Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mo
It was impossible to miss him. Well, Mo had been missing him in the heartsick way, but it was impossible to not see him come up through the center of the tent like a Men’s Wearhouse ad but rumpled.
His curls were slightly deflated in the humidity, and his cheeks blushed pink above his beard line from exertion.
Mo knew what that kind of exertion looked like close up but was trying not to think about it.
From her position at the head table, where she was half done with dinner, it felt like he was coming before her like a peasant petitioning a queen. She put down her fork.
They might as well have been invisible to everyone else in the tent, all of them too busy chewing and joking, toasting, and listening to the music.
Invisible to everyone except Mo’s sister.
Seated beside Mo, wearing her floor-length, eyelet-lace-over-linen gown, Anna, the true queen at the table, saw him approach too.
Her flower crown tilted slightly over one side of her face as she looked at Mo for confirmation. “Is that the sex god?”
Too nervous, too absurdly anxious and joyful to say anything, Mo nodded. She swallowed the bite of lamb chop in her mouth.
Anna nodded her chin at Wes as if to say Go! And Mo did.
He was closer now, just a few feet away from the table, and she caught his expression as she climbed down the stairs onto the tent’s floor level.
Mo didn’t know how to arrange her face, or her thoughts, to greet him.
He’d hurt her by going behind her back to the editor, and if she was being honest, she was hurt to have yet another book to put in the drawer, probably never to see the light of day.
She had poured her heart and soul into the adaptation of P&L , and he’d played games behind her back with it.
Mo was probably foolish to think they could have had a fair competition with all his connections, but she had thought that.
After reading his book, Mo realized how much she was rooting for him anyway.
How she was ambitious for him, wished him good things, and wanted to be part of his world not only when his book was published but also generally.
She wanted to teach him how to make casseroles and ride the Ferris wheel at Coney Island with him and make fun of bad TV with him.
She wanted to dance with him. She wanted to introduce him to her friends and family—and hedgehog.
She wanted to get to know him well enough to know what the look on his face meant, because he looked a little like he might throw up.
She guessed it might mirror some of the nervous expectation she felt too.
Unlike the horror when Aaron had surprised her at work, this felt different.
They were around other people, way more people than before, but he wasn’t here to be seen by them even though he’d dressed in a tux.
He was here for Mo. The tux, which was ridiculously formal but adorable, was for her.
When he offered Mo his hand, she took it. “Can we take a walk?”
Suddenly, once she got in front of him, all eyes turned toward the pair as if people were starting to piece the situation together.
Older relatives couldn’t possibly figure out how Mo, a verifiable old maid by their standards at thirty-one, was talking with this handsome stranger.
“Yes, but I have to get back for the toast,” she said.
They walked out of the tent near the DJ’s table, passing a table of relatives.
Two aunts gave Wes the full up-and-down.
Mo knew they had to get farther from the tent to get any kind of privacy.
She led him through the yard and to the training barn, hoping the yips of puppies would cover the conversation.
The sun was nearly set, and she noticed some of the event staff walking around the perimeter of the yard, lighting the torches.
Everything looked orange with the magic-hour light on them.
“You look ridiculous in that tuxedo,” Mo said.
“Ridiculously handsome.”
Privately she agreed, but she waited for him to go on, her heart thudding in her chest like a bass drum.
His expression was serious, and with one hand, he loosened his tie, looking away. “I am not perfect,” he started.
She laughed. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“I am, in fact, a disaster some of the time. Or maybe, more accurately, I am a construction zone and I’m not used to letting someone see the unfinished building.”
“I’m not perfect either,” she said. “I’ve been realizing that more and more these days. Nothing makes you come to your senses more than seeing your dream crash and burn.”
He grabbed her hands. “I needed to come tell you in person that I talked to Gary.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her brain had stopped processing words and left only that one letter in an entire dictionary’s place.
“The adaptation is yours,” Wes said, squeezing her hands in his.
“I’m not going to draw this out or joke about it or pretend otherwise.
I couldn’t wait until the news could be official to tell you.
And I know it’s selfish that I wanted to tell you myself, be the one here to be with you when you knew. I know it’s not a book deal yet, but—”
Her head was full of thunder, still trying to clear itself enough for her to take everything in. “It—Flor said that—”
“It’s not her choice. It was Gary’s, and he wanted to abide by Estelle’s wishes. Before she died, she wrote down that she wanted you to be the adapter.”
