Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The following Tuesday, Wren walked into the empty studio and sighed.
There was something special about being in a dance studio by yourself, she decided as she dropped her bag on a bench.
She drifted over to the big window, set kitty-corner to the mirrored wall, and let her gaze drift down to the afternoon hustle of downtown H-Town.
Blackweather Green was, as per usual, full of life.
At the edge, a fierce dominoes match was underway, and a little way along sat the Shade Brigade—three old ladies who’d occupied that same bench every afternoon for what had to be a decade, dispensing commentary and judgment with the confidence of women who had, between them, more than two centuries of life experience.
A pair of shirtless teenagers lobbed a frisbee back and forth, desperately trying to look cool while a group of girls ogled them from their blanket under the big oak tree.
Just like she and Poppy used to watch Hayes, Thom, and Benji.
Watching Dane exercise in the park was the adult equivalent of that long ago experience.
Wren sighed. While she always enjoyed catching up with Thom and spending time with Hayes, she wished she’d had more one-on-one time with Dane on Friday night. It had been more of a “catch-up” than a “getting to know a new guy” session.
While they texted and spoke daily, sometimes many times, she’d also missed Poppy on Friday night, and needing to touch base with her best friend, Wren video called her.
Poppy answered on the first ring. Wren took in her tired eyes and gaunt cheeks.
Was her friend eating at all? And wasn’t planning a wedding supposed to be fun?
“What are you up to?” Poppy asked. Wren immediately heard the listlessness in her voice, and her anxiety levels shot up. Who had upset her this time? Her mother? Her future mother-in-law? Benji?
“I was just watching some teenage girls eying some boys in the park, trying to be super cool, and it reminded me of the way we fawned over Hayes and Thom back in the day,” she said.
Poppy was silent for a minute. “How are they? I mean, I know how Hayes is—I spoke to Hadley last night, and she couldn’t stop raving about dance practice, but how is—”
She stopped mid-sentence, and Wren immediately sensed the guilt and hesitation behind her words. Thom was about to become her brother-in-law, yet he wasn’t speaking to his family—especially his brother. No one, not even Poppy, knew why.
Years ago, Benji’s older brother, Thom, had been Poppy’s protector, the person she ran to for reassurance. Then something had happened to cause Thom to drop out of Poppy’s life when they were seventeen. Poppy had no clue what, and they never spoke again.
Wren’s conversation with Thom the other night was the first they’d had in years, yet she still knew nothing of why he’d ghosted Poppy, the reason behind his and Benji’s estrangement, or why he’d been forced out as CEO at Sheffield Strategy, the business his father had established thirty-five years ago.
Thom was still maintaining his position as a closed book.
“Bird, Hadley tells me you have an unusual dance pupil. And that he’s, I quote, ‘hot for an old guy.’”
Wren placed her palm on the window and smiled. “Did she also tell you that he has the rhythm of a marionette puppet on crack?”
Poppy’s bright laugh hit Wren square in the chest. In her sparkling eyes and that wide, unguarded smile, Wren saw the girl she’d known all her life, grown up with—quick to laugh and wild at heart.
Then Poppy squinted. “You’re looking a bit pensive, Bird. Do you need to chat?”
She and Poppy could always read each other like six-foot neon signs. But Wren knew she was pushed for time, and her class was starting soon. And yes, she was still recovering from Luna’s maniacal crowing and litany of told-you-so’s.
“Alex keeps messaging me,” she admitted. “He says he wants to talk to me.”
Poppy frowned. “Does he want you to collaborate on a project with him?”
“No, he said it’s personal, not business. I genuinely have no idea what it’s about.”
“Do you want to talk to him?” Poppy asked. “It sounds like you might.”
Wren wrinkled her nose. Of course, she was curious as to what Alex had to say. What had changed between the last time they met and now? What could be so important that he wanted to run it by her just a few weeks before he was to marry Jess?
“I’m not sure. I think I’ve moved on, and I don’t want to reopen that wound,” she told Poppy.
“Helped, I’m sure, by flirting with Hot Doc,” Poppy interjected.
Wren ignored her statement. “But seeing Alex might open it up all over again.”
“And let’s not forget, you’re properly attracted to Hot Doc,” Poppy persisted. Wren placed her hand on the glass of the huge window that looked out onto Main Street. Talk of the devil, Dane was walking by, carrying two takeout Spirited Grounds coffees, heading, she hoped, to her.
She was wildly attracted to the man, something she hadn’t experienced with Alex.
Alex had been comfort and security, someone she knew deeply.
There hadn’t been any sparks or flutters, hot faces and stuttered words.
Dane made her feel jittery and off-balance.
Whenever he was around, she felt like he switched on the current to electrical wires running under her skin.
Man, