Chapter 7 #3
“Maybe not,” he says, his expression carefully blank. “But I don’t want you thinking—” He stops, jaw ticking. “You’re going through a lot, and you’re in a…vulnerable place. I don’t want to take advantage of that. Or give you the wrong impression and blur lines.”
Of course he doesn’t.
I can’t help but laugh—dry and tired. The sound makes him deflate further into his seat.
“Trust me, I’m fine.” I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
He studies me like he doesn’t believe that, but then he nods once.
“Sure.”
He pulls back out onto the highway. The miles stretch ahead of us again, the endless quiet reclaiming its place between our bodies, heavier than it was before.
We pull into a gravel lot in front of a quaint little house with weathered wooden siding and flower boxes tucked beneath the windows. I’m reaching for the door handle, already unbuckling, when Wesley stops me.
“Wait here,” he says, hopping out. “Close your eyes—and don’t open them until I say.”
I pause, one hand still wrapped around the handle, eyebrows lifting.
This feels like the setup for a horror movie. I’m the dumb blonde girl who blindly follows orders and ends up chained in a dirty basement somewhere.
But if Wesley were a psychopath, I feel like I’d have picked up on that by now. Homicidal maniacs don’t usually make your stomach flip with a single glance. Right?
Reluctantly, I close my eyes.
The crunch of his boots fades as he walks away. Time drags—minutes feel like hours when you’re sitting all alone with your thoughts and a racing pulse. I’m just about to peek when I hear him again, footsteps returning, slower this time.
The driver’s-side door opens. He slides into the seat beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the space between us. Even before he speaks, I know it’s him.
“Hold out your arms,” Wesley murmurs, his voice low and smooth.
I could pick his voice out of a crowd. I already do. It doesn’t matter if I’m sweeping stalls or hauling feed buckets—if he’s nearby, I feel it. Like some invisible thread tightening, tugging my attention until I’ve found him.
I hold out my arms.
Something warm and soft is placed gently against my chest.
“Okay,” he says. “You can open your eyes.”
I do—and instantly fall in love.
A tiny speckled puppy blinks up at me, all oversized ears and solemn little eyes.
“Oh,” I whisper. “Is this real life?”
Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this. All my worries and concerns melt away as I cradle her closer.
The world narrows instantly, my problems shrinking down to something manageable and quiet as I cradle her closer. She lets out a tiny sigh and settles into my lap, warm and real and utterly perfect.
When I look up, Wesley is watching me with a soft expression.
“Do you want to name her?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, still a little stunned. “Yeah. Okay.”
The drive back is quiet—the good kind. The kind that doesn’t demand to be filled with awkward confessions of childhood trauma or forced small talk. The few stops we make are to let the puppy out for potty breaks and to stretch her tiny legs.
She’s been curled in my lap for most of the ride, a warm little cinnamon roll of fur.
“I’ve got a name,” I say as we turn onto the ranch.
Wesley slows to a stop in his usual spot in front of the barn, reaching across the seat to pet the sleepy girl on my lap.
“Yeah?” he asks. “Let’s hear it.”
“Iris.”
I watch his face when I say it, trying to gauge his reaction. There’s a tiny, nearly insignificant flicker in his eyes before a slow smile pulls at his lips.
“I think that’s perfect for her.”
The sun is low now, casting everything in gold. We’re angled toward each other without realizing it, knees nearly touching. It’s so quiet and we’re so close, I can hear every exhale of his breath.
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering, his fingers flexing against his thigh.
Too long to be nothing.
Not long enough to be something.
I don’t move. Neither does he.
There’s a hum under my skin, settling into my bones. A pull that feels reckless and unfamiliar, like gravity has quietly recalibrated itself.
And then—
A sharp knock on my window shatters the trance we’d fallen into.
I jolt, my heart slamming against my ribs, and turn to find Emmett grinning widely.
He opens the door and leans in, immediately distracted by Iris. “I always forget how tiny they are,” he says, scratching gently behind her ear. “How’d she do on the ride?”
“Good,” Wesley says from behind me, his voice deeper now, closed off.
Emmett glances between us, and suddenly my skin is on fire, convinced it’s written all over my flushed face—that whatever almost happened is visible, obvious. But if he notices, he doesn’t comment, and I cling to that small mercy.
“Lydia sent me to tell you to be ready in ten minutes,” he adds. “And to look hot.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
He throws up his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
I laugh, and behind me, I swear I hear Wesley make a low sound.
I gently shift Iris off my lap and onto the middle of the seat, carefully tucking her in so she doesn’t wake. Emmett offers his hand, and I take it as I hop down.
“Are you coming with us?” I ask.
“Who do you think your designated driver is?” He winks. “Now hurry. You’ve got nine minutes.”