanding, wasn’t bothered by my hesitation. Her eyes, always so full of empathy, gently prodded me. “How about you tell me about your passion for engineering?”
I paused, gathering my thoughts. “Okay. Engineering... it’s more than a job or a hobby for me. When I’m immersed in building or fixing something, it’s magical. My hands—they don’t just work on their own; they become an extension of my thoughts, weaving ideas into tangible forms. And there’s this indescribable thrill, a kind of adrenaline rush, when a complex problem starts to unravel under the persistence of my will and skill. I love it.”
As I spoke, I could feel an unfamiliar lightness, a freedom in sharing this part of myself. And Becky—she was gazing at me with such genuine interest and admiration that it warmed a corner of my heart I didn’t know was cold.
“I can see you love it. Your face—it just lit up while you were talking,” she said. “It’s beautiful to see someone so passionate about what they do. But if it means so much to you, how can you survive without it?”
“I don’t,” I said. “I make sure I set aside time to work with my hands. No one knows about this, but I have a space dedicated to it at my house. ”
Her curiosity sparked like a flame in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I have a garage where I can work on all sorts of projects. I build things. Fix things. It’s a happy place for me. I’d love to do it full time, but I already told you about my obligation to the company.”
“Ooh, like a man cave for engineering?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
I chuckled. “Yes, you could call it that.”
“Can I see it?” Her voice was gentle, unaware of the enormity of what she was asking.
I froze. No one had ever entered my sanctuary of broken things.
Becky looked at me hopefully, waiting for my answer. “No pressure,” she added.
“I guess you can come. I was going to go there after church, anyway. Just, please promise not to tell anyone. I don’t need my family or other friends bothering me about it. I like my privacy.”
Becky raised her hand to her head in a salute. “Yes, sir. My lips are sealed.”
My eyes dropped to her lips when she smiled.