Page 82 of The One I Want
“Won't be necessary? Oliver, the kids aren’t here. Where are they?”
He tilts his head to the door. “They’re right there.”
I look to the exit of the school to see the three of them walking out, and I immediately start crying.
Emerson is rolling my overnight bag. Hank is carrying a bouquet of flowers. And Magnolia has a card tied to a balloon.
“What’s all of this?”
“Here,” Magnolia says, handing me the card. “You’re supposed to read this.”
I carefully remove the balloon and tie the string to Magnolia’s wrist so it doesn’t fly away. Then I rip the letter open, because I don’t know what Wes did, but I have a feeling it’s going to make me cry even more.
Betsy,
Take your suitcase from Emerson. Don’t worry, Whitley packed it all. Oliver is going to stay with the kids tonight. Here’s the address to our hotel for the night in Nashville. It’s time I finally take you on a proper date.
See you soon, beautiful.
Wes
P.S. I don’t know what the kids actually did this morning, but I know I probably need to apologize for it. Once I told them I needed to cause chaos, their imaginations went wild.
I look up and see each of them with the most mischievous smiles on their faces. I’ve never wanted to cry and laugh all at the same time before.
“So this morning…?”
“We were good, weren’t we?” Hanks says proudly.
“You were.” I look over to Emerson. “The notebook?”
“When have you ever known me to lose anything?”
“Very true. And what about you, Miss Mags?”
She shrugs. “Daddy always says I’m extra. He told me to beextraextra.”
I laugh as I kneel down, holding my arms out, which they all come running into. “Thank you all.”
I give them all a kiss on the cheek and stand back up.
“Thank you,” I say to Oliver. “Sorry I went a little crazy there.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for. Shows how much you love these kids. Now, get on. You have a man waiting on you in Nashville, and I have a night of board games to win.”
* * *
“This is stunning,”I whisper, looking around at the gorgeous, and romantic, ambiance of the restaurant Wes picked for the evening.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he says, reaching across the table for my hands.
I take them, but give him a side eye. “You know you’re already getting laid tonight, right?”
He laughs. “I was hoping so, but it never hurts to bank a few points.”
The waiter brings over the desserts we ordered. We arrange them in the center, each wanting to try the other’s selection.
“Now this is how you do dessert,” I say, enjoying every bit of the tiramisu. “Why limit yourself to one?”
