Melting - Sean Ashcroft Page 0,31

busy with my own life that I hadn’t noticed them.

We’d had a long talk after breakfast, Dad making it clear that he’d agonized over the decision but ultimately didn’t want my career failing to take off on his conscience.

And then later he’d dug up a box of magazines and newspapers—a lot of them clearly sourced from New York—full of articles I was mentioned in, or that were about awards I’d won.

He’d followed me every step of the way, even when I’d been too busy to eat outside of the kitchen at work or sleep more than a few hours a night. Even when we hadn’t talked for months.

Dad loved me.

I could accept that, even if I didn’t like that he’d hidden his health problems from me.

“Is that bacon?” Wes asked, sniffing the air like an eager puppy.

I couldn’t help the tiny smile that spread over my lips. Dad had been right, this was a good call.

“It is. It’s hot, I’m making carbonara. I need to go grocery shopping tomorrow.”

“I can go,” Wes volunteered. “If you give me a list.”

I looked up at him, surprised. Dad paid him to do things like that, but I wasn’t Dad. He didn’t have to go out of his way to help me.

“I’ll be… umm… if you need to go into town I wouldn’t hate the company, but…”

You don’t have to, I thought, even as I desperately wanted to ask him to come with me and let him know that I’d like that. Without having to dance around it.

Sex was one thing—Wes clearly liked sex—but actually hanging out with me, going grocery shopping with me, that was a different thing entirely.

“I do have to go into town,” Wes said, and whether that was true or not, I was choosing to believe it. “I can show you around, we could meet Seth for lunch…” he trailed off, grinning.

“I’d like that,” I said before Wes could take it back. I knew he was teasing, but I didn’t have a lot of friends, and Seth apparently wanted to count himself among them. He wasn’t the kind of person I’d normally befriend, but why should that matter? He was a good person. Fun, even, now that I was getting used to him.

“I’ll… let him know,” Wes said, clearly surprised. But happy, I thought. Pleased that I was getting along with his friends.

“Good.” I turned back to my cooking. “There’s two minutes on this, time to put the baby photos away.”

“I know where your dad keeps them,” Wes said. “I can look at these any time I want.”

I groaned, but some part of me was flattered that he wanted to look at them at all.

A knock on my bedroom window just about made me jump out of my own skin, since I was on the second floor.

I hesitated a moment, wondering if it was my imagination, or maybe the tree outside banging against the wall, but then another, deliberate knock—like someone knocking on a door—forced me to put my laptop aside and go to the window.

Wes waved at me through the glass when I opened the curtains, laughing as I rushed to pull the window up so he could climb through.

“Hi,” he said as he stood in the middle of my bedroom floor, grinning at me like he hadn’t just climbed through my window in the middle of the night.

I peered out to see a ladder leaning against the side of the house, but looked away before the thought made me too dizzy.

“I… what’re you…”

“Is this a bad time?” Wes asked, looking at my hastily-discarded laptop on the bed.

Not even a little.

“No,” I said, closing the laptop and putting it aside for the night. I didn’t need to be sweating over business figures right now. I could rest.

If Wes had gone to the trouble of climbing through my window, I definitely wanted to know what he was here for.

I knew what I was hoping he was here for.

When I turned around, Wes was inches away from me.

“Thought I should thank you for dinner,” he said.

“You already did,” I pointed out. “Profusely.”

He’d been enthusiastic over basically every bite and almost tripped over himself for a second helping.

I hadn’t cooked for anyone but myself in over a year, and I was still glowing from the praise. It meant even more from someone who didn’t know me, didn’t love me, and wouldn’t necessarily have just accepted anything I put in front of him, like Dad had for so many years before my cooking