Page 27 of Aperture

My dog is as enamored as I am. His tail is wagging like a helicopter propeller getting ready to take off. We’re both nearly drooling; although in his case, it’s normal and less embarrassing.

“So, Milo lives here now. It’s official,” I tell him.

Wyatt’s eyebrows peak up in interest. “That’s great. For both of you.”

Milo trots over to his new bed, spins around several times, and plops down in the center of it with a thud.

“Well, looks like he’s comfortable guarding the house,” I joke. “Should we go?”

“Absolutely,” he says.

I follow him out to the car and he opens my door for me. It’s a gorgeous evening, clear and bright, thanks to a nearly full moon.

His car smells divine, just like he does. It’s immaculate. Wyatt likes control I think, and the thought makes me shiver.

He takes his seat and shifts into reverse. It’s so sexy to watch a man drive a manual transmission. The sleeves of his hoodie are pulled up, and I watch the muscles in his forearms flex as he shifts gears. I can make out the bottom of a black tattoo on his corded arm. Wyatt gives good arm porn.

We sit in comfortable silence for several minutes until we get onto the stretch of road that rides parallel to the ocean, and then Wyatt finally talks.

“So,” he starts. “What did you want to talk about?”

I take a deep breath and say a silent prayer that I’m not about to make a giant fool out of myself.

“I like you,” I start, “and I feel like you like me.” I look over to judge his reaction before continuing. He’s listening and staring straight through the windshield, his jaw set and tense.

“But I can’t tell if we are on the same page.”

He’s quiet for a moment as he formulates his answer. The radio begins to play the familiar piano notes of Vanessa Carlton’s song “A Thousand Miles.” Without even realizing it, Wyatt starts to sing quietly under his breath. “Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass, and I’m homebound...”

I cannot help the burst of laughter that erupts from my mouth. It’s just so unexpected.

Wyatt gives off such an innate alpha energy, and here he is singing, and knowing the words, to such a quintessential pop song.

“What?” he asks, as he looks over and quirks a brow.

“Nothing. Please don’t let me stop you. After this we can play “Party in the USA” or “Call Me Maybe,” I quip.

“Both bangers,” he jokes, and just like that, the tension from my question is gone and I’m relaxed. He listens quietly for a moment longer and then answers. “You are right. I do like you.” He pauses.

“But?” I ask.

“But... it’s complicated,” he replies.

I nod my head, waiting for him to continue.

“I want to be with you, Millie, but the timing is wrong.” His irritation with the situation is evident, but my heart still drops into my stomach in disappointment at his admission.

Tentatively, I dig deeper. “Do you see the timing improving in the near future?”

“I hope so,” he tells me. “The problem is, it is not really in my control.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” I admit.

“I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t right now,” he says.

“Can I ask if this has to do with someone else?” I might as well be straightforward with him.

“It does. But not in the way you think.” He stops to consider his next words. “There is no other woman,” he tells me. “But there’s a situation in my life that needs to be resolved before we can be together.”