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I siton one of the decks with Weston’s parents as he puts Daisy to bed. I offered to do it, but he insisted, his threat from dinner lingering.
“So, are you from Chicago originally?” Alec asks as I sip a small glass of Prosecco, the warm night breeze on my face.
“I am, born and raised.”
“Are your parents still in the city?”
“No, my mother passed away and—”
“Oh, that’s tragic. I’m so sorry,” she interrupts.
I smile awkwardly because I never know what to say when I tell people that and they respond like that. “Thanks, and my dad lives in Florida now.”
“Ah,” Alec says, nodding his head, “the retirement life.”
I look at Alec’s profile. Strangely, Weston looks nothing like his father who is shorter and squat, his barrel chest and broad shoulders making him appear larger than he is. Weston is tall and lean like his mom and has her eyes but not her blond hair, which if I had to guess is probably from a salon anyway.
I don’t have to turn around to know that Weston has joined us; I can hear the ice in his glass as he steps over the threshold behind me.
“Are you married, kid?”
“Jesus, Dad,” he says.
“Uh, no, I’m not.”
“Why not? A beautiful young woman like you should have a husband and kids by now. How old are you?” Weston lets out an exasperated sigh, but I don’t take his father’s comments personally. I know it’s an old-school way of thinking.
“I’m twenty-seven. I was engaged previously but unfortunately, he passed away before the wedding so obviously, we couldn’t get married.” I say it with a weird smile—I can feel it on my face—but it’s because it’s such a depressing answer. I guess I could have just said because I haven’t metthe oneyet, but I like people knowing about Carson. It might make them uncomfortable but it’s not a part of my past I’m ashamed of or will hide.
“You poor thing.” His mother clutches her chest. “You’ve dealt with so much loss.”
I see Weston out of the corner of my eye staring out over the water. I know he understands the feeling of loss. I want to reach my hand out and grab his, but I don’t.
“Well, I think I’m going to retire early tonight. Been a long day. I’ve appreciated the conversation and company. Have a good night.”
“Good night,” his parents say in unison, but Weston doesn’t say a word.
I walk inside, heading downstairs and through the hallway. I wash my face, applying a heavy layer of moisturizer, and brush my teeth. I remove my dress and root through my luggage, trying to find my pajamas, but I don’t see them.
“Shit, are you serious?” I pull everything out, going through it again, but I still can’t find them. I refold my clothes, placing them in the chest of drawers, and open the armoire to hang up my dress. There’s a single white Oxford hanging in it. I run my hand over it, glancing over my shoulder as if anyone would be in my room with me.
I reach up and slide the shirt off the hanger, slipping it up my arms. I’m almost finished buttoning it when a voice from behind startles me.
“What are you doing?”
My head snaps up. “I forgot my pajamas,” I blurt out as I turn around to see Weston standing in my doorway, one shoulder leaning against it. He’s changed into his pajamas, a pair of black pants and a black t-shirt. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes scan me, then he presses off the doorframe to walk toward me. He hooks his finger beneath my chin, his expression almost cold. “Take it off.”
“Sorry,” I say again as I begin to fumble with the buttons. I realize it must seem weird to see me wearing his shirt, even after this afternoon.
Maybe this was his wife’s favorite shirt of his or something.
When I reach the last button, he spins me around to face away from him before pulling the shirt slowly down my arms and tossing it onto the bed. I’m left standing in just my underwear. I cross my arms over my naked chest. He drags the back of his fingers down my spine slowly until he reaches the top of my ass.
“Guess I was wrong,” he mutters, hooking his finger in the waistband of my panties. “I didn’t peg you as a thong girl.” I don’t respond and he removes his hand quickly. I hear a slight rustling and feel his arm gently graze my back. I look over my shoulder at him and see him pulling his shirt over his head.
“Arms up,” he says and I obey, lifting my arms up as he pulls his t-shirt down over my arms and head. “That will be way more comfortable.” He pulls my hair to the side, planting a featherlight kiss against my neck.
