Page 53 of The Rookie

“I know.”

She steps up to me, and tucks my hair behind my ears. “You need experiences to discover who you really are and what you really want.”

I smile and hug my mother. It’s important to her that I go to Toronto, or somewhere, and experience other things in life. She doesn’t believe that I know what I want just yet, but I do, and I don’t want to disappoint her by not going out in life and experience new things, especially after she worked so hard to put me through college. I owe her that. I’m just not sure I’ll be happy in Toronto. I’m also beginning to wonder if I’ll be happy here once Wes leaves.

How did I get myself into such a mess?

“Now why don’t you go see Wes’s reaction when he sees you in this dress.”

I laugh, a little bubble of joy welling up inside me. I negotiate the stairs carefully. I’m not used to heels and when I step outside, find Wes leaning against his car waiting for me, the look on his face sends a thrill straight to my heart.

“Thank you,” I say and swing the hem of the dress. “It’s beautiful.”

“I saw you admiring it. I hope you don’t mind that I ordered it for you.”

“You didn’t have to. I have dresses.”

He smiles. “It’s just you seemed so unsure those times I asked you to join us.”

I resist the urge to tell him it’s because the more time I spend with him, the more I’m falling for him. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Never.” He steps around the vehicle and opens the door. “Jules helped me figure out your size.”

“It’s a perfect fit. Like it was made for me.”

Likehewas made for me.

He climbs in beside me, and I fold my hands on my lap as we make our way back to the shore to pick up Jules and Rider. They climb into the back seat and Jules squeals.

“I knew that would look amazing on you.”

“It was quite the surprise,” I say.

Jules laughs. “Sneaky Wes.”

Could his private phone calls have something to do with the dress? Probably not, especially if it was delivered earlier, like Mom said. We pull onto the road, and I spot Breton near the beer tent, her fingers flying across her phone. Just then Wes’ phone pings, and my throat tightens. Are they texting? Worry creeps through me as our earlier conversation about why he kissed me dances in my brain. Could this be about making her jealous and winning her back?

“You okay?” Wes asks, his brow furrowed as he gives my hand a squeeze.

“Yes, just tired. Shucking takes a lot out of you,” I tease.

We all fall into easy conversation as we drive to the city, and Jules talks about how much she’ll miss it here, but is looking forward to seeing it through her daughter’s eyes when she’s old enough. She once again invites me to Seattle, and I give a halfhearted answer. Wes remains quiet on the subject which makes me worry that he’s not all that interested in me visiting.

He pulls into a parking spot at the restaurant and the sea breeze falls over us as we climb out of the car. The boardwalk is busy with tourists and locals alike and even though both Wes and Rider are dressed up, they put on their ballcaps and pull them low. We’re seated at a lovely outdoor table, overlooking the Halifax Harbor, and the two guys remove their hats, which creates a lot of fanfare, but most fans walk by, stealing a picture, not wanting to disturb them when they’re out for a meal.

We order wine and beer, and laugh and tell stories as we devour a ton of appetizers and pasta. It’s a great night, one of the best nights of my life, in fact, and by the time our dishes are cleared and the dessert menus are handed out, I turn to Jules and shake my head as I pat my swollen stomach.

“What was that you said about being the size of a whale when you leave here?” Sadness invades my thoughts as I think about how our fun is coming to an end. I’m going to miss them. I’m going to miss Wes.

“But we’re still having dessert, right?” Rider asks and pulls his wife in for a hug.

“Of course,” she says. “Did you see this strawberry shortcake biscuit?”

I glance at Wes and groan, “I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Split it with me?” he asks.

I nod, and for some strange reason, it seems oddly intimate—especially after everything we’ve done.

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