I shiver at the thought of the answer being no.
Grateful when she distracts me by calling out from the bedroom. “Drama or romance?” she asks, and I know she’s teasing me.
I think all old films have an element of romance in them, even the serious ones.
“Romance of course,” I call back, knowing it doesn’t matter what we watch, as long as she’s here with me, safe and happy. Full of food and… Well. Full of everything I plan to give her too.
Transplanting food to keep onto plates, I wheel the dirty dishes and scraps out the door again, that’s someone else’s job.
By the time I lock up and blow out the candles we don’t need anymore, I yawn and scratch my own stomach.
Ready to settle down and-
But it’s too late.
I ease the remote from her limp hands, gently tucking her legs under the covers before turning the sound way down.
I leave the movie playing, whatever it is she wanted to watch.
I spend the time I have left awake watching her sleep. Sliding myself in next to her I keep my eyes open and on her as long as I can before dreams filled with her take me away.
I know I’ve never slept so easy and so soundly.
The love of my life finally mine. Asleep where she belongs, right by my side.
Chapter Seventeen
Katelyn
Before I even open my eyes I know it’s late. Two days in a row I’ve overslept now.
I wonder if this is gonna be a thing now, it’s so unlike me. I’m always in bed by ten and up at six. Always.
Thing is, I’m not worried about it. Never felt better either.
I can sense Wes isn’t in bed, but I can feel his warmth still behind me.
Almost wanting to stay asleep, I only open my eyes when I have to know where he is and what he’s up to.
My phone’s by the bed and I check the time. Wow. I really have slept in late.
Breakfast is looking more like lunch.
Missed a couple of calls too. Nothing that can’t wait.
But that starts to bug me once I start to really wake up.
Nobody calls me, like nobody. Ever.
Especially twice on a Sunday morning.
Weird.
I try to ignore it and lay still, willing myself to get up and be full of energy.
The pleasant ache between my legs and in my limbs making me curl a smile as I recount the details from last night with Wes.
Where is he?
Starting the day with mystery isn’t my idea of fun, and I have to decide which bugs me worse not knowing where Wes is or not knowing who called me?
I groan and snatching my phone up I swipe it to see who called.
One number I don’t know and one from Professor Bernstein.
I feel a jolt in my stomach like I’ve been caught. Found out.
Guilty.
Sitting up and then actually deciding to just get out of bed, I call out for Wes, sure I can almost hear him from somewhere.
He’s out on the balcony, pacing as he talks into his phone.
He’s wearing a robe that’s hanging open, and I can’t help but admire the view.
If I’m guilty of anything right now, it’s of being madly in love with Wes Heart.
Addicted to the sight of his nakedness.
Wishing it was a prelude to something good I wince when I see how mad he looks, hear the tone of his voice even though it’s muffled by the double-thick panes of the patio doors.
I turn on my heel, deciding to leave him to it. Whoever he’s talking to, it’s none of my business until he wants to tell me about it.
Although I’m not totally stupid.
I have missed calls and he’s in a heated phone call the morning after a run in with that security guard?
The day after Professor Bernstein joined a few of his own dots yesterday too.
The same Professor Bernstein who’s been instrumental in setting up my post-graduate research grant.
I groan out loud, feeling my stomach turn into a knot once I focus on the very bad feeling I have about all of these coincidences.
Wes said he’d go where I go, support me a hundred percent.
I wonder if that includes supporting me with a roof over my head and food once I have no job or research grant?
Don’t jump to conclusions, Katelyn. Use your logic here. You can’t speculate on anything without data.
Oh shut up! You’re screwed and so is Wes. When was the last time you read about teachers running off with students that had a happy ending?
I don’t want to hear it. Don’t even want to think about it.
Like Wes said, we’ve done nothing wrong. We’re consenting adults.
I hear the patio doors close loudly and rush to meet him.
His face softens once he sees me, not having to force a smile.
“Morning. Didn’t wake you did I?” he asks sincerely.
“Wake me? I should’ve been up hours ago,” I try to protest, but his face is a question.