Page 22 of Make Me Want it Too

He nudges me with his elbow and another lopsided grin. “I’ve got you, girl.” Then he takes my suitcase and carries it down the stairs as if it weighs next to nothing, and I am not staring at the way his back muscles move.

I’m not! I can’t help that he hasn’t put a shirt on yet.

Noah and Livvy come out a few minutes later with their bags.

“Ferry’s at two, right? Should we get going?” Livvy asks, checking her phone.

“Give me five minutes. I’m almost ready,” Wood calls as he heads for his room.

Livvy scrunches her face, and Noah tilts his head in confusion when Wood emerges with a bright red duffle bag over his shoulder. Also, wearing a shirt. Finally.

“Wood, you can’t just invite yourself along to everything,” Noah says in his deep voice.

“Yeah, the pre-wedding activities are for family and the bridal party and their plus ones only,” Livvy says with a grimace.

“Yeah, I know!” Wood is unfazed.

They stand quiet.

“He’s my plus one,” I squeak.

Livvy’s eyebrows shoot up.

Wood smiles wide, his blue eyes lit up. “Yeah, I am.” He comes over to stand by me, giving me a look that can only be described as adoration, and I don’t know how he’s such an amazing actor.

He carries my suitcase to the car he arranged to drive us to the pier and then carries it again all the way to the ferry.

Livvy and Noah sit on a bench, arms around each other, oblivious of everyone around them, and I go to the front to lean on the railing overlooking the shimmery plain of water. The sky is a bright cloudless blue. The August sun is hot, cut slightly by a breeze coming over the bay. And to the left is the Seattle skyline.

Wood comes up behind me and soon enough, we start moving across the water. Toward this week of fun. (That was sarcasm.)

About five minutes in, my head feels a little dizzy, but I focus out on the horizon. It helps.

“You okay?” Wood asks in a low tone.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I put on a smile, but his furrowed brow says he doesn’t quite buy it.

I don’t want to tell him I get a little seasick. It’s silly. Besides, the ferry is big and steady enough—it’s not nearly as bad as it can get. No one needs to know. It’s only a thirty-five-minute ride across Elliot Bay to Bainbridge Island. I can handle it. I get enough sympathy and worried looks from people who know I have diabetes. I’m fine.

Yet, when he puts his hand on my lower back, his body warm at my side, and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be next to you all week. It’s all going to be good,” I am comforted in a strange way.

It’s weird, walking up to Spencer’s family house. For the first time, I’m not here as Spencer’s girlfriend. I’m not here as a potential future daughter-in-law. I’m an outsider. I don’t belong.

Maybe I never did. I don’t know.

The house sits on a sprawling four acres of perfectly manicured lawns and lush gardens of lavender and hydrangea bushes filled with giant white bunches of blooms. It has two private docks, a boathouse, a pool house, and a guest house. The main house is a three-story white brick colonial with multi-tiered decks and balconies out the back.

“Jesus Christ,” Noah mutters under his breath. He looks the most out of place here, wearing all black, covered in tattoos.

Wood, at least, looks the part in a light blue collared shirt and tan slacks. I’m so used to seeing him in T-shirts and sweats—jeans if he’s out—I almost forgot he isn’t acting a part. He grew up this way, too. He’s used to private yachts and skiing in Aspen and housekeepers. His sunglasses, casually clipped to his shirt collar, probably cost as much as a year’s supply of my insulin.

I don’t know if it makes me more grateful he’s here with me, or feel even more out of place.

The front doors open as we pass the fountains. Two people in white dress shirts, black vests, and bowties greet us with champagne. Inside, there are more servers with trays of smoked salmon crostini with garlic and herb aioli.

The circular entry, surrounded by a grand, curved staircase, is filled with a six-foot-tall flower arrangement in the center—all various shades of white to peach to blush pink. Gilded letters are nestled in between the blooms: J & B.

“Ms. Bishop and guest,” a woman in a vest says to Livvy, right this way. Livvy and Noah follow her toward the left.

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