—27— Wyatt
Wyatt
It was bittersweet, watching her drive away.
She hugged me for a long time before going, but it didn’t feel like it usually does, full of her fiery big-sis energy and glee. There was something guarded in it. Too full of deep, sticky thoughts.
I kept worrying about what she was thinking.
If I’d said too much today.
Or not said enough our whole lives.
After the hug, she smirked at me and said, “Would’ve still won those games, even if you’d thrown all your armies at me.
” The joke ran flat, but I smiled. Then wondered if it was a joke at all.
And as I cleaned up the house afterwards, restoring the room she stayed in and straightening up the living room, I found a deep green beaded bracelet she left behind.
There’s a couple of sunflower charms on it, breaking up the green.
I think Mom and Dad gave it to her way back in high school.
Then suddenly I’m thinking of Diego.
And something Connie said about him Sunday after we parted ways with him at the restaurant.
“That one’s a gargoyle.” She gave me a wink before heading back to the car, and I was left standing there confused, wondering why the hell she’d call him that.
Aren’t gargoyles ugly-faced creatures made out of stone?
Like, what the fuck?
I’m in the greenhouse tending to my babies when my phone chimes on the table behind me. I turn and lift it up.
A message from Diego: “Did Rapunzel have a great fall yet?”
I stare, confused, then glance over toward the opened door.
Diego stands outside.
Looking beautiful, even in just a t-shirt and jeans. Plain-ass t-shirt. Plain-ass jeans. And he makes me forget what all other jeans look like, all other t-shirts, all other men.
My stomach aches with joy from one glance at him, especially now, tonight, when I’m full of so much uncertainty.
“Nope,” I answer him out loud, lowering my phone. “And that reference you just made is Humpty Dumpty. Why’re you going and mixing up your fairytales?”
“Up in a tower like she is, isn’t Rapunzel’s ass just as likely to fall?” He smirks—or is that almost a smile?—then leans against the doorframe and shrugs. “You weren’t answering the door. Saw the light on back here. Thought you could use some company after your sister left.”
I stare at him, pleasantly taken by his thoughtfulness.
Someone’s company is exactly what I need right now.
And Diego is the perfect company—the only company I want.
But there’s so much left to be talked about. Especially after all that came out at the restaurant.
And everything that didn’t.
“Do you want to … come inside and …” I’m fishing for words. I completely forgot which plants I tended and which ones I haven’t. Only a little evening sun is in the sky, obscured by the tall trees in my back neighbor’s yard. “… and maybe we can talk about—”
“I don’t want to talk.”
I meet his eyes.
“I don’t think you do, either,” he goes on.
My eyes drop to his lips.
To his chest.
He comes inside the greenhouse. Puts himself right in front of me. Lifts his hand to my forehead, runs it over my head, settles it at the base of my neck, and grips me.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks. “Or you still pissed at me?”
What a Diego way to ask.
“For what?” I throw back. “Ganging up on me with Connie?”
He snorts. “Maybe she’s pushy. Takes over. But she seems to really care about you. And … I’m pretty sure she got the message to pull back a little, don’t you think?”
I smile. “Yeah. I guess … I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
He keeps looking my face over like he’s making plans.
Something very small holding him back from just going all in.
Like a single word of permission.
A subtle glance into his eyes.
A hook of my finger into his pants, tugging him against me.
It feels that easy to burst the dam.
“And no, I’m not still pissed at you.” My eyes dance down to his chest. “Maybe I was more … upset with myself.”
“Why?”
“Well … after a few things my sister said to me before she left. And some things you said to me in the car that one night. And … what I said back.” I bite my lip, troubled suddenly.
“I shouldn’t have said you’re the guy who mows over the flowers.
It was just an accident. You thought you were looking after that house the way your aunt and uncle asked you to, cleaning up the yard.
You were doing what you thought was right.
And I …” My eyes meet his again. “I just didn’t understand you yet. ”
He stares back, listening.
“Maybe I could smile less,” I point out.
“Don’t you dare.”
Despite trying to keep a straight face, I crack. “Or else what?”
He takes a step forward. “Or I’ll give you a reason to smile.”
“So now you like smiles?”
He hooks his hands under my legs and lifts me to the counter, which bumps my floral snips onto the floor where they clatter.
“Just yours.” Then he goes in for my neck, surprising me, as I rock my eyes back and squirm against his kisses.
