Page 9 of Pumpkins & Promises
"Wesley?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for tonight. Really."
He stops walking and turns to face me, and something in his expression makes my heart skip.
"Thank you for letting me be part of it. It was exactly what I needed."
"Want to walk through the orchard before I drive you back?" I ask as we reach my car. "It's beautiful at night, and I could use some air after all that family interrogation."
"Sure," Wesley says. "Lead the way."
We follow the path that winds between the apple trees, their bare branches creating intricate patterns against the star-filledsky. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of earth and fallen leaves.
"Your family's really great," Wesley says, breaking the comfortable silence. "I can see why you were nervous about disappointing them."
"They mean well," I say, kicking at a cluster of leaves. "But sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in their expectations. Dylan gets to be the serious one, the one everyone respects for his business sense. I'm the cheerful twin, the one who keeps everyone happy and makes sure no one's feelings get hurt."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is." The admission surprises me with its honesty. "Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just stopped."
Wesley stops walking and turns to face me. "And do what?"
"I don't know. Take a pottery class. Learn to surf. Date a mysterious writer I barely know." I laugh, but it comes out shakier than I intended. "Hypothetically speaking."
"Hypothetically," he agrees, and there's something in his voice that makes my pulse quicken.
We resume walking, and I find myself asking, "What about you? Any progress on the writing front?"
Wesley sighs. "Not really. I keep starting things and deleting them. It's like I've forgotten how to trust my own voice."
"What happened? With your last book, I mean."
"It was too personal," he says quietly. "I wrote about things I thought I understood, but I was wrong. The critics saw right through it, and they weren't kind about it."
"So now you're afraid to be personal again?"
"Something like that." He glances at me. "How do you do it? Put yourself out there, be vulnerable, and not worry about getting hurt?"
I almost laugh. "Who says I don't worry about getting hurt? I'm terrified most of the time. But the alternative is never really living, and that seems worse."
We've reached the end of the orchard path, where an old wooden bench sits overlooking the valley below. The lights of Juniper Falls twinkle in the distance like fallen stars.
"Can I ask you something?" Wesley says as we sit down.
"Shoot."
"Earlier tonight, when I almost said I loved how responsible you are... this is going to sound weird, but for a second there, I forgot we were acting."
My heart does that fluttering thing again. "It was pretty convincing," I manage.
"Yeah," he says, looking out over the valley. "I mean, your family made it easy. They're so warm, so genuine. It felt natural to be part of it."
"You did great," I say. "Even Dylan was impressed, and that's saying something."
We sit in silence for a moment, both of us carefully not examining why this felt so easy.
