deserves,” I admit, my shaky voice giving away my emotions.
“What makes you say that?”
“I’m not sure I can ever be the person he needs or deserves.”
She pulls back, looking at me. “What makes you say that?”
I narrow my eyes, giving her a knowing look. “You know why. Wes has no idea who I really am. What I’ve done. If he did—”
“For someone who pretends to be such a hard ass, you have shitty self-esteem.”
“I don’t—”
Before I can finish, she grabs my wrapped hand, tugging me off the bench and toward the wall-to-wall mirror opposite us. With her hands on my biceps, she forces me to peer at my reflection.
“What do you see?”
“Me,” I respond flippantly.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. So let’s try this again. What. Do. You. See?”
I feign annoyance, but eventually relent, taking a moment to consider what I see whenever I stare at myself.
“I see a girl who pretends she has her shit together but, in reality, is barely holding on,” I admit through a strained voice. “I see hundreds of dreams that disappeared in the blink of an eye. Dreams I probably shouldn’t have had anyway. And I see someone who will never be worthy of love, so why should I even try finding it?”
“Are you done?” Hazel asks with a raised brow.
I nod. I see a lot more, but I’d rather not reveal just how low my self-esteem really is, despite the front I put up.
“Then let me tell you what I see.”
“Hazel…” I attempt to spin around, not wanting to have to listen to this, but she doesn’t let me, her hold on me resolute.
“I see a woman who’s scarred, but has somehow found the strength to continue on, even on those days when it would be so fucking easy to throw in the towel.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a lone tear trickling down my cheek.
“I see a woman who had her dreams dashed, but persevered and made new dreams. Better dreams. Brighter dreams. Despite the constant fear that she may not achieve them, she pushed forward, chasing after those dreams with everything she had. And do you want to know why she did that, even when the odds were stacked against her?”
I swallow hard, remaining silent, unsure I’d be able to speak even if I needed to.
“Because she’s fucking fearless.”
I shake my head, swiping the tears off my face, the emotions of the past few days catching up to me. From overcoming my fear of heights with Wes. To witnessing him stand up to Grady’s derogatory comments. To the snake crawling across me. To the euphoria of his kiss.
For weeks, I’ve been riding a tumultuous seesaw. I should have known it was only a matter of time until I crashed to the ground with more force than I could endure.
“But mostly, I see a woman who has so much love in her. A woman who deserves to be loved in return. And I guarantee you, Wes sees the same thing I do when he looks at you.”
I spin around, peering into Hazel’s eyes. “How do you know?”
She shrugs. “I don’t. It’s a risk you have to take. But if he’s half the man you say he is, he’ll focus on your strengths, your perseverance. Not things that may be lurking in your past.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask, although I already have a feeling that’s not the case, especially after his heartfelt plea last night.
Hazel wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “Then he never deserved you in the first place.”
Chapter Eighteen
Weston
“You still haven’t heard from her?” Julia asks from over the rim of her coffee mug as we sit at a table in the corner of her bakery in Buckhead on a Friday.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve seen Londyn. Nearly two weeks since I’ve spoken to her, too. To say it’s driving me crazy is an understatement.
“I have. She sent me an email the other day with options for kitchen appliances.”
“Oh, wow!” She feigns excitement. “That’s exactly what I’d hope for after I poured my heart out to someone. Questions about kitchen appliances.”
I shrug, glancing around her busy bakery, a line out the door, even at two in the afternoon. “It’s better than nothing.”
“Have you tried talking to her about things? Does she know you haven’t been back to the house, either?”
“That’s not true,” I argue.
“It’s not?” She leans back in her chair, giving me a smug look.
“I’ve been busy. There was that golf tournament on Saturday.”