Page 53 of If You Never Come Back
“I don’t. It’s just a feeling. He went through all this trouble to help you. There’s a reason for that. And I think it goes beyond him trying to prove that he’s sorry.” He pats my knee, then stands up. “Gotta head back to work. Thanks for the Nutella.”
“Thanks for the confusing talk.”
Remy walks out the door, leaving me alone to think about what he said.
* * *
One weeklater and it’s clear: there hasn’t been anything to read into about Wes’s actions. Every day he comes over, we chat pleasantly as we work, and he leaves. He’s made zero comments alluding to his feelings about me. Part of me is relieved I don’t have to navigate a landmine of emotions with him; part of me is confused as to why he mentioned anything in the first place if he wasn’t going to act on it.
I shove aside the thought as I study the sketch I’m working on while lounging on the couch. I squint at the drawing, wringing out my recovering hand. I took a bold step earlier this week and tried to exercise my hand by drawing for a small chunk of time every day. Today is the first day I’ve done it without the support of an ace bandage and I’m thankful at how dexterous I still am. Still, at least a week to go until I’m back to my normal strength.
Wes finishes up an email while sitting at my desk when his phone buzzes. He glances up at me. “Do you know anything about helicopter fashion?”
I burst out laughing from my spot on the couch. “Um, what?”
Another buzz. Wes’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit. Colin is going on a date with Mari Dash. She’s taking him on a helicopter ride tomorrow night. He has no idea what to wear. What the…”
My head falls back in a chuckle when I think back to the night I ran into Colin at Mari’s concert. After she finished, I introduced the two of them and they hit it off. I give Wes a quick rundown of being invited to Mari’s show in Portland and randomly running into Colin. I skip the part where I pathetically asked about him.
“Tell him to wear his white button-up and roll the sleeves up to just below his elbows,” I say, recalling how Mari fawned over his muscled forearms later that night. “She went wild for that look the night we met her.”
Wes relays my fashion advice to Colin. “Colin has been advised. And that sounds like one hell of a night.”
We chat more about how crazy it is that I actually got to hang out with our favorite EDM DJ.
“I should have mentioned it to you before,” I say. “It was just…we were in kind of a weird place. What with you coming back out of the blue and us fighting.”
“It’s cool.” Wes clears his throat, his cheeks turning red. He walks over to me and peers at my drawing. “Whoa. That looks amazing.”
“It’s just a sketch of the living room.”
The longer I look at it, the more flaws I see. There’s nowhere near the amount of detail I usually devote to even a still life sketch. But I can’t push myself. Easing back in little by little is the way to build up my stamina and keep my skill.
Wes sits next to me, grabbing the ace bandage from the arm of the couch. Gently, he grabs my forearm in his hand and begins to wrap it. My skin tingles at his touch, even after all this time.
“So no packages for me to ferry to the post office today?” he says, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Nope. Only digital files, and I emailed those this morning.”
He leans back against the couch, letting out a soft groan when he stretches. “How about a drink then? We made it to the middle of the workweek. We should celebrate.”
I chuckle. “You’ve been out of work mode a long while if you think that making it to Wednesday is worth a celebration.”
He bends down to reach the bag he brought. I focus on the black nylon and my breath catches. It’s the same bag he packed the day he left me.
I swallow again, letting the sting wash over me. He unzips it, then looks up at me. “What?”
When he looks back at his bag, recognition falls across his face. “Sorry, I…it’s the only backpack I have. But I guess you know that.”
“It’s fine.” I nod and blink, forcing a smile.
He walks over to the kitchen, fetches two glasses, and sits next to me. When he pulls out a bottle of tequila from his bag, my eyes go wide.
He must notice my reaction. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s tequila.”
“Is that a problem?”
