Spinster? (16 page)

She continued her spiral into self-doubt and second guessing until midnight. She yawned and pushed off the couch before shuffling into her bedroom. When her bedroom routine was complete she switched off the lamp beside her bed and crawled beneath her covers. She hated getting all twisty over a guy, but she had no idea how to stop. Disgusted with herself, she rolled over with a huff, cramming the pillow over her head. It was muffled, but she heard a ding from her phone that was plugged in across the room. She sprang up into a sitting position. A text at this time of night, or morning, could mean only one thing. Emma needed bail money. So, imagine her surprise when she read:

Is to too early to ask you to lunch today?

She had a John Hughes movie moment. She squealed and kicked her legs onto the bed, like she'd been asked to prom. The self doubt fell away, replaced by a content happiness. She hated it when the right, or wrong, guy could have control over her emotions, but was helpless against it.

She bit her lip, contemplating the correct reply.

 
Never too early for food!
 
Delete.

How about breakfast in bed? ;)
 
Delete.
 

Play it cool...play it cool.
 

So, she didn't reply at all. Oh, she would, in the morning. Any normal woman would be getting her beauty rest right now. This wasn't playing games. It was strategic response planning.
 

The first thing she did when she woke up was stare at her phone. Was seven in the morning too early to respond? Yes. It wasn't polite to text people early in the morning on the weekends, so she made a pot of coffee and read the Living section of the paper. Tess loved to make fun of the competition...she lovingly referred to as hacks. She had plenty of ammo this morning on the piece about the new "Reptilian Grotto" at the zoo.
 

"Who the hell uses the word gesticulating? You pompous ass." Jeff Turner was her arch enemy in the editorial world. He treated anyone who didn't write for the city paper as if they were lacking a frontal lobe and opposable thumbs. So, naturally, she went out of her way to antagonize him at every opportunity. It wasn't mature by any stretch
 
of the imagination, but the guy was a douche.

At nine a.m., still clad in her fuzzy animal print slippers and purple fleece robe, she picked up her phone. There was a text from Emma about meeting for brunch and to "get her ass up, so they could get their Sunday Funday on." She skipped that one and re-read Wesley's. She typed:
Sounds great. What time?
Perfect. She put down her phone and went to refill her mug when her phone rang. It was Wesley. She happy danced through the third ring and then answered. Her slippers making a scrapy, squeak on the wood.

"Hello," she said, feminine and light.

"Hi." The sound of his deep voice made her stomach flip. She grinned when he didn't say anything else. The breathy hi hung between them. He cleared his throat and added, "So, lunch?"

"I'd like that."

A second date in less than twenty-four hours was planned. Tess didn't have to guess what it meant. She'd been around long enough to know that Wesley Caraway liked her. One of the things she loved about a new relationship was this...what was happening in her chest and heart. The flutter and the skips. The anxiety and the bliss. It was a high she could ride until the end of time. If this part ever lasted. But Tess wouldn't dwell on that part. Best to just enjoy the ride.
 

"I was surprised you wanted to see me again so soon," Tess admitted.

"Well, I usually can't get away too often, let alone back to back days. But since the opportunity presented itself, I took it."

Tess coughed, the biscuit she'd been nibbling crumbled and stuck to the back of her throat. "Excuse me." She went to take a sip of water, but found only ice. Wesley smiled and moved the straw of his glass towards her.
 

"Here." His fingers still held the straw in place as she went in for a drink. When his finger brushed the top of her lip, her lashes fluttered closed. She blinked, then sat back into her chair. Had he meant to touch her? And why was her underwear in ashes?

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

She cleared her throat daintily once more. "You seem to have plenty of free time this weekend? Where are your girls?"
 

"They're staying the weekend with their grandparents."
 

"Oh, that's nice of your folks to take them for the weekend even though they live here, too." She assumed this to be the case, Wesley's father being an active partner in the firm.

He shifted in his chair. "It's actually their other set of grandparents."

