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“Oh, that’s right,” I recall. “Are you guys close?”
“We were when we were younger. Not so much anymore. He’s a few years older, and we hardly see each other these days.”
“Is this you?” I ask, picking up a framed photograph of a young boy holding up a small fish proudly. I know it is. The little kid has the same eyes and dimpled smile as the grown-up Wes standing in front of me.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Who’s this?” I ask, pointing to the older man just visible behind him.
“My grandfather. He had this place built when my mom was little.”
“So she grew up coming here, too?”
“Yeah, she always wanted to move to Fayetteville, actually, but my dad said it was too important for his business to stay in the city. Guess her catching him with his secretary finally made him open to the idea.” Wes lets out a derisive snort, but I hear the underlying pain in his words.
I give him a sympathetic smile. “How come you moved to Alleghany, then?”
“She found a house she liked better there,” Wes replies.
“Huh.”
My use of Wes’s casual catchphrase doesn’t accurately convey how I’m feeling. I’m imagining how different—how much easier—my life would be if Weston Cole had moved to Fayetteville instead of Alleghany.
Wes follows my train of thought. “Yeah.” He sighs.
We rarely discuss the rivalry anymore. Not because it’s become any less a part of our relationship—the exact opposite. Every piece of myself I give to Wes is a part I lose elsewhere.
It was one thing to talk to Wes, to confide in him. A mistake, but a minor one. A forgivable one.
Kissing him? I know everyone in Glenmont would consider it a betrayal. Treason. Even Brooke and Sarah, despite their repeated comments about Wes’s attractiveness.
Having feelings—serious, fathomless—feelings toward him? Inexplicable.
And can only end badly.
“There a bathroom in this place?” I need a minute. Away from his knowing blue eyes.
“Yeah, through the kitchen to the left.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
I head toward the kitchen, barely registering the decor through the rest of the cabin. The building extends back further than I estimated. I pass two bedrooms before I come to the bathroom; I realize why when I enter the bathroom. I look out the window into a grove of pines. It gives the impression of being inside a treehouse, which I realize was probably the architect’s intent.
I go to the bathroom, and then study my reflection in the mirror above the sink as I wash my hands. I look the same as always. Blonde hair, green eyes, smattering of freckles. My straight hair’s a little more mussed than usual, which I blame on the wind I can hear howling outside. Wes’s hands also probably deserve some blame.
I don’t look any different. But I feel different.
Something changed between Wes and me in the car earlier. Aside from the obvious. I didn’t realize how much I trust Wes. How the original attraction and fascination between us has hardened, deepened into emotions I’ve never felt.
Maybe my brazen actions started as a way to prove something to myself—as a way to mark my claim. But I wouldn’t have followed through unless I trusted Wes. Fully. Not just believed he was a good person—believed he would keep what I told him in confidence—but really trusted him.
I’m in deep with Weston Cole. I’ve known it for months, and I think I knew there was the potential for this when we first talked in the woods almost two and a half years ago.
Before he told me about his dad.
Before I told him about mine.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. You can’t love someone, really love them, just based on how they look. You love someone based on their dreams, their character, their hopes, how they make you feel. But I do believe you can spot potential at first sight. Because I had an inkling Weston Cole had the potential to implode my cautious, predictable world from that moment in the woods, long before I had any real reason to suspect he might.
