Chapter 5
five
brIDGET
Figuring out this double-booked mess isn’t happening tonight. Every time I try to call and figure out why we’re both here, my call drops.
No thanks to this house.
Maybe coming here was a mistake.
I eye the stairs, wishing this place would whip up an elevator but, of course, nothing happens. And there’s no way I’m admitting to Weston that I don’t have the energy to lug it upstairs right now.
He’d take too much joy in the fact that I packed way too much for a week.
The fire suddenly dies, swiveling my attention to the opposite side of the room.
That’s… great.
“That’s weird, right?” Weston asks.
“Probably just a gust of wind down the flue.” I really don’t want to get into the enchantment of this cabin right now. If it hasn’t already been acting up for Weston, then that’s a whole other issue for later.
I don’t have enough mental capacity to sort out what that means right now.
I can barely handle the fact that literally nothing is going according to plan. Or maybe I can handle it after I brainstorm a new plan. And a backup plan in case that one fails.
With a sigh, I cross the room to the chair closest to the window because it looks cozy and overstuffed and I can retreat there with Wordscapes. Maybe after some word play I’ll be refreshed enough to get through the rest of tonight.
“So I’ve gotta ask something that’s been bothering me.” Weston has made himself back at home on the main couch, and Bailey is sprawled out beside him, paws in the air.
It’s almost cute, if I was into that sort of thing.
I drop to the chair and pull up the app. “And?”
“Do you usually travel like that?”
His question catches me so off guard I stare at him for a solid five seconds before responding. “What do you mean?”
“Like you’re heading into a business meeting.”
I glance down, confused. My flared faux jeans are adorable, and so is the butterfly sleeved top I’m wearing. Maybe I want to always look my best, but I don’t feel overdressed at all.
What does he expect, sweats?
“This is casual,” I reply, sweeping a hand in front of myself.
His expression is puzzled—like my answer isn’t what he expected—but I don’t have time to respond. My screen lights up with an incoming video call. I shove to my feet, anxiety bubbling up in my throat.
Andrew .
I probably don’t need to answer it. We’re not engaged anymore, so it doesn’t matter. Does it?
I’m so distracted I almost miss “Bad Blood” coming from somewhere nearby.
Now is not the time.
“Did you do that?” Weston asks, alarmed.
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head.
What should I do?
He’ll just keep calling if I don’t answer. Or worse yet, he might involve Laila. The last thing I need is for them to know all the gritty details before I can tell her myself. Tell them .
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press ‘answer’.
“Hey Bridget.”
My pulse quickens, in a not-so-great way. “Andrew,” I say, curtly. “Can I help you?”
“Your mother said you went on a trip, and I wanted to talk to you.”
I scoff. I can’t help it. Two peas in a pod. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Come on, Bridge. You took your break. I assumed you’d be over it by now.”
My eyes dart to Weston, who’s given up on the mystery radio and is trying to pretend he’s not fully invested in this conversation. He’s not very convincing. His entire body angles toward mine in an almost protective stance, his body primed to move.
Weird . It’s almost like he cares.
“Andrew, that wasn’t a break. We broke up . I gave you back the ring.”
There’s movement beyond my phone as Weston shifts.
Please don’t come over here.
Andrew sighs like I’m being unreasonable.
Am I though?
I left someone who treated me like an accessory, not a partner in life. After watching my sisters find that space, I knew I deserved better. So I made the change.
“You were just mad. I know you, Bridge. You shut down when things don’t go your way.”
He doesn’t get to do this. He no longer has permission to gaslight me into believing that choosing myself is selfish.
Weston stands and I hold up a hand, pleading with him to stay out of it. I don’t need to be rescued.
“I didn’t shut down, Andrew. I left. ”
Andrew’s expression hardens on the screen and my body tenses. “You’re being ridiculous. Tell me where you are so we can talk about this face to face.”
For someone with an injury, Weston moves fast. He steps in beside me like he belongs there, and for just a second , I allow myself to pretend that he does. Andrew can’t see his hand slip around my waist, or his fingers pressing into my side as a reassurance that I’m not alone.
This flip from teasing to tender should shock me, but that’s not what steals my breath away. It’s the electricity that ripples out from where his hand rests, like he’s resuscitated me and brought me back to life.
For once, Andrew has the decency to look surprised, and that alone is worth its weight in gold.
“Who are you?” he demands.
“Her boyfriend.” The words fall from Weston’s tongue like he’s said them a thousand times. He turns to me with a look in his eye that says: trust me .
I don’t know him. Not really.
But something eases inside of me, and this time I’m fully aware of the song choice switching to ‘Enchanted’.
“Bridget.” Andrew says through gritted teeth.
Somehow Weston’s touch gives me an extra boost to brace myself for Andrew’s antics. “I don’t think you should call me again,” I say, and Weston grins down at me.
