Chapter Seventeen

“It was so good seeing you, Wes.” Lindsay hugged him tight, and he tried not to squirm. “I thought it was you, and I just happened to have my book with me…”

Dog-eared on the page where his hero kisses the character named Becky, a girl who was clearly on the rebound and just needed something to fill the void. Becky, who looks a lot like the curly-haired brunette he was trying to step away from now.

“What are you doing with yourself these days?” he asked when she finally set him free.

She batted her eyes, and her cheeks grew pink. “I finished nursing school. And Kevin and I are still together.” She flashed a ring. “Engaged, actually. He flipped when he read your book—when I showed him how much you wanted me, but I wouldn’t let you truly have me because I still loved him.”

Wes made a choking sound and looked around for Annie, hoping she was still unpacking stock in the supply room.

“I’m happy for you, Lindsay,” he said. And he meant it. But he also meant to end this exchange, like, now. He scratched the back of his head and looked longingly at the couch behind him. “I should really get back to work, though.”

She gasped. “Oh, of course. I’m meeting Kevin for dinner soon. I just wanted to thank you—and have you sign my book.” She winked. “Our book.” Then she backed away and out of the store.

Wes wiped his palms on his jeans and let out a nervous laugh. Who knew coming home could be so—confrontational? He dropped back down into the spot that had become his over the past few weeks.

The couch? Comfortable. The lighting? Perfect. The sugary sweet warmth of the apple cider sitting on the table next to his laptop?

The worst. Like, the absolute worst. This was no writer fuel. It wasn’t fuel at all. It was candy, and Wes didn’t do candy. Or sweet. Unless he was tasting it on Annie Denning’s tongue. That was a whole other story.

Annie materialized out of nowhere and plopped down on the couch perpendicular to his, picking up the now cooling cup.

“You hate it,” she said.

He was caught so off guard he wasn’t even going to try to lie.

“I really hate it.”

But he couldn’t stop smiling, especially not when Annie looked adorable in that green T-shirt that read reading is my superpower. It was cut so that whenever she reached for something on a high shelf, he caught a glimpse of the skin between the shirt’s hem and the top of her jeans. Not that she was reaching for anything right now. But he was imagining her reaching, and well—he was a writer. He could do a lot with his imagination. Plus, the shirt made those green eyes of hers even greener, and he got a little lost when he looked at them.

But he still hated the cider.

“I drink coffee, Annie. With nothing in it. Strong and bitter.”

She huffed out a breath. “That should be your author bio. Strong and bitter.”

He chuckled, then reached for her wrist and tugged her over to his couch. There were no patrons in or around the reading nook of Two Stories at the moment, and while he was enjoying the quiet time to write, he enjoyed this distraction even more.

She landed on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You could probably sue me for sexual harassment or something,” she said, nipping his bottom lip.

“Hmmmm,” he hummed. “I’m not your employee, so that probably wouldn’t hold up in court.” He nipped her right back, and she gasped. “Besides,” he added. “I tend to think of it as exceptional customer service rather than harassment.”

He licked her bottom lip, and she took in a sharp breath.

“Wes?” she asked, as they continued with not kissing but almost kissing, which was driving him out of his mind more than actual kissing might do.

“Annie?” he said, his voice raspy and deep.

“I think we should maybe—you know. We haven’t actually…”

God she was adorable when she was flustered, even more so when he was the one doing the flustering. He leaned back and crinkled his brow, feigning confusion. “We haven’t actually…what?” He bit back a grin.

She groaned. “Look, I’m not shy about this. It’s just different with us. We’ve done the whole naked thing and the orgasm thing, but we haven’t actually—”

“Tamed the one-eyed monster?” He spoke softly and raised a brow. She opened her mouth to continue, but he cut her off. “Tickled the pickle?”

“Wes…”

“Pillaged your castle? Slytherined your Hufflepuff? Opened the gates of Mordor?”

“Wes!” she cried, and an older woman’s head peeked out from behind a nearby bookshelf. Annie clapped her hand over her mouth, but tears were streaming down her cheeks as she stifled the sound of her laughter.

She whacked him on the shoulder.

“Mordor?” she whisper shouted. “You have simultaneously ruined both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings for me!”

He sighed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’d probably be Ravenclaw anyway, and you’d end up being Gryffindor. Ravenclaw your Gryffindor doesn’t sound as hot.”

“It sounds downright painful,” Annie said. She snorted, and the spying woman poked her head out from the shelf again.

This time the woman’s eyes locked on Wes’s, and recognition bloomed. He cleared his throat and gently slid Annie from his lap so he could stand.

“Mrs. Forster,” he said, striding toward the woman and holding out his hand.

But she swatted the hand away and wrapped him in an unexpected hug.

“I’ve known you all your life, Wesley. Cut the crap and call me Sarah.”

…

Annie didn’t want to eavesdrop, but Wes didn’t exactly invite her over to meet whoever this Sarah was. Other than walking straight past the two of them, there was no way out of the reading nook, the spot Wes had been coming to write on nearly all his free days for the past three weeks. Even Jeremy couldn’t question it since he’d been having spotty internet access at his place and Two Stories offered free wifi. It meant she could see Wes several times a week—in public—and not have her brother question it.

But now she was trapped in her own place of business. Tabitha was at the register, so Annie decided to straighten shelves and try not to listen.

“Does your father know you’re here?” the woman—Sarah—asked him.

Wes let out a long breath. “I tried to tell him I was coming home. Even called him from the road. But you know how he is.”

She sighed. “He’s your father, Wes. I think he’d like to know you’re in town. I read about the book signing a while back, but luckily your father didn’t see. How long have you been here?”

The tone in her voice told Annie that this woman knew Wes well, well enough to ask that question. Annie had known Wes needed a place to stay, but she didn’t know it was because he didn’t want to let his dad know he was home.

“A month,” he said, his tone flat.

Annie stilled in the long silence. Her back was to them, and she fought the urge to turn, but her resolve didn’t last long, not after Sarah spoke.

“Hasn’t he lost enough?” she asked. “He loved your mom, Wes. I did, too. And we all miss her. But if he knew you were so close yet didn’t call? If he knew? It would crush him.”

Annie spun to face them, her heart in her throat. At least this wasn’t another ex. Annie hated pretending like she hadn’t seen the other girl. But this seemed even more intimate—family drama that Wes hadn’t shared with her, and she wanted more than anything to escape.

Wes stared at the woman, his jaw tight and his hands fisted at his sides.

“If you really knew her like you think you did…if you knew them, you’d know how fucked-up that sounds,” he said.

“Wes—”

He shook his head. “No. Sarah. Don’t. Just don’t. I appreciate your good intentions, but my father and I are way beyond that. Robert Hartley doesn’t get crushed. He doesn’t even shed a tear for the woman he supposedly loved.”

Shit. Annie needed to abort this mission and fast. She shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t her conversation to hear.

She pulled out her phone and quickly texted Tabitha, asking her to come looking for her in the reading nook. It was terrible and awful to put her employee in the middle of this, but the way Annie saw it—Tabitha kind of owed her one.

Fifteen seconds later, Annie heard her name.

“Hey, Annie? Can you come help with something up at the register?”

Wes and Sarah froze as Annie emerged from where she was hidden.

She gritted her teeth and painted on a smile. The woman must have seen her and Wes earlier, but now wasn’t the time for introductions.

“Excuse me,” Annie said, walking past them as if she didn’t know either one. And the more she thought about it as she made her way toward the front of the store, the more she believed that to be the absolute truth.