“Let’s go.” Whitney gives me no chance to decline before taking my hand and dragging me out there with her. The four of us line up in front of our table, on the other side of the guard rail. I appreciate that she’s considerate enough to stick to the back of the pack, because without a doubt, I’m about to embarrass us all. Won’t be long before she’s questioning her own judgment in bringing me here.
“I have no clue what I’m doing,” I warn.
“Follow my lead,” she says, hooking her thumbs through her belt loops and bouncing in place to the beat. Her smile is radiant and her energy infectious.
Being the nut that I am, I tuck my thumbs in my front pockets and hula hoop my hips while waiting for the actual dancing to begin. The sound of my girl’s laughter spurs me on. I’m so busy acting the ass that I completely miss the start of the dance.
“They show no mercy,” Beau laughs, when I’m damn near bowled over by a line of dancers. “Just move. You’ll eventually pick up on the steps.”
“Front, front,” Whit sings, tapping the heel of her boot out in front of her. “Back, back,” she says, swinging it back and this time tapping the toe twice. “Cross in front, cross in back.” She follows along, slapping her ankles while explaining what she’s doing with every step. “This way,” she shouts, spinning and crisscrossing this way and that.
Just as soon as I start to get the hang of it, they go switching shit up on me, and we’re trading places with the people in front of us.
“You’re a damn idiot,” Beau shouts when I give up on the steps altogether in favor of a little freestyling.
My date doesn’t seem to mind my improvising. It’s obvious she’s in her element, not missing a beat. I, on the other hand, miss more than I hit, constantly catching myself staring at the woman.
She’s beautiful in any light. But the way she looks right now—so playful and carefree? Well, she’s positively magnetic.
“You did great!” she huffs, out of breath as we make our way back to the table.
“You’re a shit liar,” I say. Feeling emboldened by her flirtation this evening, I give her a firm swat to the ass. “But it was fun.”
She looks up at me from under her makeup-darkened lashes as she slips out of her jacket, draping it over her chair, leaving her in a pale pink sleeveless top with a deliciously low cut neckline.
My mouth waters as I drink her in. I’m entranced as her ample cleavage rises and falls, glistening with a sheen of sweat beneath the lights—her every labored breath has me catching my own. That flush in her cheeks and the sexy smile she can’t seem to wipe from her face have me fighting the urge to take her in my arms…to slide my tongue—
“I need the bathroom,” Kate blurts, interrupting the eye-fucking that was likely becoming a bit awkward for our company.
I adjust myself discretely, because hell, now I’m uncomfortable as well.
“You know where it is,” Whit says, catching a heated glare from her best friend.
“I’ll just go with her,” she amends, giving my hand a squeeze before the two of them disappear into the crowd.
“So…”
I raise my brows at my cousin’s not-so-subtle intrusion into my business.
“What’s the deal with you and Whitney? You seem a bit cozier than y’all were the last time we got together. Don’t think we didn’t see that ass slap.” He laughs. “It’s no doubt what prompted that little visit to the ladies’ room.”
I puff up with pride. “I been telling your ass for years—the ladies can’t refuse my charm.”
He laughs, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “How serious have things gotten?”
“Not serious at all.”
He nods, taking a swig from the beer he’s been nursing since we arrived. “But you want it to be?”
I gnaw on my lip, a little afraid to speak my desires into existence. “Yeah,” I finally confess. “I think I just might.”
My admission brings on a brief silence. If Beau’s still talking, I’m not paying a lick of attention.
“Be right back,” I say, not even sticking around for a response before rushing off to put in a special request with the DJ before the ladies return.
When I return to the table they’re still not here, and I start wondering what happens inside women’s bathrooms that takes so long.
“Hey!” Whitney’s greeting has me nearly falling off my stool.
I take a moment to right myself then sling an arm around her neck. “Hey yourself, beautiful.”
She sets a beer on a cocktail napkin in front of me. “Thought you could use a drink.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a swig. “But I’m switching to water after this.”
Her eyes widen.
“Miss Priss,” is my only explanation.
She bursts out laughing. “My kid’s such a buzzkill.”
“She’s wise beyond her years.” I tip her chin, staring into her baby blues. “You’re doing an excellent job raising her. I’m a better man for knowing her already.”
Her throat moves with a hard swallow, and her eyes begin to glaze over. “Dance with me?” she rasps, squeezing my bicep in her tiny hand.
“That’s not how this works.”
Her head jerks back, brows furrowed.
“A gentleman always asks a lady to dance.”
Her face splits into a dimpled smile. “Another one of your Mimi’s lessons in chivalry?”
I nod.
“Well, you’d better hurry. They only play a few slow songs before the line dancin’ starts up again. Beau and Kate are already out there.”
“Patience,” I whisper placing a placating finger at her lips. “Our song’s next.”
“Our song?” she gasps. “Wyatt Landry, what did you do? We don’t have a—”
“May I have this dance?” I ask, rising from my seat just as Perfect Stranger’s “You Have the Right to Remain Silent” begins filtering through the speakers.
