Chapter 26
Five minutes later, I’m knocking on the front door to Jake’s cottage.
It’s when I hear motion from inside that I realize I didn’t even check my hair. I pulled it into two loose braids earlier, so whatever it looks like, it’s not what I would choose for encountering Wes.
Too late now. The door is swinging open, and Jake is blinking at me gruffly.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I mean, I wanted to see Wes.”
Jake makes a grimace. “He’s…”
It’s clear he’s trying to come up with an excuse and isn’t good at it. Now I’m not just worried. I’m hurt. But I say hoarsely, “I’m sorry if he doesn’t want to see me for some reason, but he hasn’t replied to me all day. So if he wants to blow me off, tell him to buck up and do it to my face.”
My outburst clearly surprises Jake. He breaks into husky, startled laughter. “It’s not like that. You should know better. He’s being an idiot, and I’ve told him that, but you might as well go and tell him too. He’s up in the loft.”
I have no idea what’s happening here, but it can’t be as bad as I feared. I follow Jake inside and then start to climb the stairs to the loft.
Jake calls out loudly from behind me, “Make sure you’re decent, Wes. Your wife is coming up!”
“What? Tell her to stay downstairs.”
I huff indignantly. “I’m not staying downstairs. Jake told me to come up.”
“He doesn’t get to—”
Wes breaks off as I step into the loft.
The scene is not anything I would expect.
He’s been in bed but has pulled off the covers and is halfway to a sitting position. He’s wearing old pajama pants and a worn T-shirt from a music festival seven years ago. His hair is a mess, and there’s a pallor to his skin beneath his tan.
“Are you sick?” I ask, hurrying over. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m not sick,” he grumbles, aiming a cool glare at me.
“You were in bed, and you look terrible.”
“Thanks a lot.”
I sit down next to him on the side of the bed. “Wes, this is ridiculous. What the hell is going on? Tell me right now.”
He sighs loudly and rubs at his face. Then makes an attempt to smooth down his rumpled hair. “Damn it. What are you even doing here?”
“I’m here because you ignored me all day, and I couldn’t make sense of it.”
“So you got mad?” There’s a hint of a smile now, and it’s like greeting an old friend.
“No. I didn’t get mad. I got worried. I thought something was wrong, and I was obviously right.”
He lets out a soft groan and straightens up, dropping his hands and turning toward me. “I’m sorry. But it was embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” I’m feeling better. This can’t be too bad, not if he’s acting and explaining it like this. But I’m still bewildered. “What’s embarrassing?”
He groans again and takes a few breaths, visibly willing himself to just say it. “I had a lot of work to do this morning, so I got to my office space early. You know how it is. It’s a really small space, and there’s not really room for more than one person.”
“Yes. I know it. What happened?”
“Mrs. Peterson came by.”
Mrs. Peterson has been the town manager since we were children, and we’ve never called her by her first name. She’s a classy, intimidating lady in her late sixties with perfectly coiffed hair and meticulous skirt suits.
“What did she do?”
“Nothing. Just be her normal self. I usually know to avoid her in the mornings, but she invited herself into my office and then closed the door to talk.”
“I don’t understand.” I’m frowning now. “Did she make a move on you or something?”
“Christ, can you imagine?” He huffs slightly, staring at the floor.
“No, no. She’s always perfectly well behaved.
But she… she douses herself with perfume, and I can’t be anywhere close to her until after lunch.
But there she was, dripping with perfume, trapping me in that small space with her. And I couldn’t get rid of her.”
“Oh. Oh my God. So the perfume bothers you?”
“It triggers my migraines.”
Understanding floods me now with relief (for me) and sympathy (for him).
“Oh no! You had a migraine all day? Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t even know you get migraines!”
“I don’t normally. I almost never do. The only thing that does it is strong perfume or cologne, and I’ve always been able to avoid it. If I catch even a whiff of it, I make a quick escape.”
“I had no idea.” I’m gaping at him, trying to wrap my mind around this new fact about him.
“I know you didn’t. You’ll never know how grateful I am that you don’t wear perfume.”
“I’ve never really liked it. It feels like a foreign substance on my skin. But even if I did like it, I would have stopped for you.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles, still staring at the floor but shooting me a quick look.
“But I wouldn’t have known since you never bothered to tell me! So all day you’ve had this migraine and never let me know, so I was left thinking you were ignoring me all day.”
“I responded to your photo.”
“With an exclamation point. And nothing else all day.”
“I didn’t think you’d even notice.”
“Of course I noticed. I had a good time this weekend, and I thought you did too.”
“You know I did. Best weekend of my whole life.”
I gulp at his muttered admission. “So you should have said something.”
“It was embarrassing.”
“Why the hell was it embarrassing?”
“Because it feels stupid. To go into a collapse over a little perfume. I didn’t… I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
If it’s possible to be filled with exasperation and exhilaration at the same time, I am. “It’s a migraine. You can’t help that. Maybe I wanted to know. Maybe I could have helped.”
“How would you have helped?”
“I don’t know. I could have applied cold compresses or rubbed your feet or something.” There’s an edge of amusement in my tone, and he immediately picks up on it.
“Maybe you could have sung lullabies to me too.”
“Exactly. But you didn’t let me do anything, and you left me wondering if you were trying to blow me off.”
“What?” He stiffens. “You didn’t think that.”
“I did too.”
“How could you think that?”
“Because you didn’t say a word to me all day. What was I supposed to think?”
“You were supposed to know I’d never do that to you.”
“Okay.” I’m feeling kind of shy, so I drop my head and hide my face with a curtain of hair. “Well, if you want me to know that, you need to act on it. Don’t do this to me again.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry. I guess it was pretty stupid. In my defense, I was suffering from a migraine all day, and my mind wasn’t working at its best.”
“Is it still bad?” I ask, checking his face.
“No, it’s better. Whenever it hits, I have to come home and shut myself in a dark, silent room and try not to puke my guts out. But I do have rescue meds, and I took them soon enough not to get hit with the worst. But they knock me out for most of the day.”
“Well, I’d sympathize more with you if you didn’t give me a very bad day too, but I’m sorry you had to go through that. So it’s gone now?”
“Mostly. Just a little right behind my eye.”
“How strange. Can I get anything for you? Are you hungry?”
“A little. But I can’t eat much.”
“I could serve you tea and toast.” My mouth quivers.
He chuckles. “Sounds about right.”
We might have been joking, but I can’t think of anything that would sit better on a churny stomach, so I go downstairs and, with Jake’s help, fix him hot tea and toast with butter.
I bring it upstairs and get on the other side of the bed from him as he eats. We turn on the television and find an old movie to watch.
So it might not have been a great day, but the evening definitely makes up for it.