Happenstance 3 (Happenstance #3)(10)
Author: Jamie McGuire

“And Weston?”

“No. He’s the only thing that’s part of both. He’s the bridge that carried me over.”

“You did the carrying today.”

“I owed him one—or fifty.”

We continued cleaning, only waiting on a half-dozen customers before closing time.

“Ride?” Frankie asked, for old times’ sake.

“No, thank you,” I said without mentioning the obvious.

“Adios, bitchachos!”

I waved to her and sat in my car, laughing once and shaking my head. I pushed the ignition button, and the engine growled awake. I wasn’t scheduled to work again until after graduation, and even though I was going to miss Frankie and the Dairy Queen, it wasn’t my safe haven anymore. That was now my house, my parents, and Weston. Those all made me feel protected and secure.

Thoughts of Weston, Sam and Julianne, Gina, Frankie, and how much everything had changed swirled in my mind as I drove home, but it was no accident that I bypassed the Aldermans’ house and went straight to the Gates’ home.

Weston’s truck was parked in the street. The days were getting longer, so the setting sun was casting pink and orange hues onto his cherry-red paint. I crawled up into the bed of the truck and popped the lid off the cooler in the back. After sloshing my hand through the ice water, I settled on a Fanta Orange. I pulled the can out and then plunged my dripping hand in for another.

The neighbors must have gotten a new puppy because a small German shepherd bounced and barked behind the fence next door as I followed the curved sidewalk connecting the drive to the front door. I hadn’t been this way too many times. I usually came through the garage with Weston.

The lit doorbell button blinked when I pushed it, and cathedral-like bells began to ring in a formal melody. A few moments later, Veronica opened the door with a warm smile and tired eyes. After a second of recognition, she took a step back, opening the door wider, and gestured for me to come in.

“He’s downstairs,” she said, looking down at my paint-covered clothing.

“It’s dry,” I promised.

“I should hope so.” Amusement undermined her efforts to retain a scolding tone.

She cupped her hip with her palm and shook her head as I walked past. I easily navigated the path to the finished basement. With each downward step, familiar fluttering in my stomach amplified. It wasn’t gravity pulling me down the stairs. It was an irrefutable force that had been borne in the bed of a red Chevy truck and fostered in a pair of emerald-green eyes. I wondered if the light-headedness that came over me when I was about to see Weston would ever stop feeling quite so powerful, and it occurred to me how devastated I would be if that day ever came.

Halfway down the steps, Weston’s face came into view. He was sitting on the couch, his torso twisted, his back facing a paused episode of a reality show. His elbow pinned down a small throw pillow next to him. He was paint-free, his skin shiny and red from scrubbing.

“Hey,” he said, watching me walk all the way to the front of the couch.

Before I could respond, he grabbed me and pulled me down until my back landed on the cushions. He planted a warm wet kiss on my mouth. His hands were beneath me, squeezing my body against his, while he searched my mouth with his tongue. I knotted my fingers in his hair and parted my knees, letting him settle in between them.

When he finally pulled away, we were both breathless.

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes still focused on my raw lips.

“What was that about?”

“You smell like ice cream,” he said simply, brushing a piece of hair from my face.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

The hunger in his eyes flattened, and he sat up with a frustrated sigh. “Fine, Erin.”

My body followed him with my hands perched behind me. “What did I say?”

He looked over at me, and then his expression softened. “I’ve been asked that about a hundred times today.”

“What happened?”

“Something about dehydration from the new bronchodilator. It happens to a fraction of a percentage of people. Just a freak occurrence. I’m really fine. Two bags of saline, and I’m golden.”

“Two bags?” I noted the evidence on his hand—a Band-Aid partly covering a new bruise.

Weston targeted the corner of the room where the wall met the ceiling, his jaw flitting under his five o’clock shadow.

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“I just want to talk about normal stuff. You make me feel like an invalid. I’m not dying.”

“I can’t be concerned? You were taken to the hospital by an ambulance a couple of days ago.”

“So?” he snapped.

I stiffened. “I’m not taking anyone’s shit anymore, remember? Not even yours.”

My words made him pause, and he craned his neck, turning slow in my direction. His eyes were round spheres, wide with disbelief. “Who crapped on your cracker?”

“You! I expected a little crankiness, but you’re giving me whiplash.”

He thought about that for a moment and then sighed, rubbing his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “Wow. I just took the last few days out on you, didn’t I?”

“Do you even have to ask?” I said, arching an eyebrow.

He peeked over at me and then chuckled. “Not that I don’t love you like this, babe, but you’re a little testy today.”

“I’m testy?” My voice shot up an octave. “I’m testy,” I deadpanned, looking forward.

A stifled laugh burst from Weston’s lips, and then it grew into a full-blown cackle. He pulled me next to him and kissed just behind my ear. “I just got a glimpse of our forever, and it’s kind of amazing.”

He was fighting dirty. How can I stay mad at him when he says things like that?

He wedged his fingers between mine, and then his fingertips touched the top of my hand with the tiniest bit of pressure. He squeezed his shoulder between the couch and me, and then he looked up at me with knowing eyes. “You still with me on Saturday?”

“Do you still want me to be with you?”

He shook his head as if my question was disappointing. “I wish I needed you to breathe, Erin. Then, you’d be with me half as much as I wanted.”

He mirrored my appreciative smile, kissed my hand, and then settled against the couch cushion before clicking the button on the DVR remote.

Chapter Five

“MOTHER BEAR,” Frankie said, breathing out the words.