41. Weston
41
Weston
I wake early on Sunday, my heart bright and full at the knowledge that I’ll see Daisy at the wedding today. The two weeks since I last saw her have been unbearable. I’ve fought every day not to pick up the phone and call her, to hear her voice and beg her to change her mind. I know she’s doing the noble thing by putting my relationship with Jess first, but we can’t control how he feels. We can’t force him to forgive us—forgive me . And so, we’re sacrificing our own happiness.
I spend the morning at the pool, swimming laps for over two hours. The only good thing to come out of the time I’ve spent away from Daisy is the improvement of my swimming times. I never used to pay much attention to my time, but it’s given me something to focus on while we’re apart. Something to pretend to care about.
The ceremony doesn’t start until five, so I still have the entire afternoon to kill before it’s time to get ready. I spend the time in the attic, going through some of Lydia’s stuff, choosing a few framed pictures to put around the house. It’s good to see her again, if a little painful. But Daisy was right—it’s easier now than it used to be, and I’m glad to be reminded of her. I still can’t believe Daisy encouraged me to do that, and it makes me love her even more.
After that, I set about fixing the busted handle on the door to the darkroom, so it’s ready for Daisy when she’s ready to use it again. I have to believe she will, that this isn’t it for us. Otherwise, what was the point? We found each other only to give each other up, and for what?
I push these thoughts from my mind as I dress for the wedding, pulling on a light-gray suit over a crisp white dress shirt, knotting a navy-blue tie at my throat. Then I pick up the gift I chose for my neighbors—a set of Le Creuset cast-iron cookware wrapped in gold paper—and head next door.
Violet and Kyle have decorated their stoop with white ribbons and flower garlands. I climb the steps and knock on their front door, and a moment later a vivacious redhead in a floor-length, emerald-green dress with russet-colored curls spilling over her shoulders greets me. She shoots me a wide, beaming smile.
“Hello! I’m Sadie, the maid of honor.” Her gaze drifts over me appreciatively, drinking in my suit, and I stifle a chuckle.
“Weston. I live next door.”
“Weston, of course. Please, come in.”
I follow her across the entry hall and into the living room, where she finds me somewhere to deposit the heavy gift I’m carrying. Then she hands me a glass of champagne, and we head downstairs.
It’s fascinating to see the interior of Kyle’s house, completely different from mine. Where I’ve got gleaming chrome and modern fixtures, he’s got rustic wood and warm, historical elements. His kitchen is situated in the basement, unlike mine, and it opens out onto a beautiful yard, where they’ve set up a white wooden arch underneath a large, blooming magnolia tree. On the lawn sit a handful of folding chairs, and above, string lights zig zag across the garden, which will no doubt glow golden over the yard later in the evening. It’s a beautiful setting for a wedding.
My eyes scour the yard for Daisy, but while I spot a few small groups of people I don’t recognize, there’s no sign of her. Violet isn’t here either, and as Sadie disappears, I realize they’re probably upstairs. Maybe Daisy is photographing Violet as she gets ready.
As I step out into the yard, I spy a familiar face among the crowd. Wyatt, our other neighbor, to the right of me. He’s a landscaper, responsible for my beautiful garden and, from what I can tell, Kyle and Violet’s, too.
He wanders across, taking my hand to shake. “Wes. It’s been a while.”
“Sure has.” I release his hand, motioning around the yard. “Is this your work?”
He nods, lifting his champagne glass to his mouth, tattoos snaking out from the cuff of his suit jacket, across his knuckles. The guy’s covered in them.
“Looks good,” I say. Even though we’ve lived beside each other for years, I haven’t spoken to Wyatt much recently as we’re usually both so busy. “Been out on the bike lately?” I ask, thinking of the motorcycle he keeps in front of his place under a cover. I’ve seen him work on it a few times, but never ride it. From what I can tell, it only seems to gather dust.
“Nah.” His eyes go distant as he scrubs a hand over his tidy salt-and-pepper beard. “Haven’t taken it out in a while.” He blinks, as if coming to, and looks back at me. “How’s the boy? Jesse, isn’t it?”
My grip tightens involuntarily on the champagne glass. “Ah, he’s…” Shit, I don’t know. He hates me. I’ve let him down. We’re not speaking. None of these seem like appropriate answers. “Busy,” I add at last, because it’s probably true. “How’s Bailey?”
Wyatt’s eyes light up. “Good. Graduating soon.” He’s a single father, and from what I understand, he was never actually together with Bailey’s mom. In fact, I don’t think his daughter was in his life until she was twelve. Despite everything, they’ve managed to build a solid relationship. I have to admire him for that.
“You must be proud,” I murmur.