“Thought you’d never ask…”
With her trembling hand in mine, I lead her out to the floor, give her a quick twirl, and pull her body flush with mine. Her arms lace around my neck, her fingers threading into my hair while I splay one across her back, resting the other at her waist.
My heart lurches as I whisper the lyrics into her ear, each one piercing it with truths. “So many times, my eyes have held you. Tonight, please give my arms that chance,” I croon.
“Wyatt,” she starts.
“Shhh.” I push her hair back from her face, brushing my lips over hers. “Just listen.”
She rests her head against my chest, her arms tightening around my neck while I sing into her ear about remaining silent and allowing our hearts to do the talking while we dance.
By the end of the song, something’s shifted between us. I can’t quite put my finger on what exactly, but her gaze suddenly burns hotter and lingers a little longer. Every touch is slightly more intimate and purposeful.
All I know is it feels like I’m finally making my way out of the friend zone, and absolutely nothing could thrill me more.
The front door swings open before my fist has even met with the weathered wood to knock, revealing a freshly showered Wyatt. “Y’all made it!”
I greet him with a smile, allowing myself a quick second to catalog his appearance beginning with his still damp hair and piano key smile surrounded by a couple days-old scruff. Today’s tee is gray and fitted with a V-neck. He’s traded his usual worn denim for black and gray tapered Adidas track pants. His feet are bare, and ridiculously hot. Because of course they are. Why am I even surprised that the least flattering body part in existence is drool worthy on this man? He hit the genetics jackpot for sure. I mean, is one crooked toe too much to ask for?
“Barely,” Prissy complains, drawing me from my examination. She rolls her eyes at me in dramatic fashion before slipping past Wyatt, right into his house, like she owns the place.
That girl…
“Hey.” I shift my weight from foot to foot, tryin
g to determine how embarrassed I should be by his demeanor. Acid rolls in my tummy, serving as a reminder of the potentially poor choices I might’ve made last night at the bar. I’m not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse that I can’t seem to recall a huge portion of the evening before. Definitely blaming the extra Crown Kate put in my first drink. And my second. And third. “Sorry about last night,” I offer, erring on the side of caution. Judging by the hangover I’m suffering this morning, I’m sure I did something to warrant it. “I don’t get out much, and I guess I went a bit overboard on the alcohol.”
“Why are you apologizing?” He drops back, ushering me inside. “I had a blast.”
As I step around him and take a deep inhale to calm my nerves, I get a whiff of Irish Spring soap and coffee. Always coffee. My stomach begins to settle at the comforting aroma.
With a timid smile, I cross my arms over my chest as I take a stroll around his quaint kitchen, absorbing all the details, like the floral wallpaper that’s starting to peel at the corners and thick wood trim surrounding the doors and framing the bay window above the sink. “I think I did too…”
“You don’t remember?”
“Bits and pieces,” I admit. Flashes of riding home with my head hanging out the window of his truck fill me with mortification. Momma had to help me scrub the chunks from my hair when I stumbled in last night at a quarter past two. She was still making fun of me when she literally had to haul my ass out of bed this morning by my ankles. I fully anticipate her bringing it up for the rest of my life. “I kind of blacked out after the Electric Slide…until the ride home, that is.”
“Ouch.” He winces, covering a smile. “That was pretty brutal.”
“Yeah. If I had to forget anything, why couldn’t it have been that part?”
“It’s fine,” he assures me. “Happens to all of us at some point.”
“Prissy thinks I was just sick,” I mutter, foolishly believing she won’t be able to hear me from the living room.
“I ain’t stupid,” she says, her and the mutt both popping their heads through the doorway. “I know you got drunk.”
I stand there, slack-jawed, while she pauses to love on the dog, totally oblivious to her own rudeness. “Anyway, Paw said it was okay because you are a grown-ass woman and you had a designated driver, so I have to let it go.”
“Paw’s right. And you’d do well to stay out of adult conversation. And mind your mouth, please.”
She shrugs. “I heard my name. If you’re talkin’ ‘bout me, that makes it my business.”
“Hey Miss Priss,” Wyatt interrupts with a perfectly timed distraction. “Rufus has a basket of toys next to the fireplace. I’m sure he’d love for you to take him out back and play fetch.”
Thank you, I mouth when my little demonling takes his suggestion, hauling off at a sprint. “Still think I’m doing a great job?” I ask, echoing his sentiment from last night.
“I know it.” He pours us each a cup of coffee, adding two creams and two sugars to mine, just the way I like it. Wyatt motions for me to follow before setting them both on the table. “You look like you could use this.”
After pulling out my chair, he takes the one across from it. “Thanks.”
“That kid is confident…loved…free to express herself. Not to mention smart as a whip.”
The corners of my lips pull up in a smile. “You forgot willful, sassy…”
His grin vanishes. “Why do you do that?” he asks, running his pointer finger around the rim of his mug while staring at the black liquid like it holds the answer to his question.
“Why do I do what?”
“Keep trying to scare me off of her.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving me winded. “Do I?”