“Don’t give them to anyone else but me,” he growls. “No one else deserves them.”
I struggle to find anything to hold onto except his body, so my fingertips carve wrinkles into his shirt as I cling for balance.
He gives my neck no mercy with his fierce lips.
Then his tongue comes out to play and I’m done for.
It isn’t the first time I’ve watched the sun set while in my little greenhouse, but it’s sure the first time I’ve had someone macking on me while doing it.
And when I lose my pants and he loses his, I sure hope I don’t have another neighbor who’s outside growing too curious about the commotion on the other side of the fence.
Needless to say, we spend a lot of time out there.
More time than I’d intended when first planning to just tend to my sweethearts, including dear Bertha and her pink kisses.
By the time the stars are out, we’re inside and making dinner.
Neither of us put our pants back on for some reason.
For all of my concern about backyard peepers, I apparently don’t care about the show we might be putting on through the kitchen window.
I keep stirring the pot, smirking and happy. He chops up vegetables.
Then he stops. “I don’t want you to … to think I came over just for this.”
I look at him. “For dinner?”
“For sex.” His grip on the knife changes. “Just wanted to make sure you were fine. After your sister left. Things got pretty heated back at the restaurant, and … and I just wanted to make sure.”
“I’m okay, Diego. Promise.” I nod at the counter. “As long as you don’t lose a finger worrying about me.”
He frowns. “I’m not worried.” He goes back to chopping away, slower this time.
A moment passes. “I thought about you, too, Diego.” He stays quiet as he works, listening. “How you stand up for me. Even when I … may not seem to appreciate it. Thanks. For doing that.”
“Only ‘cause you don’t do it enough yourself.”
“I’m saying you’re sweet.”
“Just doin’ what’s right.”
“Take the compliment, will you?”
He pauses. Struggles. Then gives in. “Thanks.” After scooping the diced-up vegetables into the bowl, he stops. “Someone’s gotta have your back if you don’t watch it yourself. I’ll even defend you in ways you don’t even see.”
“You don’t always have to be on the defense, y’know.” I look at him. “You’re allowed to let your guard down now and then. I’m not sure if you noticed yet, but this town’s a safe, pleasant place.”
He shrugs. “Has its perks.”
“Friendly faces—no matter how averse you are to them.”
“Sure.”
“Always someone to watch the dog when you’re outta town. Or water the plants.”
“If you say so.”
“There doesn’t have to be enemies lurking in every corner of your life.” I scoot up closer to him, our hips touching. “Maybe I’ll teach you how to smile more often.”
He eyes me. “I’ll be smiling when we finally eat. I’m starved.”
“You’re cute.”
“And starved.”
“But mostly cute.”
He drops his knife and grabs me, causing me to laugh, and the two of us get lost in a mess of kisses against the sink.
Dinner is slightly delayed.
But when we enjoy it, Diego proves he wasn’t lying. I get the biggest smile out of him as he chows down on our meal of pasta tossed with fresh sautéed vegetables—a personal favorite of mine that makes me feel at home no matter where I am.
Hope that feeling of home seeps into him with every bite.
Afterwards, he takes it on himself to do the dishes despite my insisting we can leave them for later.
“There’s no ‘leaving for later’ when I’m here,” he insists, his tone extra loaded for some reason, like he’s saying something else I don’t get.
I snort, shrug it off, and join him by clearing off the table and the countertops.
He stops on his way to the trash. “You seriously never go out there?”
I look back at him from the sink, then notice him by the door leading out into the garage.
I shrug. “Maybe someday.”
“Sounds like never.”
I toss the dish rag aside. “If you want to risk a long trip to the hospital tonight on account of a kiss from a black widow or brown recluse or another nightmare lurking between my dad’s things …”
“I doubt there’s anything like that out there.”
I come up next to Diego, gazing at the door. After a second, I let out a sigh. “I promise I’ll … I’ll go out there someday. Not never. Definitely someday. Perhaps when I finally come to terms with the fact that my parents … likely will never come back home.”
He seems to take a second with that, says nothing, then pulls me in for a hug. “Don’t worry about it,” he decides. “You don’t got to open that door ever again if you don’t want to.” Then his lips get close to my ear. “But if you do, I can be here with you, Wyatt. Don’t gotta do it alone.”
I enjoy the warmth of his arms enclosing me against his body.
