Chapter 58
Three Years Later
Midway through skimming an email, the phone screen lights up with an incoming call.
“Hey, man,” I greet, reclining in the small chair situated on the balcony.
“How is it?” Gus asks eagerly.
“It’s …” I glance around, struggling to summon the right adjective. “It’s wild. Literally. I feel like I’m on another planet. We’re kayaking around some glaciers later. I’ll send pics.”
Wren and I have traveled together before, but never just her and me. We went to Portugal with her parents two years ago. Visited her cousin Lili at an actual castle in England last summer.
When Wren told me she’d booked a trip for us—her graduation present to me—I was excited. When she shared where we were headed, I genuinely thought she was kidding.
Antarctica is not a destination that would have ever occurred to me, but it’s, without a doubt, the coolest place I’ve ever been.
Literally. I zipped up my winter coat just to step out here, and the hand holding my phone is steadily growing numb, but also because of what I just told Gus.
It feels entirely otherworldly, floating past boulders of ice, coated with a fresh layer of snow.
The first I’ve seen since last winter. It’s October, so leaves are falling in Manhattan, not flakes.
I moved into Wren’s penthouse in May, right after I graduated from Lancaster, and am still adjusting to aspects of it.
The view didn’t take any getting used to.
Central Park was a green oasis in the summer.
But I think I prefer it in autumn, the foliage a dazzling display of burnt orange and bright yellow.
Not the eternally blue ocean, but nothing is.
Gus and I chat for a few more minutes, catching up on the past couple of weeks.
We talk often, but haven’t seen each other in person since summer.
Gus wound up in Boston after graduating college.
He has one year left of business school there, but I’m guessing he and Lissa will stay in Massachusetts for longer.
I’ll make a move to Manhattan pitch to him at Thanksgiving anyway.
Oliver and Hannah are hosting the holiday at their Hamptons house and included my mom and her boyfriend, Derek—still getting used to that, but happy she’s happy—along with the entire Griffin clan.
The hiss of the sliding door opening captures my attention.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Wren?” Gus guesses.
“Can’t tell for sure.”
He laughs. “What?”
“I’ll send some pics,” I promise, then hang up. Grin. “You should bundle up more. I can still see your eyes.”
The wool scarf lowers, revealing Wren’s scowl. “How are you not cold? All you’re wearing is a jacket!”
“And a hat.” I slip my phone into a pocket and tug the beanie down so it covers more of my ears. “My hands are a little chilly.”
She walks to the railing, glancing around at the surrounding sea before turning and taking a seat on my lap. I hug her tight to my chest, resting my chin next to the pom-pom attached to the top of her hat, then slip my hands into her jacket pockets.
Wren yelps as my frozen fingers brush her warm ones. “Where are your gloves?”
“No idea,” I admit. “I was looking before I came out here, then gave up.”
She shivers. “Why did you come out here?”
“The view. Also, I was checking some emails.”
“Sawyer.” Wren says my name with a decent dose of exasperation. “You’re on vacation.”
“I know. I just want to keep up with what’s happening in the office.”
I’m four months into working at the Manhattan office of one of the top naval architecture firms in the country.
And the only downside I’ve discovered to your life including more than you ever dared to dream of?
The terror of losing it never disappears.
Wren and I have been officially dating for over three years, and I still marvel every morning that she’s the person I wake up next to.
I’m not entirely convinced that fear is a bad thing.
I think the day I wake up and simply accept how wonderfully my life has turned out would be cause for concern.
But, yeah, it also means I’m checking on projects during vacation in the hopes that it means Hudson & Cox will never think they made a mistake, hiring me.
“Were you talking to your mom?”
“Gus.”
“How is he?”
“Good.” My hands have warmed to a normal temperature, so I twine my fingers with hers. “Busy. Midterms.”
“I don’t miss that.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
“Do you miss other parts?”
“Of Lancaster?”
She nods, pom-pom brushing my cheek.
“No.”
I don’t have to think about my answer. I liked college. I made great friends. I earned a degree I’m using daily. But I prefer my current life, not least because it includes a lot more Wren.
