I shrugged, not really feeling any kind of emotion toward that fact. I used to, but now it was almost like saying it was raining outside. Just a matter of fact—no more, no less.
“I look a lot like her, I know that,” I continued. “I’ve seen pictures. She has dark hair and the same blue eyes as me. And I’ve heard my irresponsible side comes from my father. Which makes sense, I guess.”
Wren snorted. “Oh, sure. You. Irresponsible.”
“Trust me, before Dani died, I was. I had no regard for the people around me, even if I loved them. I did stupid shit because it was fun. That was about as far as my thought process went—will this be fun? If the answer was yes, then I did it.”
“So why did that change?”
I shifted, uncrossing my feet under the coffee table and crossing them the other way. I wasn’t ready to go there—not yet.
“What about you?” I asked instead. “Were you close with your parents?”
Wren leaned forward, tucking her legs underneath her so she could face me where we sat on the couch. She eyed me for a moment, but didn’t press.
We had a deal.
When one of us didn’t want to talk anymore, when it was too hard, we just changed the subject—and the other one let it happen. It was an understanding, one I didn’t realize I needed so desperately.
“If by close you mean we had the same address for eighteen years of my life, then yes.” She chuckled at her own joke, leaning her cheek against the heel of her hand on the back of the couch. “I don’t know. My dad and I never really talked much. He worked all the time and we didn’t have much in common. Mom and I were closer when I was younger, but when I got really into fashion and started throwing myself into sketching and sewing, she didn’t understand. She thought it was a waste of time, and when I went to her in tears the first night I realized I didn’t want to be with Keith anymore, she chastised me for putting my little hobby above my husband.”
“That’s fucked up.”
She shrugged, seemingly as numb to her parents as I was to mine. “She didn’t mean it as maliciously as it came out. That’s just really how she feels. My grandma cooked all night and day for grandpa and his harvest crew out in Kansas. When Mom married my dad, she fell into her own role as a wife; hosting parties for Dad’s clients, taking care of his books before he had the money to hire someone else to do it, running charities when that became important to the business.”
Wren chewed her bottom lip before continuing.
“I don’t know, Anderson. In a way, I kind of envy that. Her and my dad’s roles in their marriage have always been so clearly defined. I never had that with Keith. We just both went after what we wanted and loved each other. That was enough for me, it was what I wanted. But it hadn’t been what he wanted. I didn’t realize once he married me that I needed to change, so I didn’t. And to be fair, I don’t think he realized what he wanted was different until after the wedding, either. At the end of the day, we just grew apart, I guess.”
I nodded, not really understanding fully, though I tried. I had never been married, never even been in a real relationship. I’d had girls in my bed, and in my truck, and in many other places in town—but I’d never been interested in investing more than a night or two in any of them. Sarah had been my most consistent, but only because she was the same kind of crazy as I was back then. We worked. At least, when I was younger.
Wren yawned and I smiled, reaching for her hips and pulling her to straddle me. I kissed her hard, fingertips hooking into the loops on her jean shorts and tugging her closer. “I like these.”
“Yeah?” she asked, sitting back and looking down at the tattered ends of the shorts as they splayed on her thighs. “I didn’t really bring any shorts that made sense for hiking, so I hacked up a pair of my favorite designer jeans.”
My brows shot up. “Did you cry while you did it?”
“No,” she said on a laugh. “Actually, it was kind of... freeing. Like shedding a bit of the old me, you know?”
I nodded, and for a moment I just watched her, searching her big green eyes for the layers beneath them I’d yet to uncover. She seemed to be watching me, too.
At least, until she yawned again.
“I should let you get some sleep,” I said, but my lips were on hers again, fingers still looped in her jean shorts.
“You’re not kissing me like you plan to leave,” she argued, teeth nipping at my bottom lip before she rolled her hips against me.
I groaned, wrapping my arms around her waist to hold her in place so I could think clearly.
“You have an early morning with Momma Von,” I reminded her. “And I promised old man Ron I’d be under his truck by sunrise.”
Wren scoffed, sitting back but keeping her arms linked around my neck. “You did no such thing. Ron probably doesn’t even know you’re coming.”
“Go to bed, woman.” I smacked her ass playfully and she yelped, laughing and locking her lips on mine as I stood. She wrapped her legs around my waist and I let her, carrying her into the kitchen and reaching blindly for my wallet and keys on the kitchen counter as one arm held her safely in place. Slowly, I lowered her to the ground, kissing the tip of her nose once before reaching behind me for the door knob. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
She watched me with a mischievous smile as I backed out onto her porch. “Save some energy for me.”
I groaned, wondering if I really needed to leave or if I should just push her back inside and take her right there in her kitchen. “Yes, ma’am.”
Wren didn’t leave her doorway until I rounded the edge of her drive. Only then did she tuck back inside and lock the door behind her. I shook my head, a grin too big for my face firmly in place as I walked back to my cabin. It felt permanent, a new carving in the stone I’d built up around me for so long, but it fell quickly when I saw Sarah on my porch.
I knew by the way she stood that she’d come for a fight. One hip was popped out, the boot on her left foot propped up against the stair railing. She kept her arms crossed as I climbed the stairs to where she stood, then she unhooked one arm, revealing a small silver flask in her hand. She tilted it toward me and any doubt I had about her intentions disappeared.
She was definitely here to start trouble.
“What do you want, Sarah,” I said, not even asking as a real question. I moved past where she stood, ignoring her flask offering and unlocking the front door. She took a step as if she was about to follow me inside but I propped a hand hard on the frame, blocking her entry. Her head snapped back, blonde ponytail swinging, glazed eyes looking up into mine. I just lifted one brow, waiting.
“You’re home late.”
“I was busy.”