“Did they name you, or is Westley the name your birth parents gave you?”
“My birth parents named me Cassius,” he reluctantly admits.
My nose scrunches up, and when Westley looks over at me, he barks out a laugh. “Yeah, they didn’t like it either. What are your parents’ names?”
I turn back to my phone, scrolling through the list of questions Westley curated for us that we’ve been slowly getting through over the past few weeks, so we sound like a real couple. “They’re not in the picture, so you don’t need to know their names.” I see him nod out the corner of my eye, his fingers flexing around the gear shift. “What’s your love language?”
“Quality time, for sure. And, I guess, acts of service. You?”
My foot bounces as I think back on all the time I’ve been spending with Westley, and all the things I know about myself over time, the things I want. The things I’m missing. “Quality time for me, too. And… I think physical touch.” Suddenly, my core is pulsing, and the cab of his ute feels smaller. Has he been this close the whole time?
I push on the button to crack the window down a bit and let in some fresh air.
“Physical touch.” There’s a breathiness to his words. “Noted.”
We stay silent for a long stretch of the drive after that. Westley turns up the music, and we keep the conversation light and easy.
Just before two p.m., we pull onto a gravel road. Each side is lined with trees, creating a canopy overhead of filtered sunlight, and just beyond that are fields of green. Rows upon rows of neatly placed bushes as far as the eye can see.
“What kind of farm do they have?” I ask.
Westley mentioned it was on the groom’s family property, but I assumed it would be cattle or pigs. Someone says farm, and my mind goes toOld McDonald, but all I see is what looks like a very extensive garden.
“It’s a berry farm.”
I gasp. “They have whole farms for berries?” Westley laughs at my stunned expression. “Did you go to high school around here?”
Westley shakes his head, slowing the car as we approach the end of the driveway, coming to a fork in the road. “Crew lived in Heart City during his teens. He moved after his parents split, but he came back here about ten years ago to work with his dad.”
A wooden sign ahead points left for the farm and café, while another points right for accommodation. Beside it sits a chalkboard, dressed up with little white flowers sayingCrew & Vera’s Wedding,pointing in the same direction as the accommodation.
Westley turns right, and my mind starts spinning with nerves. We’ve gotten to know each other well enough over the past few weeks. We’re comfortable around each other in a way I never expected. Without this need to fake things, I probably would never have allowed myself to get this close to him. But that’s not what I’m worried about. While we’re here for the wedding, we’re meant to be sharing a room. I really hope there’s a couch, like Westley assumes, cos I’m not sure how we’re going to go if we have to sharea bed.
***
Spoiler alert… there’s no couch.
Westley and I stand side by side, staring at what I’m sure is only a double bed.
“I’ll just grab an extra blanket and sleep on the floor,” Westley sputters. I don’t know if it’s because he thinks I’m freaking out about the one bed, or if he is.
“West, that’s silly, you should take the bed.” I glance up at him briefly, then cross to the side of the room to dump my bag on the bench under the window. “I bet I’ve slept on floors and other questionable surfaces far more than you. My back can handle it.”
An antique cupboard stands beside the window. I pull open the doors and find extra pillows and a pile of thick, soft blankets.
“Ah, look! This will be perfect.” I start pulling out the blankets when a heavy hand lands on mine.
“Absolutely not,” West says, his eyes turning dark and stormy. “I’m not sleeping on the bed while you sleep on the floor.”
“Well, back at ya.” I cross my arms over my chest, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
We stare at each other until West blows out a breath, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Why don’t we just share the bed? We’re only sleeping, for God’s sake.”
I think a whole minute passes before I blink again. I look past West, back at the narrow bed in question.
“It’s a really small bed,” I whisper.
“We’ll put a few pillows in between us. Plus, with all the driving today and how late the wedding will go, I bet we pass out the second our heads hit the pillows anyway.”
