Page 80 of Wedding or Not

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?”