Page 43 of I Saw Her First

“This won’t take much work at all. I could knock this out over a couple of evenings this week.”

My mouth stretches into a grin. “That would be great. What’s your hourly rate?”

He waves me away. “Forget it. It’s a small project and I’m happy to help. I’ve got more than enough leftover materials to cover what we’ll need.”

“Thanks,” I say, touched by his generosity. “But you at least have to tell me what you drink, so I can buy you a bottle.”

He chuckles. “NowthatI will do.”

We shake hands and he heads home with a promise to return tomorrow evening to begin the work, and I spend the rest of the night trying to assure myself I’m not doing anything wrong, making a darkroom for Daisy. My house is huge and I live here alone, with so much space I don’t even use. Daisy has a passionshe wants to explore, and I can help her do that. She doesn’t have anyone else to encourage her, and I tell myself that it’s okay for me to be that person. Everyone should have someone like that in their life.

And since my son doesn’t want that from me, I can give it to her instead.

19

Daisy

With the best smile I can muster, I set the coffee in front of Weston. Today I’ve crafted a butterfly into the foam of his latte, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Things have pretty much gone back to normal since we returned from Greenport. Wes comes into Joe’s first thing, and I present him with some sort of coffee creation that makes him smile. Then we talk about the weather, while he pretends he didn’t admit to having feelings for me at the beach house.

And I die a little inside.

I know that’s dramatic, but it feels like the truth. The Wes I spent time with at the beach was so different from the man who sits in Joe’s and says benign things like “It’s supposed to get up to eighty-four degrees today.” Maybehe’sable to switch his feelings off, but I’m not. I’m on fire with wanting him, and it’s only gotten worse since he admitted to feeling the same.

Weston glances up from the paper to take in the butterfly I’ve created. Deep creases form around his ocean-blue eyes as he smiles. He lifts his gaze to mine, scrubbing a hand across his short beard. He hasn’t shaved since we returned from vacation,and I’m glad. The roughness suits him. It makes him look more rugged, more masculine.

It makes me want to ride his face.

I look away, heat streaking my cheeks, as if he can read my thoughts. When did I become such a little horndog? I hadn’t touched my vibrator in months, but during the past couple weeks I’ve gone through three sets of batteries, imagining the things I want Wes to do to me. Thank God Denise has been out most nights, so I could have the place to myself. Just me and my filthy imagination.

Today, though, I can’t bear to look at him. I can’t bear the way my chest fills with longing, the way he acts like nothing has changed between us. The way he seems to have taken any feelings he might have had for me and stuffed them away in a box somewhere.

“Daisy—”

I turn for the counter, but Wes catches my hand. My breath stills in my lungs and I freeze, glancing down at him. I don’t think he meant to touch me, because he looks at his hand in surprise, quickly releasing his grip, but the heat from the brief contact spreads up my arm and into my veins. I curl my hand into a fist to steady myself.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, using my most polite, customer-friendly voice. Because if I don’t, I might actually cry.

This is the problem with letting yourself feel things. They don’t always feel so good.

Wes nods. “Of course. I just wanted to ask…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. I follow the movement with my eyes, wanting nothing more than to drag my mouth over the soft olive skin there.

Wrenching my gaze away, I push my mouth into a falsely bright smile. “What’s up?”

He swallows. “Could you, uh, stop by the house tonight? Around seven?”

My lips part in surprise. “Your house?”

He nods. I can’t read his face, and I’m not sure why he’d want me to come over. Or to use his words, “Stop by,” which I’m certain he deliberately chose so I wouldn’t read too much into them. Why would he need me to stop by? We haven’t said two words to each other outside of Joe’s since we returned to the city. Maybe I left something at his place when I last visited Jess, though I can’t think what.

“Um…” I blow out a breath. “I guess. Why?”

He shakes his head, reaching for his coffee with a secretive little smile. “I want to show you something.”

Okay, now I’mreallycurious.

“What?”

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