Chapter 7
Edie
Iwake on Christmas Eve morning in Wren’s bed. Pale winter sunlight filters through the blinds, striping her bare shoulders in gold. The dragon tattoo curls across her chest, its head disappearing beneath the blanket, rising and falling with each slow breath she takes.
My phone on the nightstand blinks with seventeen missed calls and twice as many texts. Three from Nick. Five from my mother. Two from Heather Hall. The rest from mutual friends who’ve already heard about last night’s scandal. Small towns and their gossip networks move faster than rocket ships.
Wren stirs beside me, her arm sliding around my waist and palm spreading across my abdomen. “Stop thinking so loud.”
“My phone’s having a meltdown.”
“Throw it out the window,” she murmurs against my neck, her morning rasp making me giggle. The faint scrape of her chin sends a shiver straight through me. “Stay in bed instead.”
“It’s Christmas Eve. I have things to do.”
“Cancel them.” Her hand drifts lower, lazy but knowing. “I have better plans for you.”
Before I can protest, she rolls me onto my back, kissing down my body with unhurried intent. “Wren, I should really—”
“The thing you should do,” she growls, settling between my thighs, “is open up for me.”
My phone rings again. Mom, for the sixth time.
“Answer it,” Wren says, breath hot against my skin. “But don’t tell her to call back later.”
“You’re insane.”
“Answer it,” she repeats—and then licks me, slow and deliberate.
With shaking hands, I fumble for the phone. “Hi, Mom.”
“Edith Montgomery, where are you?” My mother’s voice is sharp enough to cut skin.
“I’m—” I bite down a gasp as Wren’s tongue goes places I’d rather not think about while on the phone with my mom. “I’m at Wren’s.”
“Still? Edie, the whole town is talking! Mrs. Henderson said your car was there all night. Do you have any idea what people are saying?”
Wren chooses that moment to slide two fingers inside me, curling them just right. I have to slap a hand over the speaker to smother my gasp.
“I don’t particularly care what they’re saying,” I manage, breathless.
“You should care! Your reputation—”
“My reputation was already ruined when Nick dumped me for not being perfect enough.” Wren hums her approval against me, sending sparks through my body. “At least now I’m ruining it with someone who actually wants me.”
“This is revenge, Edie. You’re acting out because Nick hurt you.”
“No, Mom.” I arch as Wren adds a third finger, her tongue relentless. “I’m acting like myself for the first time in years.”
“We need to talk about this. Come home.”
“Later,” I gasp. “I’ll call you later.”
I hang up and toss the phone aside, both hands clutching Wren’s hair as the world dissolves. “You’re evil.”
“You love it.” Her voice vibrates against me just before she pushes me over the edge. I come so hard I forget how to breathe.
When she crawls up my body, her eyes are heavy with satisfaction.
“Good morning, angel.”
“Morning,” I whisper, pulling her down for a kiss. She tastes like me, and it makes my body ache all over again.
My phone buzzes again, another text lighting the screen. This time from Nick. “We need to talk. This has gone too far.”
Wren glances at it and laughs. “Too far? Sweetheart, we’re just getting started.” She presses me back into the sheets, her hips sliding between my thighs, her voice rough with need. “Open for me.”
I do.
“That’s it,” she whispers, guiding herself against me, slow and deliberate. “We were made for this.”
“Wren…”
“Love how you say my name.” She pins my wrists above my head, her body moving with a rhythm that instantly lulls me into sweet, succulent bliss. “I love how you look with me all over your skin.”
I glance down—at the bruised bites blooming along my neck, my breasts, my hips. Proof of every place she’s worshipped me.
“Let them talk,” she whispers against my ear. “Everyone’s going to know you’re mine.”
She moves faster, the sound of our breathing and the creak of the bed filling the morning light. I lose myself again, the world no longer a place I consider small and intimate. I know better now. There really is a bigger world out there. And maybe I don’t have to face it alone.
Like a certain someone made me feel earlier this year. When they left my body cold and my heart broken.
“If I have to,” Wren says, still attached to me, “I’ll carry you on my back with your arms wrapped around my chest. That way, everyone knows we go together.”
“You can’t say things like that…”
“Why not? It’s what I want.” Wren pulls back, eyes blazing with something too raw to hide. “Don’t you want it too?”
“We’ve been together three days,” I remind her, but even I’m second-guessing myself.
Until now, we’ve been riding high on vibes.
