Chapter 5
Wes and I make the forty-five-minute drive to the flea market in his SUV.
The first twenty minutes is quiet and awkward.
Then Wes bursts out without warning, “I’m sorry about my dad!”
I’m so surprised I stiffen and turn in my seat to stare with wide eyes. “What?”
“My dad. He’s just being… Dad. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know he didn’t.” I fiddle with my hair although it’s still carefully twisted up to give the impression of breezy nonchalance. “It’s fine.”
“It is? Because you’d finally relaxed around me some, and now you’re all stiff and awkward again.”
“I’m not stiff and awkward!” Despite my passionate denial, my back and shoulders and the way I’m holding my neck are definitely stiff.
He slants me an impatient look before focusing again on the two-lane road.
“Fine,” I admit, wanting to shed this self-consciousness so much I tell him the truth. “It did make me uncomfortable but not because I’m taking your dad seriously or upset by him.”
“Then what is it? Because that’s ages ago, and it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I know it shouldn’t. I mean, I know it doesn’t matter in any real way. But…” I want to groan. I want to cringe. I want to sink into the seat of the car. “But I’m still so embarrassed by it. I wish…”
He waits, and when I don’t continue, prompts, “You wish what?”
“I wish I’d handled it better. I wish I hadn’t been so… mean.”
I never know exactly what’s going on in Wes’s mind, but he clearly wasn’t expecting me to say that. His mouth turns down in confusion. He looks at me and then back to the road and then at me again. “Wait. Wait.”
“Wait for what?” I have no idea why he looks so confused.
“You’re upset about being mean? To me?”
“Of course to you! I feel horrible about it. I can’t stand to even remember. I was so mean to you. I embarrassed you in front of everyone. Why couldn’t I just…?”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Yes, it was. Are you saying you don’t cringe every time you remember it?”
“Well, yeah.”
“See? I could have done so many things differently. I don’t know why I had to… treat you that way.”
“We were kids. Kids do that kind of thing all the time.”
“So you don’t still hate me for it?”
“I never h—”
“Yes, you did. Don’t try to deny it. You didn’t talk to me for years after that night.”
He swallows so hard I can see it in his throat. “It wasn’t that I hated you. I was terrified you’d think I was into you, so I went to extreme lengths to make sure you didn’t. I was… I didn’t want a repeat of that night any more than you did.”
“Oh.” I think about that, breathing deeply.
“Have you been upset about that all this time?” He’s now shooting me a series of searching looks. “Is that why you don’t like me? Because you thought I was holding a grudge about that night?”
“I…” My voice breaks, so I take another slow breath, trying to compose my rattled emotions. “I thought I deserved it.”
“Damn it, Ella.”
He sounds impatient but not angry. I wait while he works through whatever internal struggle is conveyed in his tense jaw.
Finally he says, “I know you carry around the responsibility for everything in the world. I’ve watched you do it ever since your folks died.
But you are not allowed to carry around the responsibility for that.
You were a kid. So was I. Neither one of us handled it perfectly, but kids never do.
I never hated you for it, and I sure as hell don’t hate you today. ”
It’s the strangest feeling. Self-consciousness, as I always feel when a conversation becomes intensely personal, but so much more than that. Like a burden has finally slid off my back to crash forgotten on the ground.
And a flash of excitement too.
Another moment where it feels like the world has remade itself into something a little bit better.
“Okay,” I manage to say. “Okay. Thanks. I’m so— I mean, thanks.”
He chuckles, his face softening with amusement until it’s ridiculously attractive in a way Wes isn’t supposed to be. “So we’re okay?”
“Yeah. We’re okay.”
“And neither one of us hates the other?”
“No.”
“Good.” He appears to be smiling to himself as he turns the SUV onto another country road, this one heading north. “That will make it a lot easier to pretend we’re falling in love.”
The flea market is held once a month on a big empty lot just outside the county seat, and people drive in from hours away to attend.
The stands and tables are busy, and the aisles are crowded and loud. The air smells like fried food and vanilla and cut grass.
I’ve always liked attending. I usually go with one or more of my sisters, but I don’t mind being here with Wes today, especially after our conversation on the drive.
