Page 24 of Lost and Found

Wes: Damn, so close

Her phone rang. His name was on the screen. Her pulse jumped again. She answered the phone. “Why are you calling me?”

He laughed, low and quiet, as if it was mostly for himself. It rumbled through her like the vibrations before an earthquake. “Why’d you answer?”

Good question. “I figure you must have something super important to call so late.”

“It’s nine-fifteen, Bailey. No one thinks it’s late except for chamomile drinkers and grandparents.”

She snickered. “And me.”

“And you,” he amended. “The cop still outside?”

“Right where he should be. Is that why you called?”

“I already told you I was bored.”

“And I’m supposed to help with that?”

“You already are, sweetness.”

Her stomach fluttered, but she rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“What have you been doing for the last six years?”

The flutters ricocheted into tiny electric zaps in her blood. She popped her earbuds in and set her phone down, snuggling into her blanket. Comfy, cozy, and listening to Wes’s voice rumble in her ear was next-level relaxation. Except she wasn’t exactly chilling out. More like keying up. “Why?”

“I could’ve bet a million bucks you’d ask why.”

“Are you calling me predictable, Wes Wilder?”

It sounded like he’d grumbled or growled that she’d used his full name—and that he liked it. Awareness pulsed below her stomach. Anticipation made her breath shallower.

“You are a lot of things, sweetness, but not predictable.”

Her throat constricted. All of her did. It had been too long since she’d lain on the couch and listened to a man talk, because this simple conversation had her wound tight. She needed to redirect her thoughts to something more appropriate. “Stubborn?”

Wes laughed. “It’s your superpower, which means, obviously, it has to be one of your top three best qualities.”

“What are the other two?”

“I can’t tell you, Bailey. It’ll go to your head.”

“God, you’re obnoxious.”

His laughter rumbled again. “Is that one of my top qualities?”

“I think it’s your most prevalent.” Protective might be the real answer. Maybe persistent. He’d said tenacious earlier, and she agreed. The man was determined when he wanted to be.

“So you’re reading a romance novel?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“What’s your happily ever after look like?”

She closed her eyes and pictured herself with Matt and…not Wes—someone else. Whoever that person was, he was out of focus and unknown, but she imagined happily ever after: a caring man in their family, days filled with laughter, summer nights with Popsicles and fireflies, and nights on fire. She couldn’t share that. No one had ever asked her what her happily ever after would look like. “That’s awfully personal.”

“Chicken.”