Page 18 of Wild Hearts

I launch into an explanation about how they're romances that offer a study of social classes and themes of the time period. "The book I'm reading now is a favorite of mine along with Pride and Prejudice. You should watch the movie because I doubt you'll be able to sit through the six-hour miniseries," I tease.

"Six hours? Holy shit. Why don't you break it down for me?"

“You really want to hear about the antics of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy?”

Wes raises an eyebrow, crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, and relaxes into his seat, clearly waiting for me to begin.

Okay, then.

The next twenty minutes are spent with me gushing over two of my favorite literary characters while Wes asks the occasional question.

Wrapping up, I add, "Of course, while I'd like to think of myself as Lizzie, Avery has said I’m more like Jane with Mr. Bingley."

"Why would she think that?"

My face heats at the question. I don't want to explain, but Wes waits expectantly as I try to think of how to not completely embarrass myself.

Yeah, that’s impossible.

"There's this guy or used to be this guy… And she thought what was going on between us sounded like Jane and Bingley."

There. That wasn't too bad. Vague but still answered the question.

"How? Because you're the oldest like Jane?"

Geez, he’s persistent.

"Um, no. More like we always kind of tiptoed around each other. Everyone else saw how much we 'belonged' together—their words not mine—and how it was going to take forever for us to get together because of how shy and reluctant we were to say how we felt."

My washer releases a piercing beep to announce the end of its cycle, saving me from more questions. "So, yeah… I'm going to put my stuff in the dryer now."

Wes looks like he’s about to press for more information, but I hightail it across the tiled floor. No need to elaborate on an old crush that never culminated into anything, especially when the guy in question is now happily married with two kids.

I spy Wes dumping a load of damp clothing into another dryer and realize he must've gotten here right before me.

When my things are divided between two dryers, I shuffle back to my seat, where Wes is already waiting for my return. Clearly, he doesn't have as much crap as I do.

"So, textbooks….” Time to turn this conversation in a different direction. “What’s that about?”

“I’m getting my degree online for business management. Figured it will benefit Dusty’s.”

“That’s smart, though it sounds like you’ve got a packed schedule between running the garage and attending classes.”

A plethora of unspoken questions hangs in the air. How did he inherit Dusty’s? What made him decide to earn a degree so long after high school? But I keep all of those to myself.

It’s none of my business, even if I’m intensely curious.

Wes scrubs the back of his neck with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m pretty busy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m wasting my time and money on classes when Dusty’s is doing fine, but I kind of want the degree.” A chagrined half-smile peeks through his beard.

“There’s no shame in that. Just because it’s not a necessity business-wise doesn’t mean it’s not worth something to you personally.”

When the dryers stop tumbling, we fold our dried clothes on the tables next to each other. I surreptitiously stuff my underwear and bras into the hamper to avoid anyone seeing them. That’s the other awkward part about using a laundromat—worrying about strangers spotting your panties.

At least Wes seems preoccupied with his own clothes.

He hefts my hamper into a laundry cart then tugs both of our carts outside while I get the doors. Without a word, he places my items in the trunk, and I can’t help but revel in the comfort of having a strong man focused on easing my burden.

“Thank you for this.” I gesture toward the heavy load of clothing I didn’t have to break my back to move again.

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