He shrugs. “It’s all Bailey. I can’t take the credit.” His gaze snags on something across the garden and his face clouds. “Hey, watch out for the roses,” he calls. He shakes his head at a woman accidentally trampling a rosebush. “I’ll talk to you later,” he mutters, before going to check on the plant.
I stifle a laugh, turning to grin at Kyle as he approaches.
“Wes! Glad you could make it,” he says, looking sharp in a black suit. A sprig of pine and a single, purple violet sit in his buttonhole.
“Of course.” I take his hand and give it a hearty pump. “After all you did for me with the darkroom, I wouldn’t miss it.”
He scrubs a hand over his tidy beard. “How’s the darkroom working out?”
“It’s been great,” I say, leaving out the part about my son breaking into it to discover photos of me and Daisy.
“Good to hear. You know… Daisy is our photographer today. Violet suggested her, and she’s great. She gave us some stunning pictures of the neighborhood.” His eyes shimmer. “Have you seen her work?”
It occurs to me that Daisy has probably told Violet all about us, and there’s every chance she’s told Kyle. Why didn’t I think of that before? Either way, there’s no reason to hide anything anymore. Not now that Jess knows.
Still, with my future with Daisy feeling so uncertain right now, I’m not sure I want to get into all that. So I simply raise my champagne glass to my lips and say “Mmm,” before taking a long sip.
Thankfully, Kyle doesn’t push it. He turns to a guy a few years older than us and smiles.
“Rich, this is our neighbor, Wes.” He glances back at me as I take Rich’s hand. “This is Violet’s father, and my best friend.”
I smile, processing this. I must look a little perplexed, because Kyle laughs, and Rich joins him with a hearty chuckle.
“It’s a long story,” Kyle says. “Vi and I fell in love while working on this house, and”—he elbows Rich with a sly grin—“Rich here did not approve. Especially since I’ve known him for years and Vi is a little younger than me.”
My eyebrows lift. I’d certainly noticed the age gap between those two. It must be similar to the gap between Daisy and me.
Rich snorts into his champagne glass. “Try eighteen years,” he says good-naturedly.
“Hey, you can’t help who you fall for, can you?” Kyle chuckles, and I give a grim laugh in response.
No, you can’t .
“So, you’ve obviously forgiven him,” I say to Rich, intrigued. While not quite the same, their situation isn’t completely unlike what’s happening with Jess. Hiding their relationship from someone they loved, and no doubt wishing they had his blessing.
Rich rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I have. It took time for me to come around, believe me. But, they’re happy. That’s what matters.”
I nod wistfully, letting my gaze wander around for Daisy again. If Rich can forgive his best friend for getting together with his daughter, is it possible Jess could ever forgive me for falling for his ex-girlfriend?
A blond woman appears in the yard, stepping into Rich’s side.
“This is my wife, Diana.”
She smiles at me, then turns to Kyle. “Violet’s ready, honey.”
He inhales, laughing nervously. “About damn time,” he jokes, then asks everyone to take their seats.
There’s still no sign of Daisy. I drain my champagne and settle on a chair, waiting for the ceremony to begin, telling myself to focus on the real reason I’m here; Violet and Kyle, not Daisy.
But when Violet walks down the makeshift aisle, followed by Daisy with the camera pressed to her eye, I can’t look away. It’s Violet I should watch, looking stunning in a long white gown, but Daisy is the one who steals my breath. She’s dressed in a pale yellow silk dress that reaches the ground, skimming her hips and draping in soft folds across her breasts, exposing just the faintest hint of cleavage. The color would make anyone else look washed out, but it suits Daisy perfectly, making her skin glow, making the constellation of dark freckles across her collarbone and shoulders stand out.
Fuck, she is so beautiful.
I’m relieved that she’s too busy trying to capture Violet and Kyle to notice the way I’m captivated by her. My heart swells in my chest as I watch her work, so fucking proud I could cry. A few months ago this woman would barely touch a camera, and now she’s here, doing what she’s meant to do.
It’s not until the couple begin to say their vows that I realize I’ve been staring at Daisy the entire time, and I force my gaze to them. As I watch them pledge their love, I’m reminded of my wedding to Lydia, over two decades ago. We didn’t have much money then, so it was a small ceremony at her parents’ place. I’d never felt happier than I did that day, holding Lydia’s hands in mine, knowing I was going to grow old with her.
Turns out God had other plans.
My eyes prick with tears as I think of the woman I lost, the love we shared, and the family we had. I have to swallow them down, letting the grief pass. As Violet and Kyle exchange rings and kiss, I look at Daisy again. I could never have imagined I’d meet someone I’d want to do it all over again with, and even after everything I had to go through with Lydia, I feel lucky.
Lucky that I’ve been given a second chance at love. At happiness.
And there’s no way in hell I’m going to let her get away.