“You sure?”
“Very sure. I love my job. Your place—”
“Our place,” she interjects.
I smile, even though she can’t see it. “Our place is way nicer than anywhere I lived at Lancaster. Also, it’s a relief to see that student loan number go down instead of up.”
Wren hums.
I tighten my hold on her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For lots. And for saying nothing just now.”
“You came on this trip without asking me how much it cost. Compromise.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Compromise.”
I’m never going to feel comfortable with how much wealth Wren has.
I’ve accepted that. We’ve found a middle ground on most things, after arguments on several topics, such as her repeated offers to pay off my student loans.
Wren agreed to a maximum amount on gifts—there’s no way this trip didn’t blow past that number, but it’s the first time she has, and I guess I’ll only graduate college once, so it can qualify as an exception.
Rather than pay all the utilities, like I was planning to, living rent-free since she owns her penthouse, I conceded we could split them.
Not only is the concept of never having to worry about money a foreign one to me, but it’s a factor of the question I—and no doubt many other people—have wondered: What the hell is Wren Kensington doing with me?
But if it’s a choice between being perceived as the “breadwinner” in a relationship and a life with Wren? I’ll pick her. Every time.
“Do you miss Cambridge?” I ask.
“God, no,” she replies faster than I did.
I laugh, watching it turn to white vapor before dissipating entirely. “Too much rain?”
I know it’s a stereotype, but it was sunny once during the handful of days I spent in England.
“Too little you. I totally preferred skipping class to having to go to work though.”
I huff another laugh. I read some of her essays. Wren’s a much stronger student than she claims. And I’ve seen how excited she is, working at her aunt’s magazine.
“Also, you’re no longer allowed in the Haute offices. There’s been a suspicious gathering of interns skulking around every time you stop by for lunch, and I think it’s unhealthy for me to dislike most of my coworkers.”
“Wren.” I groan her name, but I’m sort of chuckling too. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree. You’re turning into a workaholic, and you’re not even that good-looking.”
I grin. “Says the girl who told me I was really hot on our first date.”
“Only so you’d reassure me I wasn’t ugly.” I can practically hear her eyes rolling.
Not my best line, but Wren should take that being the best I could come up with as the biggest compliment of all. My mind still goes blank when I see her mostly or entirely naked.
I squint as the sun glints off a nearby glacier. “Feels like a long time ago.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Eight years.
“Mmhmm.”
“You’re going to need gloves for the kayaking trip, you know.”
“I know. I’m ninety percent sure they’re somewhere under your tiny, neatly folded pile of clothes. I figured I should wait for you to wake up before touching that.”
“Wise move.”
I smile, then state, “Gus bought a ring.”
“Really?” Wren sits up, twisting so she can see my face. “Has he asked Lissa yet?”
I shake my head, shoving my hands into my own pockets before they have a chance to refreeze. “Nope. He’ll probably ask for your opinion on the proposal.”
“Do you think he’ll ask her in Boston?” Wren is clearly already scheming locations.
I shrug, but I’m not sure she can tell under the bulk of my jacket, so I add, “Dunno.”
“Is he asking her before Thanksgiving? We should bring them an engagement gift.”
“Not sure.”
Wren raises an eyebrow. “Okay. To recap, Gus told you he bought a ring, and you said …”
“ ‘That’s cool.’ ”
“That’s it? No follow-up questions?”
“We’d been talking about work, and then he just threw it out there as an update. If he had a plan, he would have told me. We talked two weeks ago, and he didn’t mention it. Caught me off guard. I mean, they’re young. Our age.”
“Yeah.” Wren glances at the ocean, profile backlit by the sun.
“Have you thought about it?” I ask.
“Gus and Lissa getting married? Not really. And I don’t know Boston very well. I’ll have to research places—”
“Not them, Wren. Us.”
She looks at me.
I know Wren well. Know her better than anyone maybe. But I can’t gauge what she’s thinking at all in this moment.
She pulls a gloved hand out of her pocket, running a finger down the tip of my nose. “Weird way to propose. But yes.”
