Page 97 of Level Up for Love

It’s less than three hours, but I recognize the signal for what it is: Stop. Let’s not get into this.

Something shifts for me. Lynn and Stuart and their pastel house fade slightly into the background, and suddenly Wesley is more in focus than ever before. I see the unease in the two wrinkles along his forehead, in the tightness at the corners of his eyes. It’s clear he hasn’t mentioned NEWT to his grandparents; Lynn certainly would have brought it up—or Wesley might have, in defense of himself.

Maybe he doesn’t want to let her down if he loses.

Or, as Shay suggested, maybe I haven’t reckoned with all he stands to gain if he wins. All of Wesley’s stakes are real, and mine…

Mine aren’t.

I stand stiffly. “Thanks for breakfast. It was delicious.” With my sour tone, it sounds the opposite.

We exchange tense goodbyes, but as Wesley and I grab his things and head out, I notice that he’s wearing a small pleased smile for the first time this morning.

He’s going to hold this over my head for months, but for once, I can’t find it within myself to mind.

“That,” Wesley says, “was very sexy of you.”

I laugh as I toss my head to the side, nudging my bangs out of my eyes so I can see better. It’s a short road trip but an idyllic one. Driving up from Connecticut to Massachusetts was pretty enough, with handfuls of orange and brown leaves still clinging to the trees or lining the highway. But as we cross into Vermont and begin to climb the winding mountain roads, the view becomes breathtaking. Every time I start to think about moving elsewhere or trying something new, it’s always fall in New England that keeps me rooted where I am. Who would leave this? Who could?

Wesley’s the only thing that could get me to look away from this scene, and when I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, I’m rewarded with his signature half grin. He looks especially cozy today, wearing a dark navy knit sweater that hugs his shoulders and chest. He looks so good in it, I consider asking Mona to teach me how to knit so I can make him ten more.

“So was that…” I pause. I consider whether there’s a kinder way to ask this, but we’ve grown to appreciate each other’s bluntness. “Is that what all of Thanksgiving was like for you?”

“Yep.” I see a flash of teeth from Wesley, but I’m not sure if it’s a grin or a grimace.

“God, Wes. I’m sorry I didn’t come.”

I can’t imagine enduring several hours of Lynn’s condescension—thirty minutes was plenty for me—and I’m guiltily relieved I didn’t have to spend too much time navigating her implications about being her grandson’s “friend.” But if I’d realized how bad it would be for him…Maybe I would have come. Maybe I could have invited him to mine, at least.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it. Every year is pretty much the same.” He eyes me sidelong. “How was yours, though?”

“It was good. Kinda hectic, but cozy, y’know?”

It occurs to me then that he probably doesn’t.

Wesley reaches over the center console to casually lay his hand on my thigh. He’s learned that I won’t hold hands while driving, but this gesture is comforting. “What game did your dad run this year?” he asks.

“…What?”

His long lashes flutter for a second, and a wrinkle appears over the bridge of his nose. “You told me you played games with him every holiday. I assumed it was a tradition.”

Right. I forgot I’d told him that.

Sweet of him to remember—though I’m pricked with shame again to realize how little I know about his family or his own traditions.

“That was a long time ago,” I say slowly. “We haven’t spent—” I pause, clear my throat. “I haven’t seen my dad in years,” I admit. “My parents got divorced around the time I went to college.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” I say definitively. “It was for the best.”

Silence settles between us, free of any expectations or pressure. I watch the trees ahead sway in a sudden gust of wind that sets dozens of leaves spinning off of their branches.

Finally, Wesley asks, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

It’s been so long since I have talked about it, and I’m surprised to find that I do. And if I’m more open about these things…well.

Maybe we both can be.