Page 7 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)
Wesley
I wasn’t planning on coming back.
Don’t I know it.
Why is she here, then? Why, of all times, did she decide to come home now ?
I shove off those questions and all the restless memories that come with them.
I tried and failed to focus on placing one foot in front of the other and not on the blonde bombshell trailing behind me.
It doesn’t matter what Blake’s doing in town, not anymore.
Blake. She’s exactly the same as I remember, yet so different.
Still devastatingly beautiful, and still the only person who can so easily crawl under my skin after just a few words.
With full, plump pink lips, and big honey-brown eyes, her thick hair is tied back in a high pony that cascades down her back.
She has perfectly arched eyebrows and dark, long eyelashes.
A button nose that’s still a host to the tiny scar she gained from the time she fell off her bike in my mom’s driveway.
Tight jeans and a white tank do little to hide her ample curves.
It’s as if the devil himself crafted Blake Warner just to spite me.
As I swing open her door and motion for her to hop in, my eyes lock on another scar that runs along her forearm, one I don’t recognize.
She does so, hopping in and completely avoiding my gaze.
Slamming the door shut, I clench my fist at my side and walk around the back of the truck, hoping to prolong the awkward as-shit encounter that’s inevitably about to happen.
Thankfully, it’s silent for the first few moments.
Until her mom’s house is fully out of view.
“I’m surprised you managed to get this thing up and running,” Blake says, filling the silence.
I watch from the corner of my eye as she runs her pink manicured nails across the dash.
Something about it has me squeezing the steering wheel and tearing my gaze away.
I don’t respond, still a little shocked that she’s sitting in my truck.
But leave it to Blake to prod the silence once more.
For whatever reason, she never could stand it.
There’s a teasing tone in her voice once we hit the one-way dirt road into town. “Bar owner and mechanic, huh?”
“Yup,” I answer, not willing to elaborate.
She hums, “Hmmm. Long way from future astronaut.”
I loosen my tight grip on the steering wheel and refrain from shooting her a look.
“I was ten when I said that,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Oh, please. You said that all throughout high school. You even begged your parents to send you to space camp.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who wanted to be a ballerina when you clearly only have two left feet,”I retort.
“Whatever. At least mine was realistic,” she says with a snort.
“You broke your ankle five minutes into the warm-up," I say, making Blake gasp.
“You promised you’d never mention that out loud!”
“You started it,” I say, knowing it's a childish comeback. But she relinquishes.
“Fair enough,” She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back into her seat. “At least writing turned out well enough for me.”
“If that was the case, you wouldn’t be back in Clover-Hills," I bite back. The words are out before I can stop them, and they leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
For someone who prides themselves on being so calm and collected, that all goes out the window when it comes to Blake.
We may have been apart for six years, but going back to our bickering ways makes it feel like we haven’t been apart for even a day.
But I took it too far, like I always do, and I don’t have to look at her to know my words hit their mark.
“I didn’t mean-" I start.
“Let’s forget it.” She whispers, interrupting me.
I snap my mouth shut at her broken tone. This is going to be a very, very long day.