Roadside Attractions

Twenty-Eight

TOFINO, BC

The ocean breeze is crisp with salty air and the smell of summer. My toes sink into the sand beneath my feet, and I listen to the caress of gentle waves, watching the sun dip behind the outline of dark blue mountains, painting the sky with an array of oranges, purples, and pinks.

Tofino, at last.

It feels like nothing bad could happen here, despite knowing what I know: that Roman could appear at any moment.

As much as I hate to say it, I can see why this is the place he chose to start over. It’s the opposite of everything we have back home, and the idea of waking up to sights like this every morning—hauling in lungfuls of beachy air, strolling along the rows of multicoloured houses, having the lulls and roars of the ocean as your soundtrack—is awfully tantalizing.

If I close my eyes, I can pretend this isn’t fleeting, that it’s not the penultimate calm before the storm. I can push aside the fact that it’s entirely surreal to finally be here after setting this plan in motion and ignore the hourglass that’s nearly run out.

Instead, I breathe in the brine, stare at the setting sun. Wyatt steps into my periphery, and I turn to him, intertwining our fingers. After checking into our Airbnb, he’d insisted our first order of business was to come to the beach, and so here we are, standing in front of one of the most breathtaking sights I’ve ever witnessed, hours away from our impending confrontation.

“It’s not fair,” I grumble, brushing my hair away from my shoulders with my free hand. “Why does this have to be the prettiest place we’ve been? Why couldn’t it have been Elbow?”

Wyatt chuckles warmly. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand, and it feels like something within me takes flight, wings fluttering against my ribcage. “And I’ve loved each one of our stops. But this will be pretty hard to beat.” He removes his phone from his pocket. “In fact, I think we should commemorate this moment.”

He flips the camera toward us, looping his arm around my waist, and I take in the image of the two of us. Wyatt catches my eye first, because with a face like that, how could he not? He’s without his ball cap, the breeze ruffling his dark waves, and his eyes seem to sparkle, lips pressed into a satisfied smile. I barely recognize myself, but in a good way. My curls are soft and windblown and my eyes brighter than usual. I look healthy, sun-kissed. Golden hour makes us glow, and I like how I look next to him.

We snap the photo, and the moment in time is forever captured, solid proof that this whirlwind of a trip has been real and not just a figment of my imagination.

After he lowers the phone, he brings it closer to himself, fingers flying across the screen so quickly I barely catch a glimpse before he sticks it back into his pocket. He gives me a placid smile, expression suspiciously innocent, and I narrow my eyes, wanting to clarify what I think I just saw.

“Did you just make that your wallpaper?” I ask.

Wyatt shifts his weight between his feet. “Maybe.”

My gut instinct is to tease him relentlessly, but I can’t stop myself from smiling, feeling the urge to throw my arms around him and squeeze. “You’re so cute.”

“Don’t make me blush,” he chastises me, tucking me against his side. “I’m supposed to do that to you .”

I slip my arm around his torso as we stroll along the beach, and I’m stunned by how natural this all feels, as simple as breathing. I no longer have to ignore the gravitational pull I feel toward him whenever he’s near me; instead, I can let my body follow the current until we’re floating side-by-side.

And yet, I haven’t completely rid myself of that insecurity in the back of my mind, telling me it’s only a matter of time before Wyatt gets bored with me, before he realizes what he’s signed up for. I don’t think Roman realized it at first. His pursuit of trying to get me to break down my walls was thrilling, and when he finally won me over, I’m sure that he rode the high of his victory for a while—until it faded, and he learned that when it comes down to it, I’m a pessimistic workaholic with one friend and a whole slew of mommy issues.

Wyatt has never tried to make anything work long-term. He may think it couldn’t last with anyone else because of me, but what if he’s wrong? What if, after all of his waiting, I’m not the one that feels right ? The disappointment would crush me.

I swallow around the ugly feeling in my throat, trying to stay in the present, despite the doubts that are swirling, multiplying inside my head. He may have felt this way first, but I’ve fallen hard and fast. Maybe a little too fast. I can only hope I haven’t just guaranteed myself another broken heart.

Oblivious to the dark cloud that’s rolled over my head, Wyatt glances down at me, eyes shining with mischief. “Moore,” he says. “I want to take you on a date.”

I give him a playful look that I hope hides my self-doubt. “Do you?”

“I do,” he remarks. “Here. Right now. Let’s have a real date. What do you say?”

Fighting a smile, I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hm,” I say, pretending to think about it. “I guess I don’t have any other plans, so why the hell not? ”

He hip-checks me gently, enough to make my footsteps falter and earn him a startled laugh. “You wound me.”

The wind carries the echoes of our laughter as we leave the beach and head back toward the rest of civilization. We find a place that serves fish and chips near the waterfront, with a view of the last remaining rays of sun, though I find it hard to tear my gaze away from Wyatt when he’s basked in golden light, my heart constricting at the sight of him.

We stay there for hours, long after nightfall, talking about nothing and everything. Despite our history, it does feel like a first date, like that red-hot buzz of energy when you feel a spark with someone—that giddy, fluttery feeling that makes time lose all meaning.

Only this is way better. Because I know Wyatt. I know how he feels about me, how he kisses, the things he can do with his hands, his mouth. And that only makes the hum in the space between us more electric, my body aching with phantom sensations.

When we finally make our way back to the Airbnb, I’m intoxicated by the feeling, and the door barely closes behind us before our lips find each other in the dark. We stumble our way to the bedroom, releasing breathy curses as we bump into wayward furniture, tripping over our feet and laughing all the while.

And then our clothes are landing on the floor, and I can hardly think between greedy kisses and the smell of Wyatt’s cologne mingling with the ocean breeze through the open window. In the blackness of the room, the voice inside my head says, this is it. This is what I want.

