The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,63
hands and pulls me into the hotel. We walk up the stairs and into my room. I have no idea who sees us because I refuse to look anywhere but in front of me, but I have no doubt there will be talk tomorrow. There may even be phones ringing right now.
We get inside the room and I go straight for the bathroom. When I come out, my face is scrubbed free of makeup and I’m wearing my pajama shorts and tank top. Wes sits on the couch wearing boxer briefs and an undershirt, and I fight with the strength of a prizefighter not to allow my gaze to travel south. On my way to bed, I see his jeans and shirt are folded in a very precise way and rest on his boots. He’s also found the extra blanket the hotel placed in the top of the closet, and swiped one of the pillows from my bed.
I climb into the bed and watch him lay out on the couch. It’s almost comical, watching him try to fit his frame on the too-small couch. There’s no way he won’t wake up with a sore neck tomorrow.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” I tell him, sitting up and pulling the sheet around my waist.
He swings his legs around and stands up quickly, as though someone poked his ass with a pin. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, striding over. He pulls back the sheet and climbs in beside me.
“You were going to wait for me to fall asleep and then get in, weren’t you?”
He smirks. “I guess now you’ll never know.”
I laugh and shake my head.
It feels impossible to settle down with Wes lying eighteen inches away. His nearness creates electricity, and it results in a low, buzzing hum that covers my entire body.
“Goodnight,” I whisper, turning on my side and facing away from him.
“Goodnight,” he says, his voice thick and sleepy.
I’m not sure how long I lay there, but it feels like forever. Wes’s breathing evens out, and the steady rhythm lulls me to sleep.
I sleep peacefully, dreamlessly, until Wes begins to thrash and scream.
22
Dakota
There’s a bakery on the corner, across the street from the hotel. It’s a stretch to call it a bakery, because it also serves savory breakfast food. Nonetheless, it’s called The Bakery. The people in Sierra Grande seem to prefer names that don’t leave any room for interpretation—see, Bar N.
The Bakery is where I’m headed now, in the red sundress I picked up off the floor and draped over myself without making a peep. Wes was sleeping hard, heavy breaths coming from between parted lips. Is it possible for sleep to be grateful? Because that’s how his serene face appeared to be—so damn thankful to be in a state that was not disrupted by a nightmare.
Oh, Wes…
The light changes and I cross the street, but all I can think about is waking up to Wes’s flailing limbs, and his pained, incoherent yelling. Whatever plagues him during waking hours comes out to torture him when he’s asleep.
His yelling and thrashing lasted fewer than ten seconds. It didn’t wake him, but it kept me from sleeping for nearly an hour. Something tells me I’ll be drinking more coffee than usual today.
The smell of salty breakfast meat and warm pastry at The Bakery wakes me up a little. The aroma is already familiar. It’s the third time this week I’ve come here. It’s possible I’m addicted, but there are far worse things to be addicted to, so I’m not too worried.
“Hey, Greta.” I smile at the red-haired woman behind the counter. Unlike my strawberry blonde locks, Greta’s hair is more of a rust color, and wound into a poofy bun at the back of her head.
“Dakota, how ya’ doin’ today?” Greta rests her generous forearms on top of the glass display case. On one wrist she wears a delicate gold watch. On the other, a Native American beaded bracelet.
“I’m great,” I answer, lying right through my teeth. Actually, I’m exhausted, and I’m in a fake relationship. The only thing going ‘great’ for me right now is The Orchard. Which is arguably a pretty big thing to have going well.
“Good to hear.” Greta nods, and I’m supremely thankful she isn’t better at reading people because even I can hear the falseness of my tone. Seriously, what hope do I have of convincing anybody Wes and I are so desperately in love that we’re sprinting to the altar?