It almost feels fun. Like a game. One where we’re both on the same side.
We wander through the aisles with me inspecting merchandise and Wes wheeling a cart behind me and making a show of studying a tablet, as if we’re marking things off a list. We occasionally speak, but it’s only about business.
I pick out a number of cute outdoor garden accessories, and Wes dutifully sets each one on the cart. Then I head to some of the jewelry and clothing booths, taking my time as I browse through the pretty things and Wes grows visibly impatient.
Finally he makes a snide comment about wasting time, and I naturally take offense to the rudeness.
We have a silly little argument in hushed tones that I’m pretty sure is filmed by multiple phones until we “realize” that people are watching us and we walk away subdued and embarrassed.
We do a great job.
I’m sure it’s convincing.
I give him a poke like I’m blaming him for the scene.
He pulls away until he’s out of poking range.
I took my sweater off earlier since the sun is warm, but now I decide to put it back on. I get tangled up in the sleeves—this time not preplanned—and Wes reluctantly reaches over to help straighten it out and pull it up onto my shoulders.
Our eyes meet, and I give him a discreet nod.
We’ve done enough.
We provided more social media fodder.
So now we can leave.
“How long do you think all these crazies are going to be following us?” Wes asks as he maneuvers his way out of the makeshift parking lot on a grassy field and onto the road.
“There’s no telling. But social media is fickle, so they’re going to find something else to care about soon, I’m sure.”
“Hopefully not too soon.”
“I know. I figure if we can at least get the rest of the year scheduled out with events at the new higher prices, we’ll be okay.”
“Yes. That should be enough to pay down the debt to manageable levels. If we can start filling out next year, that will be even better.”
“We might be able to. Natalie’s been working her butt off with all the tours and showings, and she said most of them end up scheduling an event. We’re already booking late summer for smaller events, and we’ve got at least one wedding every weekend until winter.”
“Good. Surely we can hold on to attention for a couple more weeks and fill out the rest of this year’s schedule.”
“And Natalie said once interest wanes, we can announce our engagement and she thinks she can get some influencers and magazines to cover the wedding-prep stuff. She’s pretty sure we can hold on to the publicity for at least three months.”
“It will have to be a whirlwind engagement to have it move so fast.”
“Yeah, but that could be romantic. We’ve known each other all our lives, so people might think it’s realistic. And honestly, who cares if some people are dubious? We need their attention. We don’t need them all to adore us.”
“True.” He shrugs. “I guess we’ll see. I’m starving. You want to stop at Leo’s for burgers?”
“Sure. I’m hungry too.”
Leo’s is a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on the side of the road we’re taking home. The decor and ambiance are rather gritty, but the food has always been good as long as you choose one of three meals.
As we’re eating our burgers and fries half an hour later, Natalie sends me a link.
It’s a recently posted reel that’s already going viral. As I watch the eight seconds of edited video, I snicker.
“Show me.”
I hand him my phone so he can see the nicely arranged quick cuts of him pulling up my sweater on three different occasions (including this afternoon at the flea market), set to a cute, trendy love song.
“Where do people even find the time for this nonsense?”
“They’re just having fun. It’s a kind of communal entertainment.”
“Except it’s not real community. It just feels that way.”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter for our purposes. The more people post silly things like that about us, the better. It’s like they’re shipping a couple from a TV show.”
“Except it’s real life.”
“Stop being such a downer. This is working for us, so it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t exemplify prime social health.”
He laughs breathily at that as he passes the phone back.
I watch the reel again. It’s really well done. The way the small gestures are included in repetition makes it feel romantic. Intimate. Even Wes’s face looks kind of swoony as he straightened my sweater back at the flea market.
I’ve never in my life considered Wes to be in any way swoony, so it’s a startling and uncomfortable sentiment. I’m flushed as I put my phone away.
Wes has been watching me watch the reel. “It’s make-believe,” he says softly.
“I know.”
“So don’t start getting all weird and embarrassed with me again.”
That snaps me right out of my self-consciousness. I give him a cool glare. “I’m not weird and embarrassed.”
“Good.” His mouth twitches slightly.
Ridiculously, the expression makes me want to smile too.