“Gary’s?”
“It’s a long story, and it’s not mine to tell.”
Everything she had expected from this conversation was turned upside down.
He had given her the best possible news she could hear, hadn’t he?
It would change her life to have permission to go ahead with this book and have Yuri submit it to editors.
She had wanted this since she was ten years old, but something in her still felt horrible about how she and Wes had left things.
“I wanted to talk to you since I found out about the tabloids. I saw everything, and I’m sorry.
I need to tell you how sorry I am for spilling the news of your parents’ divorce. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“It takes two to have a conversation in public,” he said, sighing. He didn’t remove his hand. “It’s going to be okay. Ulla and my dad are fine, and the media will get bored eventually.”
Something loosened in her stomach at his confident tone, his easy acceptance of her apology, but his face was still serious.
“I need to apologize too,” he said. “About everything, probably. About not telling you about my connection with Yuri, about who I was when we met, about giving the book to that editor without your permission. I couldn’t think straight.
I wanted my book to be read—both our books to be read—by someone who would appreciate them, even if only one of them could be made.
And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about it as it was happening.
I used my power and position in a way that was so unprofessional. Again, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, the tux. I’ll be honest, I thought …” She laughed ruefully, wiping tears away from her eyes that she hadn’t known were there. “I thought this was a romantic-gesture thing.”
He reached for her hand, and she let him hold it. He rubbed her knuckles softly with the tip of a finger. “And if it was? If I even asked your roommates for permission for that exact reason?”
She glanced at him. “You didn’t.”
“I didn’t come out here for business and clearing the air.
Mo, I need to know that what I’m feeling for you isn’t in my head.
I thought I was okay with being casual, with being friends, with being rivals with benefits or whatever we were, but Mo, I can’t do that anymore.
I want to be with you. I want it all, the mess and the fights and the bad television and the grilled cheese.
I want to wake up and work with you, on our books but also on us.
I thought if I flew out here to tell you you’re going to be an author, it might put you in a good enough mood to consider it.
To consider me.” He took a step forward and ran his finger across her cheek to wipe away the tears.
“You’ve gotten inside of my skin, Maureen.
Your story, yourself, your jokes, your body.
Yes, the news I came to give was about the best excuse I could have to shovel myself onto an airplane, but I didn’t want to leave things how we left them. I thought if I could tell you—”
She couldn’t wait for him to finish. “Wes, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m sitting here trying to write a toast about—” She swallowed, then steeled herself. “About love, and all I can think about is you.”
“Maureen, if I can’t kiss you right now, I’m going to die.”
She smiled, leaning in to press her mouth against his.
It took less than a second for her lips to soften, then open slightly.
His arm wrapped around her, and she felt calmer, more present.
She noticed everything about him at that moment.
If someone had asked her to guess how many hairs were in his beard, like an old-fashioned jelly-beans-in-a-jar contest, she could have aced it.
She took in his smell, the pressure of his hands on her back, and when they broke apart, he looked at her face like she was a miracle.
“I don’t think that’s the kind of mouth-to-mouth that saves lives, Wes.
” She didn’t know how to take that kind of admiration without softening it with a joke, but maybe she would learn to take the love from him, all of it, without protecting herself from the joy.
“Your dad approves of me, by the way,” Wes said, face breaking out into a grin. “Or at least he didn’t kick me out of the party.”
“My friends and my dad in one day? We are getting cocky, aren’t we.” She could hear the distant tinkling of silverware against glass, like the chime of a thousand bells. “Okay, you need to fill me in on how embarrassed I should be right now, but we should get back to the party.”
“We?”
“Oh, you think you could get out of being my date to this thing now? Fat chance, Wesley Spencer. I plan to dance with you all night and drag you back to the guest room to ravish you.”
Wes grinned and took her arm. “That sounds amazing, but I need to eat something first.”
“Pretty sure that they’re serving ice cream with the cake, if you can put up with that.”
“No gelato?” His grin widened.
She smacked his arm, then planted a kiss on his shoulder. “You have a lot to learn about loving the simple things, Wes.”