Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Wes
In the two weeks since our wedding, Lottie and I have managed to live in the same house without actually seeing much of each other.
Not intentionally—at least, I don’t think it’s been intentional.
Our schedules just never seem to line up.
Occasionally, our paths have crossed— a quick conversation in the kitchen before one of us has to leave again.
But for the most part, if I’m home early, she’s still at work, and if I get back late from a flight, she’s already in her bedroom with the door closed.
I usually come home to find dinner left out on the counter, which is how I’ve learned that she’s a great cook.
My housekeeper usually preps meals for the week, but she told me Lottie asked if she could take over some of the cooking instead.
But we don’t eat together. We don’t do anything together.
It’s like we’ve figured out a way to live in the same house without ever having to actually be in it together.
There have been a few times when I’ve been working in my office at night assuming Lottie is asleep, and then I’ve heard her playing her violin.
It starts softly, almost hesitantly, like she’s testing the sound, and then it builds into something bigger, richer, filling every corner of the house in a way nothing else ever has.
She’s not just good, she’s incredible. There’s control there, but there is also something raw underneath it, something that slips through in the way she holds certain notes just a fraction longer than she needs to.
I don’t think she knows that I’ve stood in the hallway more than once, listening to her play.
It’s the closest thing to a conversation we’ve had since our wedding day.
Lottie is, as usual, nowhere to be seen when I arrive home tonight after a short flight, but Scout greets me at the door, tail wagging like he hasn’t see me in days.
I bend down to scratch behind his ears, noticing a new blue bandana tied around his neck.
I’ve caught him coming out of Lottie’s room in the morning and seen him stretched out in the hallway outside her door during the day, waiting for her return.
When I moved back to Deep Cove, this house felt too big, too quiet.
It didn’t take long for me to decide I needed something to fill the silence.
Enter Scout. I doubt there is a rescue mutt sweeter than him.
He’s not a big dog—runt of the litter, if I had to guess.
He’s always underfoot, following me around the house with a ball or begging me to take him for a walk.
He’s been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
He sits at my feet, tail still thumping a steady rhythm, as I heel off my shoes and hang my jacket in the closet.
I look around the clean, sleek, minimal space.
There are no photos on the wall, no personal touches.
It’s basically been a place to sleep in between flights.
I’ve never bothered to make it more than that.
In the two weeks she’s been here, though, Lottie has injected life into the place.
There are traces of her everywhere. A mug sitting in the sink.
A throw blanket that I definitely didn’t buy draped over the back of the couch.
A pair of heels by the door, out of place amongst everything else.
Thanks to Lottie, this house is starting to feel like a home, and that’s something I haven’t felt since I was a kid.
My mom died when I was ten and after that, our house changed, my dad changed.
Everything changed. The years before her death are blurry and faded in a way that makes me uneasy.
I remember pieces of her—her laugh, the way she used to hum when she cooked—but the details started slipping away years ago.
Sometimes I’m scared I’ll forget her entirely, and that feels like losing her all over again.
But I do remember the way she made our home feel—it was warm and welcoming, loud but always filled with love. It’s been a very long time since I’ve lived in a place like that, but having Lottie and Scout here has given me a glimpse of it.
I sigh as I shrug off my shirt and hang it in my bedroom closet.
I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way about my temporary wife, but I just can’t get Lottie out of my head.
I can’t stop thinking about our wedding day, about the kiss, about the way she looked in that hot as fuck dress or the way she fit in with my family so easily.
I’ve tried to block it all from my mind, but it’s useless.
There’s this moment every night on my drive home where the house comes into view, and I know she’s inside. I look forward to it all day. Knowing that I get to walk into my home and see Lottie, it does crazy things to my chest.
Until I walk in, and she’s not there. Or she is, but her door is closed and the lights are off.
I haven’t been this messed up over a woman in a long time. Or maybe ever, if I’m being honest. I drag a hand down my face, forcing the thought back where it belongs. I’ve dealt with far worse than a woman getting under my skin.
I can figure out a way to handle this too.
Two days later, I walk into the conference room at Cove to find the board already seated.
My brothers are there too—Ford sits at the head of the table with his head down, already focused on a folder in front of him, Jesse is kicked back in the chair next to him, and Noah is casually talking to a member of the board. I take the empty seat next to Jesse.
“Welcome, everyone,” Ford says, his voice even, cutting through the low hum of conversation.
The room settles immediately as Ford starts the discussion on the first item on the agenda.
We move through the meeting quickly: supply chain issues, expansion timelines, a potential partnership Jesse’s been pushing.
It’s all standard—numbers, projections, risks.
Ford runs the room like he always does, not wasting time on anything that doesn’t matter.
Noah steps in when the details get dense.
Jesse talks more than he should, but somehow lands the point anyway.
I add notes only where and when I need to.
Otherwise, I let them run it. This is what they do day in and day out.
I’m here when they need a second set of eyes, I’m not interested in taking over.
Before we adjourn, Malcolm, one of the board members, clears his throat. “I think it would be appropriate to acknowledge recent developments,” he says, looking directly at me.
I already know where this is going.
“Congratulations, Wes, on your marriage,” he announces with a smile, as all heads in the boardroom turn to face me. “I think I can speak for the board when I say that we were all pleasantly surprised by the news. Didn’t expect you to be the next one to settle down.”
Jesse snorts under his breath. I ignore him.
“Appreciate it,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Lottie and I are very happy.”
“That kind of stability reflects well,” Malcolm continues. “On the company. On the leadership. It shows commitment.”
I can tell by the looks on their faces that they’re pleased. They seem to sit a little easier, like something that had been weighing on them has officially been resolved. I give them a short nod, enough to acknowledge Malcolm’s sentiment without opening the door to more.
It seems like our plan worked. The board bought it, mission accomplished. That should feel like a win. It was the entire point, after all. But there’s no relief, no sense of victory. It just feels… hollow.
Ford brings the meeting to a close and people quickly start to gather their things. Chairs scrape back, quiet conversations pick up, and the room clears out. I stay where I am, letting them file out one by one until the door shuts closed behind them and it’s just my brothers and me.
Jesse lets out a low whistle. “Well, they’re thrilled.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Noah says, glancing over at me.
Ford closes his folder, setting it aside. “They like certainty,” he says. “You gave them that.”
Everyone is satisfied. So why does it feel like I’ve only made everything worse? I haven’t said more than a few words to Lottie in days, and I know she’s still avoiding talking to her parents about our secret marriage.
I stare at the table, the weight of it all settling in. This was supposed to be a solution. Instead, it feels like I’ve created a mess that I don’t know how to clean up.