nothing of significance.
She cleared her throat. “Well, I should be heading back.” She really didn’t want to head back on that path. Alone.
His eyes met her. “Do you want a ride?”
----
A construction hat , plans, and tools were in the backseat of his black Ford Explorer. It was an utter display of masculinity, with the power tools and dirt marks on the doors and the overall clutter inside. But the front was fairly devoid of any mess.
She was curious about him. It was only natural for her to be so. She didn’t know him—not enough to get a true handle of his character. Besides, it would be good to know some things about him since they were “dating.”
At least that’s the justification she was using to want to know more about him. And it had been Wes who told her that they could be friends that day in the supermarket’s parking lot.
She’d be lying, too, if the idea that Wes hardly knew anything about her or what had happened didn’t have some appeal. Here was someone who said he liked her and wanted to be seen with her—even if it was to suit his own needs and purposes—after people had warned him off.
Sometimes she wondered why she stayed in Cape Hope with all the shit that had happened. It would have been easier to pack up her stuff and start over in a place where no one knew her name or story. Where she could just be Ginny Michaels and not have her past come back to haunt her.
But this was her home.
The ocean, the sand, the Victorian homes, the lighthouse, the storefronts . . . all of this was part of her story, good and bad. Her family was here. And even though sometimes she entertained fantasies of leaving—of course, she also had fantasies of Clive Owen, Hugh Jackman, Daniel Craig, or Richard Armitage (hey, a girl had to have her options)—this town was where she lived.
At the end of the day, she couldn’t imagine leaving Cape Hope behind. So she would stay and hope things turned around. Or she’d just continue to be the odd duck out.
She sighed. She really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. The day at Just Desserts was still fresh in her mind. Running into Marie DePaul again after careful avoidance on Ginny’s part had been utterly miserable. And Julie was right. Marie usually never came into Just Desserts. So why today? Why now?
She tapped her fingers on her seatbelt.
“Everything okay?”
Ginny glanced at Wes. He kept his attention on the road, but his whole driving stance was a pose of utter ease and confidence. Everything about him was so self-assured, and he didn’t seem to give a damn what people thought. She wished she had an ounce of his devil-may-care attitude, and that she didn’t care so much. Or, rather, that she didn’t let what people think bother her. And she wished that—
She needed to stop wishing. Wishing never made anything came true. This was the hand of cards she’d been dealt, so she might as well start learning to live with them.
It wouldn’t be easy to tell Wes everything. He’d look at her differently. When he found out she’d been shot, he had wanted to know more. And he’d treat her more carefully. Like her family had.
Look at how things had changed with her family. Her sister worried about her. Her mother had been trying to set her up on more dates after the shooting, as if dinner and dessert would make everything better. Wes might treat her with kid gloves if he knew everything.
Even now, she worried what he would think of her if she unloaded to him. However, it was a truth universally acknowledged that no one wanted to hang around someone who complained and whined all the time. More importantly, she didn’t trust him. And sharing that part of herself would make her vulnerable and open to him. He could hurt her, and the possibility of that coming to fruition already had her putting up safeguards.
“I’m fine.” She fidgeted in her seat at her obvious lie. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You know how we’re pretending
She cleared her throat. “Well, I should be heading back.” She really didn’t want to head back on that path. Alone.
His eyes met her. “Do you want a ride?”
----
A construction hat , plans, and tools were in the backseat of his black Ford Explorer. It was an utter display of masculinity, with the power tools and dirt marks on the doors and the overall clutter inside. But the front was fairly devoid of any mess.
She was curious about him. It was only natural for her to be so. She didn’t know him—not enough to get a true handle of his character. Besides, it would be good to know some things about him since they were “dating.”
At least that’s the justification she was using to want to know more about him. And it had been Wes who told her that they could be friends that day in the supermarket’s parking lot.
She’d be lying, too, if the idea that Wes hardly knew anything about her or what had happened didn’t have some appeal. Here was someone who said he liked her and wanted to be seen with her—even if it was to suit his own needs and purposes—after people had warned him off.
Sometimes she wondered why she stayed in Cape Hope with all the shit that had happened. It would have been easier to pack up her stuff and start over in a place where no one knew her name or story. Where she could just be Ginny Michaels and not have her past come back to haunt her.
But this was her home.
The ocean, the sand, the Victorian homes, the lighthouse, the storefronts . . . all of this was part of her story, good and bad. Her family was here. And even though sometimes she entertained fantasies of leaving—of course, she also had fantasies of Clive Owen, Hugh Jackman, Daniel Craig, or Richard Armitage (hey, a girl had to have her options)—this town was where she lived.
At the end of the day, she couldn’t imagine leaving Cape Hope behind. So she would stay and hope things turned around. Or she’d just continue to be the odd duck out.
She sighed. She really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. The day at Just Desserts was still fresh in her mind. Running into Marie DePaul again after careful avoidance on Ginny’s part had been utterly miserable. And Julie was right. Marie usually never came into Just Desserts. So why today? Why now?
She tapped her fingers on her seatbelt.
“Everything okay?”
Ginny glanced at Wes. He kept his attention on the road, but his whole driving stance was a pose of utter ease and confidence. Everything about him was so self-assured, and he didn’t seem to give a damn what people thought. She wished she had an ounce of his devil-may-care attitude, and that she didn’t care so much. Or, rather, that she didn’t let what people think bother her. And she wished that—
She needed to stop wishing. Wishing never made anything came true. This was the hand of cards she’d been dealt, so she might as well start learning to live with them.
It wouldn’t be easy to tell Wes everything. He’d look at her differently. When he found out she’d been shot, he had wanted to know more. And he’d treat her more carefully. Like her family had.
Look at how things had changed with her family. Her sister worried about her. Her mother had been trying to set her up on more dates after the shooting, as if dinner and dessert would make everything better. Wes might treat her with kid gloves if he knew everything.
Even now, she worried what he would think of her if she unloaded to him. However, it was a truth universally acknowledged that no one wanted to hang around someone who complained and whined all the time. More importantly, she didn’t trust him. And sharing that part of herself would make her vulnerable and open to him. He could hurt her, and the possibility of that coming to fruition already had her putting up safeguards.
“I’m fine.” She fidgeted in her seat at her obvious lie. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You know how we’re pretending
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