Page 33 of Almost Perfect
Once out, I’d managed a “Thank you.” He’d carried the bags up the stairs and then held them out to me at the door of the house. I’d taken them, fingers grazing his, and disappeared inside. Moments later, I’d gotten a text.“Breakfast tomorrow at 8:00. If that’s too early, let me know what time you prefer. It was nice talking with you on the ride back. Have a good afternoon, Calla.”
“Nowthat’swhat I want to hear! Especially when I can tell you are not unaffected by Mr. Wyatt Saint. So, when you gonna jump his bones?”
I burst out laughing, glad to shake away the intense mix of dread and attraction I felt when remembering his touch and the whole ride home.
“First, ew. Second, if the gossip is to be believed, I’ve probably already stolen his innocence.”
I heard a long sigh. “Good thing we know that’s not true.”
That maddening self-pity and frustration clawed at me again. “Yeah, good thing.”
She was quiet a moment, either gathering her thoughts or letting me collect mine. When she spoke, it was serious. “It could be good for you, you know? To be with someone normal, outside of all of this.”
My heart thudded a heavy beat. “Not likely.”
“Seriously, Cal. Think about it. If this guy is nice and good-looking and not about to sell his story, why not?”
“A thousand reasons. First and foremost is that I am not here for that.” And I wouldn’t have any idea how to go about that with someone like Wyatt. “Plus, he doesn’t strike me as someone who’s up for a fling.”
Never mind I was about as up for a fling as I was a hole in the head, and I’d long ago given up wanting that part of my life to work.
“I hear your excuses piling up against your mile-high walls. I’m just saying, if the opportunity presents itself, you could stop self-flagellating and enjoy a moment for yourself.”
I gulped more water, then set the glass down clumsily. Why this whole conversation made me shaky, I didn’t know. “I’ll take that under consideration. Now tell me about you, since we know the train wreck of my life isn’t worth dwelling on.”
And because she loved me, she gave me the out. She launched into a story about her latest movie and her hilarious costars, and she eventually let me go with a promise to answer next time she called.
I hung up feeling grateful and determined to be a better friend to her. I should’ve told her how I’d been writing—just a bit, but she’d know that was a good thing. She’d know what that meant for me. I made a note to tell her next time we talked, and maybe I could even tell her I’d written something coherent. So far, it’d all been more like dumping out cold coffee—it came out of the pitcher just as fast as hot, but no one wanted to drink it.
Still, though. It gave my days a little more purpose, which felt better than I could’ve anticipated. Wandering around weeping and feeling sorry for myself didn’t exactly inspire me, but it’d had its place. Sooner than I could’ve imagined, I’d wanted to create. Even if what I created was utter trash, it was me. The me from Silverton—the girl who’d grown up, at least halfway, in these mountains. And even if she never belonged all that well before, I wondered if she might someday.
I’d tell Jenna some of that, and I’d do it soon. This resolution left me feeling determined and yes, ready to pour out more day-old coffee.
And reluctantly, more than a little excited for breakfast tomorrow morning.
FOURTEEN
Wyatt
The light knock on the storm door trapped my breath in my chest like a rabbit in a cage before I pushed it out in a long exhale. I had to calm down or this would be awkward as hell.
But I wouldn’t be weird.
You willnotbe weird.
After all, what was there to be weird about? Calla and I had become friends in the last few days. I’d apologized for my rudeness and idiocy, and she’d very graciously accepted. We’d spent a little time together driving the canyon, and we’d both shared a bit about our lives.
All of that was completely normal and well within the bounds of friendship. The problem arrived when we said goodbye. Her small, cool hand in mine had felt like a backhand to the face. A sharp slap to wake me up from a slumber I didn’t know I’d taken. Disoriented, the contact had taken me by the lapels and shaken. No lie, I’d never felt a physical response to someone like that.
I hadn’t been able to speak. What could I have said but “Where am I?” What world had I lived in up to this point, and how could I possibly step forward into this new one, birthed in the moment of contact?
We’d touched before, but something happened to me in that instant. I couldn’t even get out the invite to breakfast this morning until I’d parked the car, at which point I’d had to text her.
The knock came again, which shoved me out of my head and into action. I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel, then swung it over my shoulder as I jogged to open the door. When I did, the sight of her winded me.
“Hi, come in,” I said, sounding exactly as breathless as I felt.
“Thanks for having me.” She smiled and removed her jacket, then hung it from a peg in the entryway.
