Lavender Haze

Chapter 12

"Astrid."

I spin on my heel when Westley calls my name. I've just met Mila at the St. James Hotel in Soho to discuss the catering options because she's suddenly decided that the one she hired before we even met doesn't cut it for her anymore. It's a treat this far along the wedding process to have to find a new caterer for a wedding that involves dignitaries, A-list celebrities, politicians and minor members of the British Royal Family. Not to mention that we are talking about a four-hundred-plus guest list, so whoever the caterer, they have a hell of a job ahead of them. So, yay, this meeting with Mila was not stressful at all. As if it wasn't enough, I didn't even catch a glimpse of River, out for business, and had to spend the afternoon with Ambrose and his special brand of condescending patronization, which obviously means my mood is shitty at best, an incontrollable dumpster fire at worst.

"Hey, Wes," I say, weakly returning the smile he's offering me.

"Here. Take your fix." He hands me a to-go cup of mocha. My eyes must turn into pulsating hearts, because Wes chuckles.

"Is it weird if I profess my love to you right now?" I ask.

"Only if you're talking to the coffee."

"Well then, I guess I'll have to wait for us to be alone," I tell the cup.

Wes laughs. "I'll let Gustavo know you're a fan of his mocha."

"You can tell Gustavo I'm going to kidnap him and abuse his barista's skill very soon." I take a sip of the liquid gold in my cup. "I'm sorry if I'm taking advantage of your kindness, Wes," I say.

"Nonsense." He shrugs. "Mr. St. James told us a while ago to make sure you get everything you need around here." The thought of River instructing his staff to give me anything I might want makes my stomach churn in an uneasy and exciting way. I would have never imagined I'd define River St. James as caring, but the more time I spend with him, the more this word insinuates in my mind.

"I'll make sure to remember that next time I'm short of cash," I tell Wes, making myself grin.

Wes laughs again. He's an easy laugher, an easy audience. It takes zero effort to make his lips twist in a grin. It's not as rewarding as watching River fight against his own mouth to keep his usual inscrutable mask on, nor as satisfying as admiring his little, complacent smirk. Nonetheless, I enjoy entertaining Westley.

"You know," he says now, "I've been tinkering with this idea." His eyes meet mine. "About asking you out."

I hope he doesn't misinterpret the shock on my face as insulting. "As in a date?"

"Ideally," Wes says, smile wavering.

I stare at Westly without saying anything for a beat as I realize this is the first time I've stopped to look at him. Really look at him. At the way he looks solid but not in a flashy way. At the deep brown of his eyes that reminds me of the chocolate weed brownies Raf and I used to bake before a particularly taxing week of finals. At the dimple on his chin. At the loose, dark curls on his head. At the way his lips are so plump and pillowy that if I ever turn into a serial killer with a fetish for body parts, his mouth would be my first victim, ripped right off his face and surgically stitched over mine.

"Oh."

"Oh. That doesn't sound good," Wes muses, chuckling self-deprecatingly.

"No!" I clear my throat. "What I meant was that I didn't expect this."

"Okay." Wes's smile remains stoically on his face. "Now that this has happened, how do you feel about it? I don't want to make you uncomfortable if you're not interested."

How do I feel about it? I never even considered Wes. It might sound unfair of me to say, but I've had the worst case of tunnel vision ever since River kamikazed back into my life, and although I know nothing will ever happen between us again, I couldn't help but take notice of our still existing chemistry. Not that it matters, because he's engaged and I'm planning his wedding, and, most importantly, he doesn't believe in relationships or true love but wants a business partner, and that's not what I want in a boyfriend, a co-worker I need to share a fridge with.

Wes is cute, sweet and, for what I've gathered in our small interactions, easy-going enough that even if we don't hit it off on a date, it probably wouldn't be too embarrassing to be around him after.

"You know what? I'd love to go on a date."

Wes's smile stretches. "Just to be clear. You're talking to me. Not the coffee cup."

I chuckle. "You can come too," I tell him and wink. I fish from my purse a business card and hand it over. "Here. You can text me and we can come up with a plan."

"I'll do that as soon as it's socially acceptable to do so," Wes promises, scooping up the card and pocketing it.

"I'll be drinking my coffee and holding my breath."