Page 12 of One Little Kiss
“She would never have told me that,” she replies, aghast. “I had driven her, and we went in together. It wasn’t the type of place either of us should go into alone. When she told me she was going to seek him out, I came home and made her promise to wait for me. I was standing beside her, and he didn’t even recognize me, but Wes and I look just like him.”
“You’re so strong, Winnie.”
“This really wasn’t my story to tell.” Her response is solemn, and I wonder if she feels like she betrayed her mom’s confidence.
“I would have to disagree with that, Win. It sounds to me like it’s just as much your story as it is hers. It also shows me how much you careaboutthem and how much you take careofthem. I think if my father had treated me the way yours did, I probably would be skeptical of all men.”
“I am. I mean, usually I am. You must have caught me on an off day.”
I feel her retreating before she even tries to stand. When she does, I know I’ll have to let her go, but I’m compelled to say something.
Think, Colton.
Then it comes to me.
“I told you I come from a ridiculously large family of boys. Privilege was something my parents understood. So was consent and what the two could mean for all of us.”
“Ah, okay?” She stares down at me with apprehension.
“My point is, I was in first grade when I had my first lesson in consent. My best friend, Rylan, was over. We were playing in the sand, and she had my favorite truck. It was mine, and I wanted it. As soon as I took it from her, my dad sat down next to us, removed the truck from my grasp, handed it back to Rylan, and explained consent. What it meant. Why it was important. Why we always had to ask, never take, and learn to walk away if someone said no.”
“That was pretty progressive thinking back then.”
I smile, remembering all the conversations I had over the years with my dad.
“It was, but it was important to my parents that we not end up the statistic of so many other entitled assholes. Listen, Winnie, I’m not expecting or even asking anything of you. I have no idea why it’s so important for me to sit here with you tonight, but I’d very much like to spend this time with you.” Raising my hands, palms facing her, I give my best puppy dog face. “No touching. Just talking. But if you say no, I’ll head to the hotel and leave you alone. I might cry, but I’ll do it.”
“I don’t really understand what your lesson in consent has to do with me. Or why you would willingly give up a five-star hotel to sit in an airport all night just to talk.”
“I’m telling you because it sounds like your dad and stepdad took something from you without your consent … your right to feel safe, and your trust in men. I don’t know how to explain the connection I feel to you. But, on my father’s memory, I promise, I’ll never take something from you without permission. Now, if you want to give me your number tomorrow, I wouldn’t say no, though.”
Flashing her my best dimpled grin, I waggle my eyebrows, and she flops back into her seat, silently shaking her head. “I’m going to regret this, I think.”
“I won’t,” I reply confidently, nudging her shoulder with mine.
She quirks an eyebrow, glancing down at where our shoulders touch.
“Shoulders don’t count as touching, do they? If that’s the case, we’re going to need a seat separating us. I barely fit in this chair as it is.”
Her laughter is the only response.
“Tell me about your family, Winnie. The ones who matter. You already know I come from a football team of boys that suffer from a communication deficit. What’s yours like?”
She watches me for long moments, and my body heats under her curious gaze. Reaching up, I loosen my tie and undo the button around my collar. She regards each movement, causing the flutter in my chest to take flight.
“Well, my mom and I work opposite shifts so one of us can always be home with Wes.” She smiles at the mention of him, her affection written all over her face.
“Can I see a picture of him?”
She eyes me curiously but pulls out her phone. My chest tightens when I see her home screen is a shot of the two of them. When she hands me the phone, my lips twitch with a familiar happiness.
“You two look a lot alike,” I comment. Staring at the picture, I find similarities between Wes and me, too. He could easily pass as our child, and that thought has me dropping her phone into my lap like it scalded me. Pulling myself together, I pick up the phone and hand it back to her.
“You think so? He has more of our mom in him, but most people think he’s mine. I just assumed that was because of the age thing.”
“Winnie and Wes. I like it.”
I more than like it. I like her, and it feels dangerous. Flashes of first dates, holidays, and romantic getaways flit across my vision like a highlight reel, and I have to rein it in. Winnie could live in Hong Kong for all I know. Suddenly, not knowing all the details of this magical woman beside me feels like a safety net.