I scoff. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I. If you asked, I’d say yes. And, yeah, maybe I have this fantasy in my head where I’m walking down the aisle, an absolute vision in white, and you say something super romantic when I reach you, like, Nice dress, about my custom couture gown with a five-foot train—”
“I would come up with something better than that,” I interject.
She smiles. “But it doesn’t need to happen soon. Or ever, honestly. I love our life exactly like it is now. Would a wedding be fun? Yeah. But after, I think it would feel the same. I’d be as much yours then as I am now.”
I brave the frigid air to brush away a strand of blonde hair that the wind blew across her cheek. “I love you a lot, Wren Kensington—you know that?”
“No, you’ve never mentioned it. Also, I woke up alone in a cold, empty bed.”
I hide a smile. “How could I possibly make that up to you?”
“Build a time machine, Mr. Engineer.”
“That would require me working on the trip, which I thought wasn’t allowed.”
“We both know you’ll check your email again. I guess I’ll have to start writing letters or something to communicate with you.”
I stand, still holding her, then walk over to the sliding door that leads into our bedroom.
Manage to open it with my elbow, which Wren looks mildly impressed by.
Shutting it is harder, but I complete that too.
Curse after dropping Wren on the bed and immediately unzip my jacket.
I rip my beanie off next, running a hasty hand through my hair.
“Why is it a million degrees in here?”
“I told you, I was cold.”
I walk over to the thermostat, turn it ten degrees down, and then survey the pile of clothes that has somehow grown since I was last in our room. “And what happened here?”
“I couldn’t find any socks.” Wren’s unwinding the scarf from around her neck, tossing it unceremoniously on the heap.
“Can’t imagine why I’m having trouble finding shit,” I mutter.
“FYI, complaining about my cute outfits is not making it up to me.” She glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Shit. We’re going to miss breakfast. I’ll organize later.”
If I want to avoid frostbite, I will be the one organizing before this afternoon’s kayak trip. But I don’t say that.
I tell her, “We have twenty minutes until breakfast ends.”
“I’m a slow eater.”
“We have twenty minutes to get food, not twenty minutes to eat. And you’ll come in five, max.”
“That’s rather arrogant of you,” Wren drawls, pulling off her hat. Her gloves and jacket get added to the pile next.
“Wanna bet you won’t?” I ask, approaching the bed.
“Not really,” she allows.
I smirk, reaching for the waistband of the stretchy pants she’s wearing. I yank them down, toss them on the mattress, then slip her underwear off next. “So, we have plenty of time.”
I lean over, kiss a line up the inside of her thigh. Wren’s fingers weave into my hair, tugging before I reach my destination.
“I want your cock.”
Like I’m going to argue with that.
I straighten, yanking the sweatpants I’m wearing down just enough to free my erection.
Wren huffs a laugh. “What was your plan for that? Scandalizing the entire dining room?”
“Walking outside,” I say, then thrust into her.
Wren moans, fisting the sheets and arching her back. Our neighbors might hate us. Hopefully, they’re at breakfast.
I kiss her, muffling some of the sounds with my mouth. Wren’s hands slide under my shirt, nails grazing my back roughly enough to leave marks. For the best, really, that she didn’t plan a tropical cruise.
I fuck her harder and faster, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the boat’s meal hours. I’m already dangerously close to coming, and I need her to get there first.
I feel it happen a few strokes later and relax into my own release with a relieved groan, pulling out and rolling onto my back. Grin at the ceiling as Wren sits up and scoots off the mattress.
“You’d better be ready to go when I’m finished in the bathroom,” she warns. “No way am I kayaking in the cold on an empty stomach.”
“I’ll be ready,” I promise between rapid breaths.
Wren moves around the room. Collecting clothes, I’m guessing. She tosses something on my stomach on her way into the bathroom.
It’s the pad of paper provided in every room, with the cruise company’s logo printed at the top of the page. Beneath it, Wren wrote:
I love you, Sawyer Bennett.
THE END
Continue reading for a sneak peek of Book 4 …