Page 32 of Wish Upon A Star
“Call us right away if—” Dad halts. “If you need anything.”
“I will,” I say.
And then I’m outside and Wes is leaning against his big black SUV. He’s wearing tight black jeans with artful rips at the knees, slouched into the same calf-high, partially unlaced combat boots. A blindingly white T-shirt, just the front tucked behind a thick black belt. Black leather ball cap, no insignia or logo, with mirrored Ray-Bans.
Good grief, he’s gorgeous.
My stomach flutters just looking at him.
And then…he smiles at me; it’s like the world turned upside down, knowing that a smile that bright, that joyful, that brilliant and beautiful is meant forme. “Hey, you. Ready?”
I bite my lip, suddenly rethinking my outfit. “Yeah!” I say, a little too eagerly, a little too brightly.
He makes a face somewhere between a frown and an amused smirk. “You wouldn’t be bullshitting me, now, would you?”
“Nope!”
“Jo.” He takes my hand. “What is it? Second thoughts?” He has my other hand, now. He’s so earnest, so genuine. “No big deal, we can give it another day. Or two. Or whatever.”
“No, for real, it’s not that. I promise. No second thoughts.” I laugh. “If you ask my parents, I’ve barely given this a first thought.”
“Then what? I can tell there’s something.”
“It’s stupid.”
“I won’t think so.”
I sigh. “It’s just that you’re…” I gesture at him. “So freaking incredible-looking. Like, that outfit is perfect. Spotless white shirt. The jeans, the boots, the hat. The whole thing is just…perfect.” I pluck at the skirt of my flowy, white with blue flowers sundress, which I’ve paired with strappy white sandals. “I guess I just feel a little…plain. Next to you.”
He frowns. “Jolene, you areanythingbut plain.” He takes off the hat and messes up his hair. “There, I’m scrubby.”
This just earns him a cackle from me. “Nope, sorry,” I say, still laughing, “but a little bit of rumpled hair just makes you look even sexier.”
He replaces his hat and slides the sunglasses up onto the brim. His deep brown eyes meet mine. “Jo, listen. I’ve chosen to be here. I’ve chosen to be withyou. You should never feel plain. You should never doubt yourself. If those thoughts hit, just remember that I am choosing you.” He cups my cheek, brushes a thumb over my lips. “I’m choosing to be with you because I like you. I am attracted to you. I want to know more about you. Spend time with you.”
I sigh, hearing that from anyone, let alonehim? It’s hard to hold on to the fact that it’s real. It’s happening—to me. “I know they say there’s nothing sexier than confidence, but that’s just something I struggle with, in certain areas. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of who I am. I’ve been through a lot and I like to think I’ve handled it with a certain amount of dignity and grace. But being confident in what I look like and feeling confident in my body has not always been easy. I try, but—it’s just hard. I just haven’t exactly had a lot of opportunity to feel…beautiful, I guess.” I laugh, but it comes across a little bitter. “Probably something to do with feeling sick and having my hair either falling out or growing back in for most of my life.”
He smiles. “Well, then. I’ll just have to make it my top priority to make sure you feel beautiful and desired.” He licks his lips, eyes going to my mouth, then cutting to my front door. Back to my eyes. “I’d kiss you to prove the point, but your parents are watching and I don’t want to seem like I’m rubbing anything in.”
I pull back and touch his chin with a finger. “Could I get a rain check on that?”
“Definitely.” He walks me around to the passenger side and opens the door for me, waits until I’m fully in, and then closes it.
As he rounds the hood, he waves at my parents, who wave back but remain in the doorway, watching.
His car smells good. Like leather and vanilla air freshener, and him. There’s an expensive-looking leather duffel bag on the rear passenger seat, a case of sparkling water on the floor, and an open box of meat sticks. A leather jacket is draped on the seat behind the driver.
He’s behind the wheel, then, shifting around and buckling, then punching a button to start the car.
“This is a really nice car, Wes,” I say.
He grins. “Isn’t it? I love it. It’s a Range Rover Autobiography.” He twists to look behind us as he backs out of the driveway. “It’s actually the only major purchase I’ve ever made.”
I glance at him in surprise. “Really? This may be rude and none of my business, but I sort of have the impression that you, you know, have a lot of money.”
“Not rude, and it is your business. If we really do end up getting married, it’ll absolutely be your business. And besides, I don’t have anything to hide.” He heads out of my neighborhood, plugging his phone into the car’s infotainment center and pulling up a navigation route back to an address in LA, I assume where he lives. Once this is done, he resumes his answer. “So, when I turned sixteen, my parents gave me their car and they bought a new one. It wasn’t anything fancy, a seven-year-old Volvo. Seven years oldthen, I mean, and that was five years ago. Nice, reliable, safe, whatever. When the whole Swan Song thing happened, I moved out to LA to pursue a music career, and I continued to drive that car.”
He pauses again as we reach the edge of my neighborhood, makes the turn that will take us to the interstate, and then he resumes speaking.