Chase Me If You Can(84)
“I had the time of my life chasing with you this season, Wes, but we both know you need to go,” I say gently. “This only works between us if we can go back to our normal lives without everything falling apart.”
“I know. And you’re right. I just…” Wes sighs, one hand on the door handle. “I’m going to miss you like hell, Sloane.”
“I’m going to miss you too.” I take a shaky breath. “Now go away.” I make a shooing motion with my hand, smile to soften my words, and try not to cry when he finally backs out of the driveway. I have far too much to do to lose time to a little breakdown, and besides, there’s no reason for it. Wes will be back in less than two weeks. I’ll be too busy to even notice.
“Get it together, Sloane,” I tell myself as I head back in the house, purposely stepping on the repaired stair. I have a mountain of things to do to distract me. He’ll be back before I know it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Time passes in fits and starts.
As I dodge ice sculptures and five-foot-high centerpieces, I can’t help comparing the lavish weddings I’m photographing to Matt and Tracy’s low-key ceremony. These six-figure weddings are visually stunning, but I miss the creativity of a less traditional ceremony as I work through yet another shot list obviously helped along by Pinterest.
I need to get serious about looking into what it will take to shift my business. It’s a risk—a change in strategy is always going to be a risk. But if I somehow manage to win the Nature Shots contest, the cash prize could give me the cushion I’d need to be comfortable losing out on some bigger contracts while I get the new venture established.
Nevertheless, wedding weekends go by in a blink. It’s the nights alone in my bed, or the long stretches of editing in my office, where time slows to a crawl. I’m not sure if burrowing into the sweatshirt Wes left behind—quite purposefully since I found it folded under my pillow—helps or makes me ache for him even more.
He resumes the tradition of the daily shower selfies, though, and as much as it makes me miss him more, I look forward to the sometimes silly, sometimes steamy nightly reminder that he’s thinking of me.
In the summer heat, it’s not unusual for me to opt for dresses when I’m not working. But the selfies I snap in them and send Wes? Those are all for him.
Missing him is just as hard as I thought it would be. It’s easier too, the little reminders that we’re on each other’s minds soothing the sting of separation. At least until I make a rookie mistake and wear his hoodie to my mom’s.
“I know a man’s clothing when I see it,” she sniffs as soon as I walk in the door.
“Hi, Mom. Nice to see you too.” I don’t bother to choke down the sarcasm. This is the last place I want to be, but Eric and Sam have been good about following the rotation we agreed on when I got home. Today it’s my turn.
“Honestly, Sloane, he might like seeing you in that shapeless thing in your bedroom—cavemen, all of them—but you dress like you’re still a child. Never mind wasting months of your life on that reckless hobby.”
I barely manage to swallow the Are you fucking kidding me and brush past her, heading for the kitchen where she claims to need help changing a light bulb. As much as I want to give her a piece of my mind, I want to get out of here without a fight more. Wes will be here tomorrow. I’d much rather focus on that.
“I assume it belongs to tall, dark, and handsome that you refused to introduce me to?” Mom presses, teetering after me into the kitchen. Why she’s got four-inch heels on in her own house, I’ll never understand. “You need to make an effort with a man like that.”
My tenuous hold on my temper falters. “Yes, the sweatshirt belongs to Wes. And you know where I met him, Mom?” I mimic her snide tone. “My reckless hobby.”
“Well, now you’ve caught him, you’ll need to work to keep him. When was the last time you had a wax?” Mom barrels on. “I’ll make you an appointment with my girl. Your hair is so dark. Highlights at minimum, but really, a nice honey blonde could work with your skin.” She pauses in her litany of my shortcomings long enough to tip her head to the side and scowl at my face. “I’ll call Dr. Barre too. A little filler will fix that line you’re getting.”
Amazing the phone calls my mother is capable of when she wants to be. Can’t call a damn lawn service on her own for two months, but the plastic surgeon’s office is probably saved to her favorites for easy access. Typical.
“Mom,” I grind out, the hold on my emotions that’s held for thirty years threatening to finally collapse, “Wes likes me just the way I am. He likes this version of me. Maybe you could try that.”
I might as well be having a conversation with the wall. She purses her lips, hands on her hips, and shakes her head like I’m the one who can’t seem to keep her life together without someone else constantly picking up the pieces. “You’re not getting any younger, Sloane. You need to get that man to marry you before he gets tired of waiting for you to settle down. Getting pregnant wouldn’t hurt. You don’t want to be alone like me when you’re old. And don’t sign any prenups. I looked up his family. Even divorced, you’ll be set for life. Stop wasting time with this silly photography nonsense and focus on the things that matter.”