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“Do you?” he asks. “If you do, I won’t mention it again.”
“No,” I finally say.
“Because you know quitting is failing, and that’s what you’re ultimately afraid of. You’ve got this, babe. I’ll give you forty-eight hours to decide if this is what you want.” He lowers his voice. “And if not, know I’ll never forget how fucking good you tasted.”
I glare at him. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”
“I can’t believe it’s not an automaticyes,” he teases, though his smile dims. “I’ll help make all your dreams come true if you let me. But you have to be really surethisis what you want. If not, we should stop while we can.”
I suck in a deep breath. “Two days isn’t necessary.”
“Once the rumors start about us being in a relationship, even if we’re not, your life will drastically change. You will no longer have time for the W.” He pauses, giving me time to process what he means. “Everyone in my social circle will want to befriend you. Those who I call friends will try to sleep with you. Once you’re fully welcomed in, you might not have time for me. Your itinerary will be full if you want it to be.”
“I’llalwayshave time for you, Weston,” I say, reaching across the table to brush my fingertips against his.
The contact sparks something, as it usually does, and his breath catches.
“Forty-eight hours,” he mutters.
I try to speak, but he interrupts me.
“I won’t accept your answer, even if you have it. Please think about it for me. Crossing this linewillchange everything—for better or for worse.Youhave to be fully prepared to navigate both scenarios.”
“And what about you?”
He smirks. “I’m living in my fuck around and find out era.”
15
WESTON
After finishing our meals, I pay and tip Millie generously, as is my monthly tradition. As we stand to leave, she comes over, and we exchange a tight hug.
“Keeper,” she murmurs, her voice just above a whisper as she gently pats my back.
The woman is like an honorary aunt to both me and Easton. In another life, she would have been our mother. That’s a story for another day.
“Thanks.” I pull away, grinning as I remember how much my grandfather adored her, recalling how she’d sneak me candy when I was a kid.
Millie meets Carlee’s eyes. “I really hope to see you again.”
“Absolutely,” Carlee confirms with a friendly wave as I push open the door.
Millie gives me a thumbs-up.
Carlee steps outside and smiles at me over her shoulder. She’s picture-perfect as the snow falls around her. It feels like a dream, and I wish I had the power to freeze time.
“Promise we’ll visit again?” she asks as she climbs into the car. The heat is on, but she still shivers.
“Absolutely. You just say when,” I confirm.
I shrug off my coat and hand it to her. She slides her arms inside and wears it backward.
Carlee inhales deeply, snuggling into the material that envelops her. “Thanks. Smells like you.”
“What do I smell like?”
“Happiness,” she admits. “With a dash of torture.”