"Oh."
Oh,
the ex-wife's parents. The realization opened a whole slew of questions she was dying to ask. Was she there, too? Did they share custody? Was their divorce messy? But she held her tongue. He would tell her when he was ready.

He chuckled. "I can tell your brain is churning under those wavy locks. Hit me."

The waiter chose that time to put their plates down. The steam wafted between them. They thanked him and dug in. Tess was starving and was never afraid to eat, uncomfortable conversation or not. This time, before she took her first bite, she asked, "Where do these grandparents live?"

Wesley cocked his head to the side and smiled. "I wasn't expecting that to be the first one." His hair was messy today, in the intuitional way men with wavy hair tend to have. She liked him like this, casual in his fitted t-shirt and worn jeans. She also like the small mole he had on the side of his right eye. "North Carolina, by Asheville." It took her a moment to remember she'd asked a question. Her ogling had derailed her train of thought.

"Oh, I love it out there. The Biltmore is amazing."

His face fell. It was brief, but she caught it. "Yes, yes it is...I got married there."

Now they were getting to the good stuff. "Oh?" That's it, non-committal. Get him to spill—a tactic she'd perfected over the years.

He just nodded. Damn it, she was going to have to pry. "How long were you married?"

"Mila and I met in college." Hearing her name made Tess hesitant, uneasy. Did she really want to know about this woman he'd fallen in love with, married? He'd slid a ring on her finger, said vows. Chose her to have his babies. Suddenly Mila became very real, as if she were sitting at the table with them.

 
A horrible thought occurred to her—was his wife dead? No way she could date two men in a span of a few months with widowed loves of their lives. Although, when she considered her history with relationships, it was a distinct possibility her luck could be that shitty.
 

"We met on the steps outside of the library. Our eyes locked, like some cheesy movie. She had the biggest brown eyes I'd ever seen. I'd seen her before then, but it was the first time she saw me...the first time we spoke." He cleared his throat, no doubt realizing he was waxing nostalgic about another woman. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I love to hear about the love of your life and mother of your children...It's not awkward at all."

He laughed. "Again, sorry. It was a long time ago."
 

Tess perked up. The demise of their love, now that she could get in to. Her spine straightened and her fork was abandoned. "So, she's still alive?" He gave her a strange look. He wasn't privy to her recent run on the widower dating game.
 

"Yes."

"But she doesn't live here?"

"What gave you that impression?" His voice curious.

"Well, you mentioned you were a single dad...and you never bring her up, like 'my ex is picking up the kids' kind of thing, so I assumed she wasn't local." Oh great, she had the verbal runs again.

He looked down, then met her eyes again. "Very perceptive. You're right, she doesn't live here." When he didn't go on, she had a feeling share time had come to an end. Now her curiosity was piqued beyond measure.
 

Was his wife remarried? Did she follow her dreams and become an acrobat? Was she a heinous bitch—so horrid that that her current situation didn't warrant details?
 

Who knew?
 

Tess knew one thing, she couldn't get serious with Wesley until she got the backstory. Where was his wife now? And what the hell happened to make Wesley raise his children alone, while his ex was off doing who knows what? Was she a secret agent? No, scratch that. Then she's be able to kick Tess's ass.
 

"You want any dessert?" he asked. His voice took on a cheerful lilt, but it was forced.

"No, thank you."

He nodded and asked the waiter for their check. "Do you want to go somewhere else, or do you need to get home?"

With that kind of enthusiasm..."I have some work to do this afternoon, so I better get home." He seemed marginally disappointed, which completely contradicted the tone of his voice. Thinking about his ex must put him in a bad place.
 

Yep, definitely needed to get to the bottom of the story, because this had jacked up baggage written all over it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

"So you think something's off about the ex?" Willa asked from her usual perch on the corner of Tess's desk.

"What gave you that impression? His complete reluctance to give me information, or him practically throwing me in a cab before the check was even off the table?"
 