Even though I’m not sure I meant what I said so deeply. Like I’m afraid of opening some deep, painful scar by opening that door to the garage.
But maybe I’ve also been lying to myself.
Protecting my own feelings by denying they’re there at all.
What if going out into that garage does scare the shit out of me, because I don’t want to think my parents really did just leave? When is the last time they called to check in? What did they say when I asked when they’re coming back?
These are questions I don’t think I’m ready to have answered.
Maybe that’s exactly why I won’t go out there. Diego can see right through me. It was never about deadly spiders.
“Do you want to stay over on purpose?” I ask.
The hug he’s still giving me grows stiff. “On purpose?”
“Yeah. Not on the couch. In my bed. Like normal people. You and me. Sleeping.”
“We haven’t slept in a bed before?”
“Not on purpose.”
“I’m pretty sure we slept in a bed before. My bed.”
“I don’t think so.”
He pulls away to argue, and I just put a kiss on his lips to shut him right up. Works every time.
After showering, we slip under the sheets with nothing on at all.
He tucks me against his body, playing big spoon, and I enjoy every second of his warmth.
His face is nuzzled into my neck, his breaths softly crashing over my shoulder.
“Dunno if this was a good idea,” he groans against my neck.
“Having your hot body all naked and pressed up against me like this …”
“Sleepy time,” I tell him, holding his arm around my waist like a belt, locking our bodies together. “Sexy time was earlier.”
“Sexy time is any damned time we want it to be.”
I chuckle, then just keep myself snuggled inside his embrace. He drops it soon after, settling against me, seeming just as happy to hold me as he is to have sex with me.
It’s nearly just as satisfying, the feeling of being held.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around me.
Like nothing on earth can possibly bring me harm.
Diego. My protector.
It hits me. Is that what Connie meant, calling him a gargoyle? Besides being statues perched above the doors to old buildings, I forgot their actual purpose: To watch over. To protect. Guardians of the home. I guess Diego is, in so many ways, the guardian of mine.
I’m still thinking of that notion when the sun rises over my face, bringing in the morning. I can’t say how soundly I slept, only that I’m surprised our naked bodies didn’t wake us back up for the sexy times Diego wanted so badly.
I smell eggs and toast again, but nothing’s burning. The scent draws me out of bed, into a pair of boxers, and down the hall to the kitchen. Diego is at the counter cooking in his underwear.
I smile, overcome with a sort of warm, buttery emotion I can’t name. I could sure get used to this.
While we eat plates of eggs and toast—the eggs are still way overdone, but I’m starting to appreciate the taste of them being scrambled with zero percent runniness—I remember something Lance texted me the other day.
“Tuesday evenings,” I tell Diego, “some people hang out at Tumbleweeds to shoot pool, drink, and just blow off some midweek steam. It’s located right between our workplaces, actually. Wanna meet up there after work?”
I’m prepared for Diego to do his usual. Shrug, turn me down, and say something about waiting for my sexy ass to return to his house afterwards where he’ll be waiting sprawled out on his bed, naked and horny.
Instead, he surprises me with: “Sure, I’ll be there.”
I lift my eyebrows.
He chuckles. “Don’t look so surprised.” He chomps off a bite of toast and swallows. “I can be social.”
“You just said the word like it’s a disease.”
He stuffs the rest of the toast into his mouth. “It is.”
I have to laugh.
Diego heads back to his house to change for work.
I get ready myself, sprucing up my hair and brushing my teeth.
I take us in my car, insisting to spare him the walk under a particularly harsh morning sun.
After dropping him off at Whitaker Auto, I head the rest of the way to Wishing Blooms, feeling so light on my feet that I’m nearly skipping up to the door to let myself in.
I go behind the counter and flip on the computer to check my emails, already running through lists in my head of what I need to do, deliveries to prepare for the weekend, seeds and soil to order, tasks I can set aside for Cash.
That’s when I spot the email at the top of my inbox:
Mr. Callahan,
Bellamy Events has made the decision to discontinue our standing floral arrangement with Wishing Blooms effective immediately.
Going forward, we will be diversifying our vendors and addressing floral needs on an event-by-event basis.
Existing obligations will of course be honored under the terms of our current agreement.
We appreciate the years of excellent service you have provided and wish you and your business continued success.
Best regards,
Aubrey Carson, Secretary
Office of Grant Bellamy
Bellamy Events