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Well, I guess we’ll see about that.
Chapter 12
TESSA
On the way out of town, Wesley is weirdly quiet, but that’s fine with me. I wasn’t lying about being exhausted.
Maybe it was the adrenaline rush after finding the mannequin in the shower that sapped the last of my energy. Or maybe it was Wes’s “Darcy thought she was pregnant” speech that stomped my will to live into a soggy puddle on the bathroom floor.
I should be used to conversations like that by now. They happen all the time, especially in my current friend group.
Hanging out with people five to ten years younger than I am is great for keeping me out on the town and up to date on the most recent slang, but not so great when it comes to avoiding mentions of pregnancy. Someone is always getting knocked up. It feels like I’m bombarded by baby bellies on a daily basis. It doesn’t help that my boss is pregnant, and we cater at least four or five baby showers a month.
But I’ve known I can’t have children for a while, since I was thirty-five and saved for months to freeze my eggs, only to learn that wasn’t a viable option for me. I should be used to being on the outside looking in by now.
Usually, I am.
But everything feels so raw.
My body, my brain, my heart…
I can’t have a week of no-strings-attached sexy times with Wesley. I don’t know what I was thinking. The way he ran to my rescue and instantly took charge of ensuring the safety of my home was enough to make me long for more than a brief, friends-with-benefits situation. If I actually shared his bed for a week, if I gave in, let down my walls, and let our natural chemistry take over, I’d be head over heels in no time.
And that’s the last thing I need.
I’ve already wasted too much of my life trying to make things work with the wrong man or pining for the one who got away. If Nate had tried to hump my leg at a wedding last spring, I might have gone running back to him. (I didn’t know about the cheating with his art student part back then.)
Deep down in my lonely core, for the longest time, I would rather have been with a guy who’d ghosted me for months like an emotionally stunted jerk than keep tucking myself into bed alone.
But things are different now. I still don’t love being alone, but I’m getting used to it. With Freya’s help, I’m learning to divert my longing for romantic love into healthier outlets. I love my precious pet, my friends, my friends’ kids, and my Saturday morning hiking group. I love cozy nights on my couch, good books in the sun in my backyard, and the freedom to spend my weekend baking in my hideous green onesie pajamas that make me look like Oscar the Grouch’s little sister.
There’s peace in letting go and freedom in accepting the present moment in all its beautiful imperfection.
“But not this much imperfection,” I mutter with a yawn, rubbing at my itchy eyes as Wesley merges onto the highway headed south.
“What’s that?” he asks, glancing my way.
I shake my head. “Nothing.” I fight another yawn and lose the battle. “Sorry, I can’t stop yawning. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.”
“Then go grab a nap in back,” he says. “I don’t mind.”
“No, I’ll help you stay awake until we find a place to park.”
“It’s fine, I’m not sleepy,” he says. “And if I get tired, I can always pull over.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” I press, old trauma raising its head. I’ve been in a situation like this before, with a man who wanted to keep driving when he was tired, and it ended about as horribly as that sort of thing can.
But Wesley isn’t that man, a fact he proves when he says, “Absolutely. If my eyes get the slightest bit heavy, I’ll pull over at a rest stop. I won’t put you or Freya at risk, and I’m not keen on dying myself.” He nods toward the back again. “Go ahead. Get some rest. Might as well take advantage of the fact that we have a rolling apartment on wheels.”
I glance over my shoulder, where Freya is still snoozing away, resting up from our big night. “All right but wake me if you need moral support. I can sing 99 Bottles of Beer until we find somewhere to park.”
He arches a brow. “That sounds horrible.”
“I know. That’s the point. Once you’ve reached a certain level of exhaustion, only horrible things can keep you awake. I could also slap you repeatedly across the face with a rubber chicken, but I forgot to pack mine in all the rush.”
“Noted. I’ll keep an eye out for rubber chickens when we stop for supplies.” His gaze slides my way, making my heart beat faster as he adds in a softer voice, “Enjoy your nap.”
“Thanks, I’ll try.” I unbuckle and make my way to the back of the camper, where a comfy-looking queen-size bed hides behind a privacy curtain.
