Page 32 of Not My Finest Hour

“Hey,” he whispers to me, tugging on my pant leg once more. When I lean in, he says, “You’re pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have a boyfriend? You should totally get yourself one.” He giggles, then rips his glasses off his face and throws them onto the sidewalk.

I pick up his glasses and push Justin’s name on the screen before Wesley gets any bright ideas about removing his clothing. The phone rings twice, and then his voice is on the other line.

“Dahlia? Is that you?” he asks me.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry for calling you so late, but I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Wesley. He’s drunk, and I’m stuck on Bainbridge Island because I can’t drive his car.”

“Say no more.” He proceeds to ask me where I’m at and if I’m in a safe place. I give him the necessary details and tell him I’m fine. He promises to hurry, but it may take him a bit because of the ferry schedule. There’s some commotion on his end of the line. “I’m getting in my car now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

Even if Justin gets on the ferry now, that’s still half an hour to make the crossing, so when you factor in the drive to the ferry and waiting to cross, I have at least an hour before help arrives. It’s not getting any warmer out here, and this was a hell of a time to not bring a coat. I turn around to check on Wesley and he’s sleeping, snoring softly with a few faint giggles mixed in.

There’s another bench next to the one Wesley is occupying, and I sit down on the cold wood, wishing that it was my couch back home. To keep myself warm while I wait, I tuck my legs into my chest, resting my feet on the edge of the bench, trying to make myself as small as possible. My phone is the only entertainment available since I can’t people watch at this time of night. At least I have decent cell service and can watch YouTube videos while I wait.

The minutes crawl by, but soon, a familiar car pulls up to the curb. I get up from my bench and meet Justin at his car.

“Thank you so much for coming. And I’m sorry I dragged you out of your house for this,” I say.

A smile crosses his lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you called.”

He's dressed casually tonight, in a pair of sweatpants and a Kraken sweatshirt. His hair is disheveled, which makes me think that when he said he was getting in his car right now, he meant it. He steps toward me, then remembers his place and stops. The last time we saw each other I told him I’d moved on. It was a lie. I knew it then, and I know it now. Seeing him standing here, knowing that he dropped everything tonight to rescue me, shows me that Justin is the kind of guy I want in my life.

When he came into my workplace, it was his way of telling me that he wants to get back together. And now it’s my turn to show him what I want. I step toward him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. He hesitates for a second before encircling my waist with his arms. I close my eyes, immersing myself in a moment I thought I was never going to get again. I’ve missed his touch, his smell, everything about him.

“My gosh, you’re freezing,” he says, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. “Here, take my sweatshirt.” He strips off his sweatshirt, leaving himself in a long-sleeved shirt.

When I put on his sweatshirt, it’s like wrapping myself in the warmest, most comforting blanket ever. “Thank you. That’s so much better.”

“Now, what should we do about that one?” he says, pointing toward Wesley who’s still passed out.

“Can you drive a stick?”

Justin shakes his head. “Not well. And I don’t even know where he lives.”

“Okay, do you have plans for tomorrow?”

“Not yet,” he says with a grin.

“I had a lot of time to think while I was waiting, and I think we’re going to have to stay the night here. I figure that’s the safest bet, and then we can all go back in the morning. I have Wesley’s credit card,” I say, flashing it around. “I’m sure he won’t mind putting all of us up for the night.”

“All right. Let’s get him to my car.”

We walk over to Wesley and I gently nudge his shoulder in an attempt to get him to wake up. He doesn’t move.

“Wesley, it’s time to go,” I say, pushing on his shoulder a little harder.

One eyelid cracks open, then both once he sees that it’s me who’s waking him. “Oh, hi,” he says to me. “Have you ever seen a pickle tornado? I’d like to see one someday.”

I look at Justin who is doing his best to hold back his laughter. A laugh escapes my lips, and I start laughing even harder once I take in Wesley’s puzzled expression. He sits up, holding his head in his hands.

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