33. Wrenley #2
My car starts with a reluctant whine, and I’m backing out of my spot before I can second-guess myself.
The fifteen-minute drive to Saint’s property stretches like pulled taffy, each familiar turn both too slow and too fast. My heartbeat matches the rhythm of the windshield wipers as they sweep away the light mist that’s started to fall.
When I pull into his gravel driveway, I don’t head toward the main house. Instead, I follow the stone path around the side, past the kitchen garden with its neat rows of herbs and through the small wooden gate that always sticks unless you lift it slightly while pushing.
And there he is.
Saint sits on the same bench I did when I first got here, elbows on his knees and head bowed. He’s wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt that stretches across his shoulders, jeans worn down at the knees, and his favorite scuffed boots.
“That was a dirty move.”
My voice shakes as I say it, betraying the whirlwind inside me .
Saint’s head snaps up. His eyes find mine, blue and bottomless as Falcon Haven’s lake in winter. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t stand or reach for me. He just watches me like one of Rome’s horses, like I might spook if he moves too quickly.
“I know,” he finally says.
I take three steps closer, leaves crunching under my boots. “Using social media? You hate that place.”
“Turns out I’m an expert at that. Hating on things that could be good for me.”
Ivy’s bucket of rocks sits beside him, the pile inside askew. I itch to reach inside and find the broken heart Ivy painted, but I stay rooted in place.
“Where’s Ivy?” I ask, well aware of how quiet the garden is without her presence.
“School.” He shifts on the bench, making room beside him. “She doesn’t know you’re here.”
I don’t take the offered seat. Not yet. “And if I hadn’t come?”
“I would’ve waited.”
The mist is heavier now, darkening the shoulders of his shirt and catching in his eyelashes.
“How long would you have waited?” I ask, aware that I’m pushing it, but unable to stop. I’ve been miserable these last few weeks. Miserable.
Saint leans back against the bench, moisture collecting in the hollow of his throat. “As long as it took.”
His sincerity sinks into me like a nutrient I’ve been denying my body for much too long. I take another step, close enough now that I could drag my finger along his jawline if I dared.
Saint doesn’t rise. He stays exactly where he is, allowing me the rare vantage point of looking down at such a tall, commanding man .
“You pushed me away,” I say. “You said we couldn’t do this without putting Ivy in harm’s way.”
“I was wrong.” He keeps his eyes on mine, but his sentence sounds like he dragged it over gravel first. “I thought I was protecting her and shielding myself.”
I cross my arms, hugging my own body against the growing chill. “And now?”
“Now I know what it costs to keep you out.” His jaw works, the muscle there jumping. “It didn’t protect Ivy. It just taught her that love is something you run from.”
The rain picks up, gentle but insistent. Droplets catch in my hair and run down my neck. I should be cold, but now I’m burning from the inside.
“You can’t just decide that.” I fight to keep steady. “You can’t just wake up one morning and change your mind about me being worth the risk.”
Saint stands then, slow and deliberate. The bench creaks as he rises to his full height and brings us closer.
“It wasn’t one day.” His voice drops as I lift my chin to keep my gaze on him. “It was every day. Every fucking day without you.”
The rain slides between us, a curtain of silver that does nothing to dilute the beauty of his eyes. I want to surrender to him, but the memory of his rejection still stings like a fresh stab wound.
The honesty in his voice makes it hurt to breathe. This isn’t the Saint I’ve come to know, the man who guards his words like they’re made of gold and communicates in grunts and nods and rare, precious smiles.
“I need more than that,” I whisper. “I need to know this isn’t temporary. That the next time someone recognizes you or asks about us, you won’t shut down. I would never put Ivy in danger. Ever . ”
“I had a nanny problem,” Saint says quietly.
I’m taken aback. “What?”
“That’s what started all of this.” Saint runs his hand through his mist-dampened hair. “I needed someone to watch Ivy, and the universe sent you instead.”
“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“I’m saying you were the opposite of convenient.” A flicker of a smile crosses his face. “You were the least convenient person who could have walked into my life.”
“I was temporary,” I say, bristling. “And helping you out of a bind.”
“Fuck, I’m not saying this right.” Saint spins on his heel, then comes back. “You were never temporary. You were a fucking wildfire that burned down every wall I built. And then when I saw how much Ivy loved you, how much I—” He stops. “I panicked.”
My heart keeps hammering. “What about my job? The publicity? The comments? The risk to your privacy?”