Willa gasped. "He sent you home in a cab?"
 

 
"Well...no, but he might as well have. He said, like, two words to me, then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek...and a side hug." Tess typed as she spoke. Her nails hit the keys in swift, violent strokes.
 

Willa hissed through her teeth. "Oooo, the side hug?"

"I know, right? Better to know now, I guess."

Willa's brows crinkled. "Know what?"

"That he's a freaking head case!" An exaggeration to be sure, but she was miffed and didn't have the capacity to de-drama queen her responses.
 

 
Willa pushed herself off of the desk's corner. "Oh, Tess, I don't think he's a head case. I think you just went on a few dates and he's not ready to unload his past onto you."

Tess sighed. "I know, but the weird non-disclosure thing he's doing is ten times worse. I don't think I'm going to see him again...no matter how cute he is, or how warm he makes my girl parts."

"Well, that's your decision, of course, but if you'll take an old married lady's advice, don't write him off yet. Okay?"

"Okay. By the way, you're six months younger than me."

Willa made it to the doorway of Tess's office and turned. "Figure of speech, but take it from me...relationships take a lot of benefit of the doubt and even more turn the other cheek. Tess, I love you, but sometimes you're too set in your ways when it comes to guys."

She stopped her eyes just before they rolled. Tess knew her friend was right, and the older she got, the more stringent she became. "I'll try to keep an open mind...
if
he ever calls me again."
 
Ugh, whiner table for one.

"He will." Willa winked and left.
 

Tess sat scrunch faced and annoyed. She wasn't sure she wanted him to call her...how about them apples? He, and his mystery ex, might be better off left alone.

Tess ran the soft coral polish onto the tiny nail on her pinkie toe, getting more on the skin than the nail. She blew an errant piece of hair out of her eye, the rest was in a sloppy pile on the top of her head. The toilet paper she'd placed between each foot finger kept slipping out, making her curse. Why did she think it was a good idea to paint her own toes? Oh, right. It was relaxing. Or, maybe it had something to do with the fact that she'd been working until after eight every night this week and her big toe had been sporting four layers of touch up polish as a result. She placed her feet on top of the table to allow adequate air flow for drying, and laid back into the cushions of her couch with her favorite trash mag in hand—a guilty pleasure she kept secret from her colleagues at work, who'd crucify her if they knew. Her favorite was not even close to reputable, but she loved the pictures and celebrity gossip. A contented sigh passed her lips, but was cut short by a knock on the door. Maybe they'd go away. Knock, knock, knock.
 

"Damn it." She pushed up and waddled to the door. A wayward strand of hair fell back in her line of sight. She pulled the door with a huff, but her frown faded into a grin. Flowers of every shape and color filled her doorway. In fact, they were so large, no face could be seen behind.
 

"For me?"

The flowers lowered. One inch, then another, until the face was revealed, wearing a sheepish grin. Tess didn't say anything, only because her tongue was tied.

"I see that you're speechless, which means, A. You're shocked to see me. B. You're overwhelmed by the beauty of my gift, or C. You think I'm a complete asshole and don't know how to say it without being able to keep said gift...am I even close?" His hair was damp and slicked back, except for the one wave in the front that never took orders. The t-shirt he wore, the color of a lemon rind, was tight across his chest. His jeans hugged the outer muscles of his legs. Did he run, or had he built his leg muscles by putting his foot on the neck of the oppressed? That's what lawyers did, right? And why did he always activate her salivary glands on sight? She was no better than the Pavlovian dog. Ding...drool. Wesley...drool.
 

"I see you're still rendered speechless," he said, as he bit the inside of his lip.
 

She wiped the side of her mouth, happy to discover it dry as a bone. "No...no. Choice A and B."

"Not C?" He frowned—his forehead crinkling like the folds of an accordion.
 

"Where are my manners? Please come in." She was her mother's daughter, after all. She walked in and heard the door shut a few moments later.