Maybe I should cling to that. Or maybe I should focus more on thoughts.
Just because I’m on winter break from work…
shit, that doesn’t mean I have to be acting like a teenager!
She touches my cheek, gentle where her words aren’t. “We’ve known each other most of our lives. We just couldn’t do a thing about it. Couldn’t act on it. You know that.” She kisses me, and I have to fight not to melt into it. “Tell me you don’t feel it, that this doesn’t feel right.”
I can’t. Because it does. Despite the madness of it all, being with Wren feels more right than anything ever has.
She looks down at me, her expression shifting, voice reverent. “I love you, Edie.”
The words hit like a punch and a caress at the same time. “You can’t say things like that,” I whisper, breath caught somewhere between panic and a deep longing for these to be thoughts as well as vibes.
“Why not?” she asks. “It’s true.”
Before I can answer, my phone rings again—Heather, this time, of course.
“Don’t answer that one,” Wren says, rolling off me, her warmth leaving me cold. “My mother can wait.”
“She’s been nothing but kind to me.”
“She also invited you to that dinner knowing it would blow up,” Wren says. “My mom loves to stir chaos and then act shocked when it explodes.”
I answer, anyway. “Hi, Heather.”
“Edie... I wanted to apologize for last night. Things got out of hand.”
“It’s fine.”
“I also wanted to invite you both to brunch tomorrow. A chance to… start over.”
I glance at Wren, who’s shaking her head.
“That’s very kind, but—”
“Nick won’t be there,” Heather adds. “He’s spending Christmas in Salem with friends.”
“Running away, like always,” Wren mutters under her breath.
“We’ll think about it,” I tell Heather. “Thank you for the invitation.”
After I hang up, Wren tugs me back into her arms. “We’re not going.”
“It’s Christmas.”
“And I plan to spend it keeping you in this bed,” she says, hand sliding to my breast, going straight for my nipple. “Maybe the couch. Definitely the kitchen counter.”
“Your family…”
“Chose Nick’s comfort over mine years ago,” she says, a flash of pain buried behind those glistening eyes. “They always do.”
“Tell me,” I say softly, turning to face her.
She hesitates, then exhales. “When I quit law school, they held an intervention. The whole clan—Mom, Dad, Nick, the aunts, the uncles—all telling me I was throwing my life away. That I’d never amount to anything fixing bikes.”
“That must have hurt.”
“What hurt was Nick leading the charge.” Her thumb brushes absently along my ribs, creating a path to my hip. “He knew why I was quitting. And he stood there, acting like I was some embarrassment to the family name.”
“Why were you really quitting?”
“Because I was dying inside. I was becoming someone I hated just to make them proud.” Her hand stills against me. “Because I realized their approval wasn’t worth losing myself.”
“And now?”
“Now I build something beautiful with my hands. I make enough to live on my own terms. And I have the woman I want in my bed.” She grins at me. “I’d say I made the right call.”
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Nick. “Answer your phone. We need to talk about this mistake you’re making.”
Wren’s expression darkens. “Mistake?”
Before I can stop her, she snatches my phone and hits call. Nick picks up instantly.
“Finally! Edie, you need to—”
“Not Edie,” Wren cuts in, voice steady steel. “And not a mistake, you dick.”
“Of course you took her phone. Controlling, just like always.”
“Says the man who tracked her Starbucks app and counted up the calories.” Her tone is deceptively relaxed. “At least I let her be herself.”
“I tried to help her—”
“You tried to mold her,” Wren snaps. “There’s a difference.”
“This is about revenge. Both of you are trying to humiliate me.”
I take the phone. “Not everything is about you.”
“She’s using you,” he insists.
“For what? Pissing you off? You made it clear you didn’t want me.”
“That’s not— I never said I didn’t want you.”
“You said I was too much,” I remind him. “I didn’t fit your future.” Wren’s hand slides up my spine, reminding me that I have someone on my side. “Well, I fit Wren’s future just fine.”
“Her future?” Nick scoffs. “She doesn’t have one. She’s a mechanic with no direction and a record.”
I look at Wren. She only shrugs. “Bar fight a few years ago. Nick likes to throw a coat of black paint on it.”
“This is insane,” Nick continues. “You’re throwing yourself at her because I hurt you. I get it. But this needs to stop.”
“No,” I retort. “What needs to stop is you acting like you still get a say in my life.”
