20. Wrenley
TWENTY
WRENLEY
I ’ve spent the morning arranging my three pieces of furniture: bed, chair, questionable desk from a yard sale, and pretending this new apartment feels like home.
My phone’s propped against the window while I film the rearranging (my second one this week), narrating something about “small-town rhythms” that sounds peaceful enough.
It took twenty-seven takes to get my voice steady enough to record a voice-over.
Hopefully, my followers won’t be able to tell.
I’m confident that the nicer, loyal ones will heart the post and comment about how happy I look and how brave I am for starting over.
No one needs to know that I’ve been walking the long way around town to avoid a certain restaurant, or that I tested my ring light at 3 a.m. when sleep wouldn’t come.
The bookstore’s cat, Ralph, wandered up earlier and made himself at home on my unmade bed. I captured a pic of that, too, to post in addition to the video content.
Ralph’s orange fur looks like a sunrise against my pale blue sheets. He’s become my first friend in this apartment, appearing each morning to weave through my legs and demand attention before slinking back downstairs to his official bookstore duties.
“You’re not supposed to be up here,” I tell him, scratching under his chin. “But I won’t tell if you don’t.”
He purrs in response, utterly unconcerned with boundaries or social media contracts or the fact that I keep looking out my window toward the road that leads to Saint’s restaurant.
I check my phone, and there are already five comments on the new post. My thumb hovers over the notification, but I force myself not to read them. Not yet.
Baby steps, like Brenda said.
The apartment above Cornerstone Books is exactly what I needed. Cozy, private, with tall windows that catch the setting sun.
Marcus charges me a laughably low rent, and the location lets me pretend I’m establishing a routine. Coffee from Libby Jude’s. Fresh produce from the farmers’ market. Afternoon walks along Main Street, where I nod at shopkeepers who’ve started recognizing me.
Five days of this new normal. Five days since I left the guesthouse.
Five days without seeing either Saint or Ivy.
That part hurts most of all. I’ve caught myself reaching for my phone a dozen times to text Saint and ask how she’s doing with Erin. Is she still fighting the transition? Is she painting trees? Has she convinced anyone to get her a ferret yet?
But what would I even say? Hey, just checking if your daughter still misses me as much as I miss her. Oh, and how’s that qualified nanny working out after our meaningless hookup?
“This is pathetic,” I mutter, setting my phone down .
Ralph meows in agreement.
I need to get out of this apartment and do something productive besides filming myself arranging throw pillows.
Falcon Haven is full of picturesque spots I haven’t explored yet. The gazebo in the town square. The covered bridge just outside of town. The nature trail that winds along the creek. Perfect backdrops for casual, non-threatening content that won’t trigger my anxiety or breach any contracts.
I throw on a blue sweater and my most comfortable pair of ripped jeans, grab my phone, and head downstairs. The bookstore is quiet this morning, just Marcus reorganizing a display and one elderly customer browsing the mystery section.
“Morning, Wrenley,” Marcus calls. “Ralph abandon his post again?”
“Afraid so. He’s claimed my bed as his new territory.”
Marcus chuckles. “Let me know if he becomes a nuisance.”
“Never,” I promise, pausing at the door. “Hey, is there a walking trail nearby? Something scenic but not too strenuous?”
“Maple Creek Trail starts about three blocks east. Can’t miss it. Beautiful this time of year.”
“Thanks, Marcus.” I duck out the door and head east, exhaling in a way that would make my online yoga instructor proud when the cool autumn air kisses my cheeks.
This is good for me. It’s exactly why I came to Falcon Haven in the first place. Saint was just a … an interlude. A sexy one. An irresistible one.
An unobtainable one.
The trail appears exactly where Marcus said it would, marked by a weathered wooden sign.
Fallen leaves crunch beneath my sneakers as I follow the winding path deeper into the woods.
The canopy above shifts from green to gold to fiery red, creating a kaleidoscope effect when sunlight filters through.
Perfect for content. I lift my phone, framing a shot of the tunnel of trees ahead, then add a voice-over about finding peace in nature. It sounds almost convincing, even to me.
I’m twenty minutes into the hike when I reach a small wooden bridge spanning Maple Creek. The water below rushes over smooth stones, creating a soothing soundtrack. I lean against the railing, my muscles relaxing for the first time in days.
My phone buzzes. Brenda again, this time with a screenshot of my latest post’s engagement numbers. They’re climbing, but nowhere near what they used to be. The message below reads: Good start. Ready to show your face yet?
