Page 40 of I Saw Her First

His eyes soften as they move over my face. “I know you were, and I’m so glad you did.” I’m not sure if he means he’s glad that I picked up the camera again or that I kissed him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Daisy.”

God, his face is so hard to read. Those blue eyes bore into mine, but something hides in there I can’t get to. His scruff has grown into a short beard now, thick and silver with the odd fleck of chestnut brown, lighter than his hair. It suits him, but he doesn’t look like the Wes I know. It makes him look a little rough, a little dangerous, and I can’t deny the flicker of heat I feel looking at this version of him. Who knew he could get even more attractive?

I drop my gaze to his ring finger again. It’s still bare. My heart thuds hopefully, but I tear my eyes away, reaching for my wine.

“I shot another roll, too. I hope that’s okay.”

Weston’s breath rushes out, and when I look back at him, his expression has transformed. “Of course. That’s great.” He’s wearing that smile again, the one I love, the one that tells me how happy he is for me. His gaze lingers on mine for a beat, heavy and filled with all the things he isn’t saying, then he drains his wine and rises to grab the bottle from the kitchen. He pours himself another glass, but I’ve barely touched mine, so I wave him away. Then we settle back in to watch the documentary. The narrator is still talking about Loggerhead Sea Turtles, and I try to be interested.

And then, suddenly, I am.

“The male approaches the female, gently biting her neck and flippers,” the male voice-over explains. “This is typical mating behavior for sea turtles.”

My face heats as I realize what we’re about to see. I itch to reach for the remote, but that will be way too obvious. Instead, Wes and I sit side-by-side, eyes glued to the screen as the narrator continues.

“The male mounts the female, penetrating her roughly.”

Jesus. Even the turtles are having more sex than me.

My cheeks blaze as we watch the screen, and I don’t dare look at Weston, who’s become extremely still. I’m acutely aware of every breath he takes, of how my skin feels hot, the way the air is charged with electricity and neither of us wants to move in case we get shocked.

But that’s exactly what I want. I want to know what it would feel like to be shocked by him. What his hands, his mouth—hispassion—would feel like. His size, his weight, his roughness and tenderness. I want to be shocked back to life by Weston.

The show ends and the credits roll, and Wes rises from the sofa, not meeting my gaze.

“How about some Steely Dan?”

“Sure,” I mutter, but really, I’m not in the mood. I push up from the sofa in frustration, grabbing my wineglass and stepping through the open glass sliding door to sit on the deck. The sky is a bruised purple, the first hint of stars winking from the heavens, and as I sink onto an Adirondack chair, my heart twists.

I know what I want. I’ve wanted it for a year now, and that desire hasn’t faded. It’s only grown stronger with time.

What I want is Weston, and I think he wants me too. The only question is, will he let himself have that?

17

Weston

Ilower the needle onto the record, watching as Daisy goes onto the deck with her wine. The opening chords ofThe Royal Scamecho through the living room, but I can’t enjoy them without her.

I thought getting away from Daisy would be good for me, so I went to work remotely from a coffee shop in town for a few days. I could have gone to the city, but I’d promised she could stay and continue her vacation, and I didn’t want to leave her alone at the house. It’s not her fault I can’t keep my head on straight.

But not seeing her was the opposite of good. I couldn’t focus on work. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she looked in that bikini, the way her soft lips felt against my rough skin when she kissed me. It took me entirely by surprise, and I didn’t have time to hide my reaction. All I could do was run, because if I hadn’t done that, I would have hauled her against me and kissed her back, and not in the chaste way she did.

It’s not only the physical attraction I feel for her, although that’s intense enough on its own; it’s the way she bared her heart to me, sharing her pain, the way she lit up with that camera inher hand like someone had switched on a light in her soul. I thought she’d been a ray of sunshine before, but this was next level. Her radiance, her sheer joy, was blinding. She was in my arms, spinning through the air before I even knew what I was doing. How could I not celebrate with her? Her exuberance was contagious.

And after that story about her friend’s parents, I knew how hard it was for her to get to that point. I went through my own setbacks too, like the fact that it took me a year to even come back to the beach house without Lydia, or that I couldn’t swim for months because she and I used to do that together. But we can’t let our grief hold us back. We can’t hide from it. We have to face it in order to heal, in order to return to who we’re meant to be, and to know I played even a tiny part in helping Daisy do that… my chest puffs with pride at the thought.

I shouldn’t have come home with dinner tonight. I shouldn’t have sat beside her on the sofa to watch TV while we ate, like an old married couple. But the past two days have been unbearable. I knew she was here, alone, and my willpower ran out. I wanted to bring her food, to hear her voice, to see her. I know I shouldn’t want that and I’m flooded with guilt every second I’m around her, thinking of what my son would say.

And Lydia… God. I can’t even imagine what she’d think. Not because I have feelings for someone new—I know she’d want me to be happy again—but of all the people I could have chosen, it’s Jesse’s ex.

She wasn’t always Jesse’s ex, a little voice in my head says.You’ve known her far longer than he has.

But that doesn’t matter, because she’s his exnow, and that fact will never change.

Through the glass door, I watch Daisy sitting in the chair, head back, gazing at the darkening sky. I should go to my room, shut the door, and forget she’s in the house.

But something compels me out there, and I drop into the chair beside her with my wineglass in hand. I’ve had more to drink than usual, and the alcohol sends a warm buzz through my veins. It dulls the guilt, so I can let myself be beside her on our last night here.

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