40. Chapter 40
Chapter 40
BECKY
D elight filled every inch of my being. Weston, my Weston, loved me. The realization sent an electric current skittering through my veins.
“Come on, let’s go inside and I’ll cook us an early dinner,” I said, itching to express my emotions in the universal language I knew best—food.
An earnest grin stretched across his face. That sight alone was more delicious than any gourmet meal. Without breaking contact, he took my hand, scooped up my luggage, and guided me indoors.
I started poking around the kitchen and inspecting the contents of the fridge when I glanced back at Weston. He was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, eyes laser-focused on me .
“What?” I asked.
His eyes held a soft intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “Just processing,” he murmured, a shy smile playing on his lips. “You are so beautiful and you’re here. Can I invite myself to help you cook? I’ve been practicing. Plus, I’m not ready to leave your side just yet.”
For a moment, I paused, charmed by this unguarded side of Weston. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. He quirked an eyebrow, puzzled by my silence.
“Deal,” I finally replied. The idea of having his undivided attention was irresistible.
Weston washed his hands and joined me by the counter, where I had already laid out all the ingredients. “What’s on the menu?” he asked with a playful grin.
“Chicken Parmesan with a side of garlic bread,” I announced, handing him the bread knife. “Think you can handle that?”
“Watch and learn,” he chuckled, his confidence as endearing as it was amusing. We moved around the kitchen with an easy rhythm, chopping tomatoes for the marinara sauce, breading the chicken, and laughing over past cooking disasters. Every time he moved into my space, my heart would race just a bit faster.
As I stirred the sauce, Weston stood beside me, carefully slicing the bread. I showed him how to infuse the olive oil with garlic and herbs before brushing it onto the bread slices. “The secret is in the details,” I said, giving him a quick wink.
He nodded, meticulously following my instructions, his focus absolute. It was fascinating to watch him take such care with every task. The kitchen filled with the sounds of our cooperative effort—the sizzle of onions, the gentle scrape of a knife against the cutting board, and our shared laughter.
Once everything was prepped and the chicken was safely tucked in the oven, Weston tipped his head toward the living room. I followed him without hesitation. We made ourselves comfortable on the oversized tan sofa. Seated close to him, we faced each other. I savored the lingering scent of his cologne, an intoxicating blend of leather and spice.
Weston’s thumb traced circles on my leg with such tenderness. “When my workday ended, I literally bolted from the office. Only to find a short brunette breaking and entering again,” Weston said, amusement clear in his voice.
I smiled, but my heart ached to know more. My eyes sought his, searching for answers. “Why didn’t you call me?” My voice wavered with vulnerability. “If my debt didn’t bother you, why didn’t you call? I ached for you to call me.”
His eyes, deep pools of emotion, looked back at mine intently. “The debt never mattered to me, Becky. Seeing you upset, seeing you in pain... it tore me apart. I felt so powerless, so lost. I didn’t know how to process those feelings. When you disappeared, I thought I’d lost my chance with you. I sent you several emails apologizing and explaining. When I didn’t get a response from you, I opted not to call either, because I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you. My heart... it’s a mess. I thought I needed to mend it before I could ever be what you deserved.”
I felt a pang in my heart as I caressed his cheek. “Oh, Weston, to me, you’re perfect, scars and all. I love you. Please don’t stay away from me again. Especially if you are doing it for my sake.”
His smile reached his eyes, making them sparkle in the dimming light. “The same goes for you then. You have this incredible ability to see the beauty in broken things, Becky.”
“Nope,” I replied softly, “that’s your specialty. I’ve seen your workshop.” As I looked into Weston’s eyes, understanding passed between us. Though Weston and I were both wounded, the pain had shaped us differently. His quiet resilience contrasted with my fiery passion, yet God, in His kindness, had brought our hurting souls together. Tentatively placing my hand on Weston’s chest, I felt his heartbeat quicken. “Maybe we can heal together,” I said.
Weston reached for my hand and kissed the inside of my palm. “The best thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“It’s a date. A real date,” I said with a cheeky smile. “We can figure out life together.” Weston pulled me closer and kissed my forehead.