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I looked back. Trepidation ran across his face.
I smiled. “Yeah. Isn’t that her?”
“It is,” Wyatt cleared his throat. “She was tall. She was the same height as me—taller in heels but rarely wore any. When she did, people would make a big fucking deal about it. Oh, God, she’ssotall! It mustreallybother you!”
I snickered. “It didn’t?”
“Nah. She was my wife. Was I supposed to tell her not to wearheels? That wouldn’t have worked. Isla would have told me to go fuck myself.”
She was feisty.
I returned to the final photo of Wyatt and Isla on their wedding day. Her hair was down to her shoulders in slow, beachy waves that framed her face. She wore a simple crown of tiny flowers. There was no veil. Her dress was simple. Yet, she was stunning. Everything about her seemedchicandbohemian. If this was Wyatt’s type, I had to wonder why he bothered with me. We were different women.
“We got married in Malibu.” Wyatt draped his arms around me and pulled me close. “It was a pretty simple wedding. A friend had a house there. We got to enjoy the sunset and roast marshmallows over a fire pit. It was perfect.”
He kissed my cheek. “I don’t mean to bring you down, but… damn, this brings up memories.”
“It doesn’t bring me down,” I said. “It’s your house—that you lived in with Isla.”
“Sometimes I worry you’ll feel like the other woman.”
I turned and ran my palm across his cheek. “I don’t. I know it’s not like that. I know that you can love someone so much it hurts. I cannot imagine losing a spouse. You’d nevernotlove them, I imagine. But don’t worry about that. I won’t lie. She’s nothing like me. What do you see in me?”
He chuckled, cupping my face in his hands. “A beautiful light. Exuberance. Youthful, beautiful positivity. You two have that in common. You’re right that the two of you are very different people, but for what I lack in seeing the world glass-half-full, you make up for it.”
He kissed my forehead so sweetly that he barely grazed me.
“Thanks for understanding that, Odette. I don’t deserve someone so sweet.”
“You do,” I insisted. “Because you return the favour. Thank you for being vulnerable. Don’t feel the need to hold back, okay? I promise to try to stay open, too. I trust you.”
“Good. That’s all we can ask for from one another.”
51
PRETTY GREAT
WYATT
“She’s pretty great.” Rebecca walked around me to grab a bottle of olive oil from the pantry.
“What now?” I joked.
“Your girlfriend. The woman you’re staring at like a sap.”
I smiled, unable to hold back. Odette was reading an endless loop of picture books to Theo. When she’d finish one, the next would start. He’d pulled out all the books in his room—most of which were in French—and particularly delighted in Odette’s French onomatopoeia. He didn’t have me to rely on for that. My French did the job. I was—for sure—much better at French than Rick. However, I still had no idea what Odette screamed at me earlier. Just thinking about it made me tingle.
“She’s great, yeah. But I don’t know if she’s a girlfriend or not.”
“Oh? Well, lock that shit down. She loves the little guy.”
“The feeling is mutual. He will want to get rid of me and replace me with her.”
Rebecca laughed. “Nah. He loves Papa too much, but she might be in the running for a close third—after Mom, of course.”
“Often, Mom is in the first spot.”
“True. So, are you looking forward toalone time?” Rebeccateased.