Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
BARRETT
T he road leading down to the address I was given is narrow and so decimated by potholes, I have to keep my focus on the headlights to keep from shaking Wren’s teeth loose. I don’t have a chance to glance her way to gage her reaction until I’ve parked in front of the small field filled with glamping tents, fairy lights, and a central lodge building glowing brightly from the inside.
Thankfully, she looks intrigued, not horrified. “Wow, this is beautiful.” She cuts a narrow gaze my way. “But I can’t see you camping, even fancy camping. Am I wrong? Do you have a secret ‘loves to sleep in nature’ side I don’t know about?”
I smile. “No, I don’t. I spent enough time getting eaten alive by mosquitos as a kid to know I prefer a day in nature and a night inside an air-conditioned motel room. We’re not here for the camping. We’re here for a class.”
Her brows lift. “A class?”
“The family who runs the campground is from the Ojibwe tribe. The grandmother teaches native crafts and jewelry-making. She usually holds workshops on Sundays, but since we’re headed home on Sunday, she agreed to give us a lesson tonight.”
“No way.” Wren’s hands fly to cover her mouth as her eyes go wide. She drops her hands, asking, “So we’re going to learn real, authentic, native beading techniques? Please tell me it’s beading. If it’s not, I’m still so excited, but I’ve been dying to learn more about the beading.”
I nod, trying not to puff up too much as I say, “I know. You posted about it while you were at the farmers’ market last summer. You were at a booth selling tribal art and jewelry.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she says, “I could learn to like your creepy stalker side.”
“It’s not creepy. I’m a benevolent stalker.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I nod toward the central lodge. “She said to meet her in the lodge. Her name is Emmy.”
“Emmy,” Wren echoes, and slips out the passenger’s side. She joins me at the front of the truck, taking my hand as easily as if we’ve done it a hundred times before as we start across the grass. “I love that name. My grandmother’s name was Emma. I always thought that would be a nice name for a little girl. If I had one.”
“I like it,” I agree. “Classic. I also like Claire. And Mildred.”
Wren’s focus jerks my way. “Mildred?”
“I like it,” I say, with a smile. “It means gentle strength.” I shrug. “Reminds me of you.”
Wren trips. I turn to steady her, and she grips my forearms tight and lifts her face to mine.
“Shit,” I mutter, my heart lurching as I see her stricken expression. “Did I say the wrong thing again?”
She gives a small, swift shake of her head. “No, you said the right thing again. But it’s too right, Barrett. It makes me nervous.”
“Why?” I ask.
“You don’t talk to me like that. You’ve never said anything that made me think you thought of me that way. Or that you thought of me much at all when I wasn’t directly in your line of sight. It makes it hard to believe this is real.” She pulls in a breath, pushing on before I can respond, “Don’t get me wrong, I want it to be real. I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve years old, for God’s sake, so it’s not like I haven’t dreamed of?—”
Her words end in a soft yip of surprise as I bend low, driving my hands into her hair as I kiss her. I kiss her without hesitation or fear, I kiss her the way I wish I’d been kissing her for years. I try to tell her with my lips, teeth, and tongue that she doesn’t have to be afraid, that this thing between us is as real as anything I’ve ever known.
But when we pull apart, both of us breathing faster, I know I can’t leave it at that.
I have to find the words, no matter how often words let me down.
“I could tell you I love you,” I whisper, my hands still in her hair and my lips inches from hers. “I could tell you that falling for you is like discovering buried treasure in my backyard, something that’s always been there, just waiting for me to have the sense to look for it. I could tell you that the thought of you with another man makes me so angry I can’t fucking see straight and that I’m probably going to punch Christian if he has the balls to show up to take you to that ball. I want to be a man who always knows what to say and isn’t afraid to speak up, but I told Lane I loved her every night. I told her she was it for me and it didn’t matter. She still lied and she still left, and words became…hollow. I don’t want to give you words. I want to give you something more. Something real.”
“Words can be real, too,” Wren says, her breath hitching as she tightens her grip on my forearms. “What you just said. All of that. That felt pretty real.” She leans closer, whispering, “You really love me?”
“I adore you,” I say, my throat tight. “I admire you and lust after you and the entire time you were gone, I kept thinking of things I wanted to tell you, just you. No one else. But I…” I hesitate, my tongue slipping out to dampen my suddenly dry lips. My gut says now isn’t the time for this confession, but I can’t seem to hold it back. “But I don’t know if I can make marriage work, Wren. Even with you. I’m not good at it. I start to take things for granted. I don’t realize the connection is fading until it’s too late. I forget to soften my opinions and start fights without realizing it—or even that I’m fighting, until the other person is pissed off and halfway out the door.” I try to stop the flow of words, but I can’t. It’s like I’ve opened some secret vulnerability vault deep inside and now I can’t close it up again. “And I’m going to do dumb shit like I did in February. I’m going to leave when I shouldn’t or decide waiting to text until noon is a good idea and I won’t realize it’s wrong until it’s too late. I can try like hell to do everything right with you, but I’m not going to. I’m going to fuck it up, I can promise you that right now. The probability of that is one hundred percent.”