Andrew lets out a frustrated growl. “You can’t be serious.”
To my dismay, Weston bends and presses a kiss to my forehead. Time stands still for just that moment, where the light touch of his lips steals my breath. They’re surprisingly soft, and there’s a quick image of his massive hands rubbing strawberry flavored chapstick on.
At least I think that’s what I smell.
Weston’s chuckle refocuses my attention and with a jolt I bring the phone back up to eye level.
What in the world?
Clearly unaffected, he turns to the screen. “She’s serious. And if you need an extra boost in comprehension skills, we can arrange for a restraining order.”
Andrew turns a concerning shade of red. “That won’t be necessary. Bridget—call me when you’re done playing house.”
“We aren’t playing house,” I say, making sure to emphasize the word. “So don’t wait around for that phone call.”
He disappears from the screen as he ends the call and I let my arm finally drop to my side. I need a few minutes to process everything that just happened.
As if the house senses my inner turmoil, the volume of the song gets louder.
“Are we going to talk about this?” Weston asks. “You don’t act surprised.”
I’m pretty sure I know what he’s referring to, but I ask anyway. “Which part?”
“The random song playing.”
The lights dim a couple of notches.
“The house is just a little?—”
“Haunted?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Enchanted. It sort of shifts based on the residents' desires. At least that’s what I was told.”
“That’s interesting, Goldilocks. Is that why I’m here? Were you thinking about me?”
And just like that, all the positive feelings I had for Weston vanish. “You’re incorrigible.”
“But theoretically, that makes sense, right? You were thinking about me, and here I am.”
He looks entirely too pleased with his theory.
“I fully intended to stay here alone ,” I say, pressing a finger into his chest. “So how does that even make sense?”
“Wait. You knew it was like this when I told you about it in January?”
I yank my finger away like I touched a hot coal, and put a couple of steps between us. “Maybe.”
“And you just didn’t think to mention it?”
“It sort of acts up the most when there are couples present.” I press my lips together.
Weston’s eyebrows shoot up. “So it’s like a matchmaker?”
“I guess?” I huff out.
It technically shoved Holden and Laila together, but part of that arrangement was also Sebastian Gold. His family owns the local banks and they tend to offer things in a quid pro quo manner.
Since I’m armed with knowledge about him and his weird deals, I won’t be repeating that mistake. And to my knowledge, Weston doesn’t know who that is.
So we should be fine.
The song bleeds into ‘You Belong With Me’ and I drop my head back into a groan.
“I think this house ships us, Goldilocks.” Weston grins at me gleefully, curving his hands into a heart shape.
“That’s it. I just upgraded you to menace status.” I turn away from him and head to the kitchen to find something to eat.
I’m exhausted and just want to take the edge off so I can climb into bed and sleep this entire day off. Maybe even the past month. But as soon as I go to open the fridge, it won’t open.
There’s a smidge of space between me staying rational and losing it. I let out a scream of frustration and Weston appears in the doorway.
“Problem?”
I exhale and rub my temples. There’s a headache forming there, sharp stabby pain that is only going to make me more unpleasant to be around.
“The fridge won’t open,” I mumble.
“Why don’t you let me fix something to eat? Go get settled in your room. Relax.” He motions at my clothes again and I snap.
“There’s nothing wrong with looking nice, you know.”
“I’m aware.” The way a smile plays around his lips makes me want to scream again.
“You have to dress nice when you travel for games,” I say, stabbing the air in his direction.
There’s no way I’m admitting that I’ve looked up how he dresses on travel days out of morbid curiosity. It was a very brief moment of weakness when I wanted to know why he thought so highly of himself after Holly’s wedding, and I deeply regret it at the moment.
“I’m required to,” he replies. “You’re not.”
There’s no talking to this man.
“Fine. I’m going to change. Maybe you’ll have more success than I did.”
He steps out of the way so I can leave the room and I head straight for my suitcase at the base of the stairs. Maybe being on different floors will be enough space between us.
“Wait a second.” I frown. “There were stairs here.”
Now there’s only an accent wall with a gorgeous painting of bluebonnets at sunset. My favorite season all year.
I close my eyes and count backward. There better be multiple bedrooms on this floor. Once I get to zero from twenty—twice—I yank up Louie’s handle and pull it toward the hall. Bailey is sitting outside one room that I have to assume is Weston’s so I continue on in hopes there’s another.
And there is. Hallelujah.
The smell of garlic sauteeing floats on the air and my stomach growls.
“Of course everything is working for him,”I sigh. Bailey follows me into my room, sniffing the whole perimeter like he’s on patrol. “You know, I don’t appreciate being shipped .” He lifts his head to glance back at me, then resumes his work. “And now I'm talking to a dog.”
Maybe tomorrow will be a whole new day. Everything will reset and it will be fine.
Right?