He nods, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “Constantly.”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” My eyes well with tears. Being called out on my parenting is a soft spot. “It’s true what they say, you know? That when you hear something enough you start to believe it…”
“And what is it you’re hearing?”
I sigh, fighting the urge to let the blasted tears fall. “I let her get away with too much… That I should be treating her more like a child and less like a friend…” I clear my throat. “She spends too much time around death.”
“Who’s telling you these things?”
“Her school. Other parents. Sometimes they say they’re just concerned, other times they try to play it off as a joke.” I shrug, taking a sip from my mug. “I just had her so young, you know? The truth is, I think she’s perfect just the way she is, and I could never be with anyone who didn’t feel the same. The way you accept her, quirks and all… Well,” I sigh. “It just seems too good to be true.”
“You’re testing me?”
I consider his suggestion for a moment before answering with a nod. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Wyatt flops back in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head. The movement causes his shirt to ride up, revealing a delectable sliver of abs and happy trail. “Well?”
“Well, what?” My face flushes. I can tell by his lopsided smirk that he knows exactly what I’ve gotten distracted by.
“How am I doing?”
“To be determined.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.” After a brief silence, he slaps both hands down on the table and rises to his feet. “You ready?”
“For?”
“To tour your future residence, of course.”
I choke on my drink. “Your confidence has gotten out of control.”
“Listen, when you know, you know.”
I grip the arms of my chair and stare up at him. “And what is it you think you know?”
“We fit.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact while reaching for my hand.
The sky is blue. The grass is green. Wyatt and Whitney are meant to be.
His declaration has me frozen in place, unsure of how to respond—too smitten to ruin whatever is happening between us with an outright denial, yet still too leery to agree.
“It’s okay,” he says with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ll keep that bit of info classified till you come to the same realization.” His head motions to the back yard, where my daughter is squealing with laughter, having the time of her life with Rufus. “This doesn’t have to go further than us.”
“You’re something else,” I say, finally placing my hand in his outstretched palm and allowing him to lead me from the room.
“I like you, Whit.” He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to waste another second pretending otherwise. You have every reason to be cautious.” He leans down kissing the top of my head. “I have time. I just want to be sure you know where I stand. No crossed signals. No games.”
“This feels really serious all of a sudden,” I hedge, stepping down into the massive living area behind him.
“Of course it’s serious. I’d never play games with anyone’s affections. Least of all a child’s.”
His transparency is a breath of fresh air. I can’t help but to envision us sharing the space, like he suggested, as he begins pointing out the changes he’s made thus far—stripping and staining the original wood floors, removing the wallpaper and replacing it with sheetrock, and a few coats of light caramel paint. The fireplace has been completely redone with repurposed brick that gives off just the right vibe, keeping with the age of the house. The mantle is a thick cedar plank, stained to match the beams in the ceiling.
“This is incredible” I say, running a hand over the mantle, pausing at the lone framed photograph in the center. “Is this your family?”
“Yeah,” he says, joining me. “Mimi had it framed on the one-year anniversary of the accident and hung it in my bedroom above my dresser. Stayed there til the day I left. I haven’t done much decorating in here yet,” he offers, running a thumb along my spine. “I’ll save that part for you.”
I stuff an el
bow into his ribs. His responding laugh is hearty and genuine.
“That picture is the only thing I needed to make this place feel like home.”
His admission brings a smile to my face. “That’s you?” I point to the little boy with a mop of cotton white shoulder-length curls. He’s wearing a white and blue striped button down with matching navy bowtie. Cuteness overload.
He nods.
“Aww. You were adorable.”
“Were?” he mocks, smoothing a hand over his chest, standing tall and proud. “Dare I say, some things never change?”
“You really shouldn’t be so modest, Wyatt.” I wink. “You might want to consider therapy. I’d hate for your lack of self-esteem to lead to depression.”
“If I were any less depressed, I’d fart glittery rainbows.”
“Now that’s a visual,” I giggle, shaking my head.
He touches a finger to the toddler in his mother’s arms once our laughter has fizzled out. “Her name was Annie.”
She is an absolute doll, in her pink frilly dress and huge matching bow. Her hair’s a golden blonde and her skin porcelain white, but for a rosy hue on her cheeks. I can’t quite tell if it’s natural or an added affect. Either way, she’s so perfect, it’s hard to believe she was real.
The professional in me goes right to work painting the scene of the funeral, planning it all out in my head. Her little coffin on display between the two larger ones that would’ve held his parents. I’m gutted by the visual and trying desperately not to let it show.
“How old was she?”
“In this picture? Eighteen months. It was taken at my grandparents’ house the Christmas before we lost them. She’d just turned two a few weeks before the accident.”
A huge lump forms in my throat, and the urge to wrap my arms around that four-year-old little boy who lost his entire world in an instant is overwhelmingly strong. “Life can be so cruel.”
“That it can, mon chérie.” My dear.
Wyatt’s getting awful comfortable with me as of late. I can’t say the term of endearment doesn’t set off a flutter in my chest, leaving me feeling both flattered and admittedly a little uneasy. It’s been so long since I’ve truly entertained any man’s attention.
Mourning Wood Page 9