Wyatt in the dark, and in the daylight, and everything in between.

Somehow, we’re both a blur and in sharp focus. I can hardly tell where he ends and I begin. Stars explode behind my eyes, and he says my name like it’s torture, like it’s a prayer. And when it’s over, and the waves of pleasure switch from rocking swells to quiet caresses, I feel like I was right before: nothing bad could ever happen here.

?

In the morning, the illusion is over. It’s something I can feel before I even open my eyes.

Today is the day that everything changes.

There’s a somber atmosphere in the room as we get ready. I do my makeup in the tiny bathroom and find myself wondering what Roman will think when he sees me. What he’ll think of the fact that I followed him all the way here with his best friend. If he’ll notice how different I look, how different I feel after such a short amount of time.

I catch Wyatt’s gaze in the mirror as he’s throwing on his t-shirt. When he notices our eye contact, he enters the bathroom, placing his hands on my waist. Holding my stare in the mirror, he plants a kiss in my hair. A lump forms in my throat.

“You should probably book your flight,” he says, voice low.

My chest tightens painfully. We’ve known for days now that in order for me to make it back home and back to work on Monday, I’ll need to fly home on my own. But I can’t say I’m a fan of the thought of leaving without Wyatt. “What if we don’t find him today?” I return, voice barely above a whisper.

“We will,” he says firmly, then lowers his gaze from my face. “And by tomorrow night, you’ll be back home.”

I turn around and kiss him. He sighs into my mouth, and I feel a shift in how he kisses me, like he’s trying to commit everything to memory. I don’t know what will happen when we find Roman, but I can guarantee things won’t feel as simple and easy as this anymore. All of my ugly feelings—bitterness, resentment, rage—are simmering beneath the surface, and I’m willing to bet they’ll quickly rise and overflow at the sight of my ex-boyfriend. I can only imagine how complicated Wyatt must feel.

And when this is over, we’ll be apart. I’ll be across the country, and Wyatt will be in Vancouver, crashing with Jake before they make the trek back to Toronto.

He pulls away to rest his forehead against mine. I place my hands on either side of his face, leaning back to kiss the end of his nose. He smiles, and I feel a hint of relief.

“For good luck,” I murmur.

Wyatt kisses me one last time, slow and agonizing, before exiting the bathroom. Trying to swallow the ball of sadness in my throat, I pull out my phone to begrudgingly book my flight.

?

Outside in the morning sun, we huddle together at the entrance of our Airbnb, peering at Roman’s location. He’s somewhere near the beach, a five-minute drive from where we are now. Anticipation roils in my stomach. A large part of me wants to call this whole thing off, to tell Wyatt to forget about it and get us the hell out of Tofino without looking back. But we’ve come all this way, taken time out of our lives because of Roman. It wouldn’t be fair if he continued to get away with this unscathed.

We drive in silence today. There’s no pretending things are normal. I spend the whole ride to the beach staring out the window, thoroughly scanning the area around us, my heart jolting every time I see a white guy with a mop of curly hair, even though they’re practically a dime a dozen.

Wyatt parks a safe distance away from the beach. Even though I’m sure us being here is the last thing Roman would expect, Wyatt’s Toyota is extremely recognizable. Once Wyatt turns the key in the ignition, it takes us another moment to exit the car. When I do, my legs tremble.

The place is packed with tourists, mostly young people, who don wetsuits and carry surfboards as they head toward the beach. There’s a juice bar a short distance away with a line going out of the door. Several people are out for a jog, dogs in tow. The sun blazes, but there’s a cool breeze in the air, making goosebumps rise on my exposed skin.

As I scan the crowd, my breathing quickens and my palms become sweaty. I’ve thought about this moment for days, but now that it’s here, I’m terrified.

“Hey,” Wyatt says, no doubt seeing the trepidation on my face. I didn’t even notice him come around the car to stand beside me. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. We have the upper hand, remember? He has no idea we’re even here.”

“You’re right,” I say, working to settle my heart rate.

Wyatt looks around, eyes narrowing beneath his ball cap. “He should be around here somewhere. I hate to do this, but we’ll cover more ground if we split up. Are you okay with that?”

The thought of wandering around and running into Roman on my own is mildly horrifying, but I nod resolutely. “I am.”

He takes my face in his hands, scanning my features as if to judge my sincerity. “Call me as soon as you see him. Don’t talk to him until we’re together. I’ll do the same.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“See you soon,” I return weakly, wondering why it feels like we’re heading to the frontlines.

We part ways, and I chastise myself for being so melodramatic. Roman is a sad, pathetic person, and I have zero reason to be afraid of him, especially after what he’s done to me.

I’m better off without him. Stronger.

Wyatt went to the parking lot to search for him, so I head toward the beach. If Roman had the urge to move here, I assume he’s taken up the beachy, surfer dude persona, and there’s a good chance he’s taking advantage of the morning waves. My heart pounds the closer I get, keenly aware of my surroundings, scanning every face for one that’s achingly familiar, but coming up short.

The longer I look, the more filled with doubt I become. What if Roman’s phone was stolen? What if we’ve been tracking some random person this whole time? What if he tossed it somewhere and forgot about it, and this has all been for nothing? I would feel pretty damn foolish.

I grip my phone tightly, ready to call Wyatt at the slightest hint of someone who looks like they write angsty poetry. I should be able to smell it from a mile away.

But somehow, despite all my hyper-vigilance, everything in me turns to stone at the sound of the familiar voice behind me.

“ Stella ?”

I take a moment, swallow down my shock, and steel myself before turning around slowly.

And then there he is, in the flesh—no longer a spot on a map, but a living, breathing human being.

Roman.