“When you come to your senses—”
“If she wants to leave, she knows where the door is,” Wren interrupts. “But right now, she’s busy. Christmas Eve and all.”
“Doing what?” Nick demands.
Wren grins. Too bad her brother can’t see it. Eh, maybe it’s for the best. He might punch her in the teeth. “Making things sparkle. Starting with my place.”
Nick makes a disgusted sound before hanging up.
“‘Decorating’?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Mm-hmm. Going to drape you over every surface like tinsel.” Wren’s grin is pure sin as she pushes me back against the pillows. “Starting now.”
She makes good on her promise to keep me in bed all day.
Barring that, she’s always with me in the shower.
In the kitchen. In the living room, where we can’t keep our hands off each other while watching TV and drinking hot cocoa.
Do I think I’m going to end up draped over the back of her couch, gazing into the thrifted mirror on the wall as she makes love to my pussy, which has barely gotten two hours of reprieve in the past twenty-four hours? Hell, no. Do I love it? Hell, yes.
Her gaze in the reflection is molten lava, destroying my preconception of my own self. She’s daring me to face the truth. Look at yourself. Look how good you are with me.
By the time we make it to the kitchen for actual food, it’s past evening, and I can barely stand without remembering every place she’s touched me.
“Need to keep your strength up,” she says, feeding me bites of scrambled eggs with a wicked little smile. “Long evening of decorating ahead.”
“We don’t have any actual decorations,” I point out, still hoarse from a lack of sleep.
“Don’t need them.” She hooks a finger in my neckline, tugging me closer. “Got everything I want right here.” She pulls me onto her lap, the plate forgotten. “Though,” she murmurs against my ear, “we should probably get a tree. Make it official.”
“Make what official?”
“Our first Christmas.” She presses a soft kiss just below my jaw. “First of many.”
“Wren…”
“Too much?”
I think about it—the chaos, and how quickly everything’s happened. Rationally, yes, it’s too much. But emotionally? The world’s already crazy around us. What’s left feels like the only freedom we’re allowed. It’s control in a hectic life.
“No,” I admit. “Not too much. Just enough.”
Her smile could light a city block. “Good. Get dressed. We’re going tree shopping.”
“Together? In public? After last night?”
“Especially after last night.” Her eyes gleam with mischief. “I want everyone to see us together. They’ve gotta know that I’m not hiding this—or you.”
An hour later, we’re at the same tree lot where this all started. The gossip mill’s clearly been churning—heads turn as soon as we walk in. Even Mrs. Henderson, local rumor queen, freezes mid-sentence and clutches pearls.
“Ignore them,” Wren says, pulling me closer.
“Hard to ignore when they’re practically livestreaming with their eyes.”
“Let them.” She smirks, then backs me against a massive fir. “Give them something worth talking about.”
She kisses me, her hand firm at my cheek, her body flush against mine. When she pulls back, my lips are swollen, and half the lot pretends not to stare.
“Wren!” I hiss, laughing. Despite that, I’m slightly mortified.
“What? Can’t kiss my girl at a Christmas tree lot?” Her grin is devastating. “Come on, let’s find our tree.”
We pick a beautiful seven-footer that barely fits through her front door. By the time we wrangle it into the stand, my arms ache from laughing too hard and tripping over the tangle of lights she insists she knows how to fix.
As we decorate—her on the ladder, me untangling ornaments from a shoebox—I feel something evaporating from my soul. Maybe it’s that old part of me that thought I had to apologize just for existing.
“What?” she asks, catching me watching her.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“About?”
“How different this is from last Christmas. Nick had his tree professionally decorated. Wouldn’t let me touch it because I might ruin the symmetry.”
“His loss.” Wren pulls me in front of the slightly crooked tree, our reflections twinkling in the glass ornaments. “This is perfect.”
My phone buzzes on the counter. A text from an unknown number. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. The whole town is laughing at you.”
Wren plucks the phone from my hand and deletes the message without hesitation. “No more phones tonight.”
“But what if—”
“No phones.” She sets it aside and cups my face, her voice soft but unyielding. “No outside world. Just us, this tree, and that couch, where I’m about to show you what Christmas miracles really look like.”
And she does.
As dusk falls and the rain kinda-sorta looks like it might turn into snow on the street outside, Wren’s hand finds mine beneath the glow of the tree lights. The town can gossip all it wants. Let them. Because for the first time, I’m not ruining anything.