“Let them try.” A raindrop slides down his temple, along the sharp line of his jaw. “I spent three years teaching my daughter to be brave. Then I met you and forgot how to prove it. I was wrong, Wrenley. The thing that hurt us the most was me pushing you away.”
The rain picks up, but neither of us moves. Saint reaches into Ivy’s bucket, pulling out the broken heart rock. He holds it between us.
“She painted this the night after you left. Asked me why I ‘broke’ Miss Wrenley.” His thumb traces the jagged lightning bolt splitting the red heart. “I told her adults sometimes make mistakes. She said that was stupid because mistakes can be fixed.”
My throat closes.
“She’s been setting three plates at the table every night,” he continues. “Keeps asking when you’re coming home. Not if. When.”
Saint clasps both my hands in his with Ivy’s heart rock in between. “What kind of father does this make me?”
Our combined hands blur through my tears. “One who’s learning.”
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” Saint is close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face. Rain streams down his cheeks. “But Ivy does. She’s been asking me every day if I scared you away forever.”
“And what do you tell her?”
“That I’m trying to fix my mistake.” His hands release mine to frame my face, thumbs brushing away rain and tears. “She said I better grovel really, really good because you’re worth it.”
A laugh breaks through my sob. “She said grovel?”
“Her exact words. Apparently she learned it from that princess movie where the prince has to win back the girl.” His mouth quirks in the ghost of a smile. “She also said I’m supposed to get on my knees.”
Oh my God. “Saint, you don’t have to?—”
He gets down on both knees, getting soaked in the growing puddles. This proud, intimidating man who commands a kitchen and makes grown servers shrivel is kneeling in the rain, looking up at me like I hold his entire world in my hands.
Or his broken heart in the form of a rock made by his daughter.
“I don’t care if they camp outside the restaurant,” he says, voice strong despite the vulnerable position. “I don’t care if they follow us to the grocery store or turn our lives into a circus. I care that my daughter painted a broken heart because the woman she loves disappeared from her life. ”
His hand squeeze mine, the stone heart warming within my palm.
“I can’t control what goes viral,” I whisper, “And I don’t want to give up what I do, but I wouldn’t ever show Ivy.”
His eyes never leave mine. “I’ve already told my staff, no photos in the restaurant. Had my lawyer send cease-and-desist letters to the food vloggers who’ve been calling. Changed all my social media settings.” He pauses. “Well, Noa changed them. I’m still terrible with that stuff.”
Despite everything, I smile. “You made a video.”
“Took me forty-seven tries. Ivy had to show me how to work the camera.” His thumb strokes across my knuckles. “But I would’ve figured out TikTok if that’s what it took to get you back.”
The image of Saint struggling with TikTok makes me laugh through my tears. “I don’t think you’re ready for TikTok.”
“I’m ready for whatever comes with loving you,” he says simply. “The comments, the attention, the people who think they know our story. None of it matters without you here.”
I gasp, heart swelling into my throat. “What did you just say? The first part, I mean, the part about?—”
“Being in love with you? Yeah. I mean it. I fell for you the night you broke into my property and threatened me with my own cast iron skillet. I’ve been falling ever since.”
The broken heart rock stays warm and dry in my palm, Ivy’s childish artwork suddenly the most precious thing I’ve ever held.
“Ivy’s been teaching me about second chances,” Saint continues, his voice soft as the rain. “Apparently I’m a slow learner.”
“The slowest,” I agree, pulling him to a stand.
His arms come around me, solid and sure, holding me against his chest where I can hear his heart racing. “Is that a yes?”
I think about Maisy and the bikers rooting for us. About Ivy setting three plates every night. About the way this man gives me the courage to want things I thought I could never have in the real world.
“Ask me properly,” I whisper against his throat.
“Wrenley Morgan,” Saint says, his voice low and rough against my ear, “will you come home with me?”
“Yes,” I breathe into his skin.
Saint’s eyes darken, and he guides my mouth to his with a crooked finger under my chin. He takes my breath, obliterates my mind, and tastes like heaven. He cradles my head, deepening the kiss, a groan rising from deep within his chest.
“Your post,” I murmur against his lips. “It’s probably going viral since you haven’t uploaded a thing in years. Everyone was waiting.”
Saint’s roaming hands pause at my waist. “Let it. I want the whole world to know I’m the idiot who almost lost you and now I’m the lucky bastard who gets to keep you. Think your followers would approve?”
I laugh, pulling him closer as the rain soaks through our clothes. “Oh, they’re going to lose their minds .”
“Good,” he growls, and kisses me again. “About time Chef Daddy lived up to his name.”