I ignore it, slipping the phone back into my pocket.
Farther down the trail, I find a small clearing with a fallen log. I position my phone on a nearby stump, setting the timer for a long-range shot of me looking contemplatively into the distance.
The camera clicks three times before I hear footsteps on the trail behind me.
I turn, expecting to see another hiker, but my breath catches when I spot a familiar small figure in purple boots picking her way carefully over the roots.
“Miss Wrenley!” Ivy’s voice carries across the clearing, bright with joy and disbelief.
My heart stops. She’s alone, which can’t be right. I scan the trail behind her, but there’s no sign of an adult.
“Ivy?” I’m already moving toward her, my stomach clenching with worry. “Sweetie, where’s your dad? Where’s Miss Erin?”
“I runned away,” she announces, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “Miss Erin was being mean, and I told her I was going to the bathroom, but I went outside instead.”
Oh god. “Ivy, how did you find this trail? How long have you been walking?”
She shrugs. “I asked Mr. Marcus where you went, and he told me about maple tree paths. It wasn’t very far.”
My mind races. Saint must be frantic. The school must have called him. And here’s his five-year-old daughter, alone in the woods because she ran away from school.
“We need to call your papa right now,” I say, backtracking enough to grab my phone off the log. “He’s probably so worried?—”
“No!” Ivy wraps around my thigh with surprising strength. “Please don’t call him yet. I missed you so much, Miss Wrenley. Miss Erin doesn’t know anything. She tried to make me eat eggs with cheese, and she said my unicorn drawings were ‘unrealistic.’“
Her little face crumples, and my heart breaks all over again. I crouch down to her level, smoothing her wind-tangled hair.
“Oh, honey. I’ve missed you too. So much. But running away isn’t safe. Your papa must be terrified.”
“He doesn’t care,” she says, voice small and defeated. “He likes Miss Erin better. She talks to him about ‘devopmental milestones’ and uses big words.”
The pain in her voice guts me. I pull her into a hug, breathing in her familiar scent of strawberry shampoo and playground mulch.
“That’s not true, Ivy. Your papa loves you more than anything in the world.”
“Then why did he make you leave?”
Oh, man. How do I explain adult complications to a five- year-old? How do I tell her that sometimes people make smart choices that still can hurt everyone involved?
“It’s complicated, sweetie. Sometimes grown-ups make choices that seem right but feel wrong.”
Ivy assesses me with her little perceptive face. She’s so direct that it makes me want to avert my eyes.
“I missed you so much. Papa’s being extra grumpy, and he burned the toast three times yesterday, and he keeps staring at his phone like it might blow up.”
My chest tightens at the image of Saint struggling just as much as I am. But I push that thought away. I can’t let myself hope that his difficulty means anything beyond parental stress.
“We still need to call him,” I say gently. “He’s probably calling the police right now.”
Ivy’s bottom lip trembles. “Can’t we just stay here for a little bit? Please? I promise I’ll go back, but I haven’t seen you in forever, and Miss Erin said you probably forgot about me.”
The casual cruelty of that comment makes my teeth clank together. What kind of person tells a grieving child that someone who loves her has forgotten her?
“Ivy, listen to me.” I cup her small face in my hands. “I could never, ever forget about you. You’re one of the most important people in my whole world.”
Her expression brightens. “Really?”
“Really. But that’s exactly why we need to get you back safely. Because people who love each other don’t let each other worry.”
My pulse picks up when I find Saint’s contact, then turns into a hammer when I press the green button and put the phone to my ear.
It rings once before he answers.
“Wrenley?” he rasps. “Please tell me you’ve seen Ivy. ”
“I have her,” I say quickly. “She’s safe. She’s with me.”
The sound that escapes him is one of pure relief, mixed with something that might be a sob. “Thank Christ. Where are you?”
“Maple Creek Trail. About half a mile in, at the wooden bridge.”
“Don’t move. I’m coming to get her.”
“Saint, wait?—”
But he’s already hung up.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and sit on the fallen log, pulling Ivy onto my lap. She burrows against me like she’s trying to absorb my essence through her skin.
“Is Papa mad?” she asks in a quiet voice.
“He’s scared,” I assure her, “and maybe a little panicky.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Never.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “But you can’t run away again, okay? It’s dangerous.”
Ivy sighs dramatically. “Grown-up rules are stupid.”