Her hands smooth up my chest as she moves closer…miraculously closer when I was so sure she was about to turn and run away. She cups my face in her hands and says, “So will I. And when I do, I’m going to need your forgiveness. Can you do that? Forgive me when I mess up because you know I care about you? And that I’d never hurt you on purpose? Do you think I deserve that? The chance to make mistakes and still be worthy of your affection?”
Gripping her arms, now, I nod, and force out a soft, “Yes.”
“Then why don’t you think you deserve the same?” she asks, her lips curving even as tears shine in her eyes.
“You’ve been…distant. Since you got back.”
She brushes her thumb lightly back and forth across my cheek. “I have. I wasn’t sure where things stood with us, and I didn’t want to ache for things I couldn’t have anymore. It just…hurt too much. But if we decided to make a go of it. If you feel what I feel, that’s a whole different ball game.”
“What do you feel?” I ask, a part of me knowing, but another part needing to hear it out loud.
“I love you, silly,” she says, her voice shaking a little. “I adore and lust and all that other stuff after you, too. And I want to make you feel happy and safe. You’re safe with me, Barrett. I won’t lie and I won’t leave, at least not without fighting like hell to stay first.”
I exhale, so overwhelmed the world feels like it’s spinning a little. “Safe. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to hear that.”
“You’re safe,” she says, pressing on tiptoe to kiss me with her next words. “You’re safe and you’re mine and I’m yours. I’ll text Christian first thing tomorrow and tell him he’ll have to find another date to the ball.”
“Tonight,” I grunt as I gather her closer, hugging her so tightly her feet come off the ground. “You’ll text him tonight. Right now, would be good. We still have a few minutes until our lesson is supposed to start.”
She laughs as she kisses me, making our teeth bump together. “So bossy.”
“I think there are situations where you enjoy my bossy side.”
“At work, you mean?” she teases. “You’re a pretty nice boss, I won’t lie. Respectful, appreciative, professional. I have very few complaints.”
“I was thinking more of this morning when I told you to come on my mouth,” I say, pulling back to glare into her smiling eyes. “But now that you mention complaints, I’m curious. What are your work-related complaints, Ms. Baxter?”
She bobs her brows up and down before shaking her head. “Nope. We don’t talk about work stuff on date night. That’s the rule.” She exhales a happy sigh as I set her back on her feet. “Now, let’s go make jewelry. I bet you’re going to be amazing at it. You do such a good job with the fishing lures you make and jewelry making isn’t really that much different.”
“I should have brought my glasses, shouldn’t I?” I ask as she takes my hand, leading the way to the lodge.
“You should always bring your glasses. You’re hot in glasses. But if you need to borrow mine, you can. I’m wearing my contacts tonight.” She grins back at me with such pure joy it makes me smile so hard my jaw starts to ache.
We did it. We had a hard conversation, emotions were running high, and the world didn’t come to an end. We didn’t crash and burn, neither of us made a run for it, and I don’t have a belly full of regret.
In fact, I feel happier, more hopeful, and closer to her than ever before.
She loves me. I love her.
We said the words out loud and we’re still us, just…better.
“Should we tell the others that we’re dating this weekend?” I ask. “Or wait until we get back in the office next week?”
She stops in front of the door to the lodge, eyes flashing as she arches a brow. “Dating? Is that all? With all the talk about baby names and making marriage work, I thought we were a little farther along than that. I was half expecting you to pull a ring from your pocket.”
I feel my face tighten and my eyes bulge.
Wren breaks into a belly laugh and squeezes my hand. “I’m just kidding, Barrett. Don’t have a heart attack. I doubt they have a defibrillator around here. We can tell them whenever you think it’s best. I don’t have a preference. I’m just happy.” She stretches up on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
I rest a hand on her lower back. “Me, too.”
She reaches for the door, and we step into a warmly lit room filled with circular tables in the middle, a stage on the left, and a now-empty buffet set up on the right. Native American artwork hangs on the walls and a beautiful older woman with silver braids in a pink linen dress greets us from one of the closer tables, where she’s seated with a few of the camp guests, who must also have been interested in a lesson.
We settle into two empty chairs and are given a small bag of supplies, but I find it impossible to focus on the instructions. I’m too busy thinking about what Wren said and how wrong she was.
That wasn’t my “about to have a heart attack” look.
That was my “why didn’t I think of that?” look.
Not tonight, obviously. Not tomorrow or next week, but as soon as enough time has passed to prove that we can make this couple thing work, I’m not going to hesitate.
I’ve already wasted enough time.
I don’t want to waste another second.
I want this woman to be my first and last do-over, from now until death do us part.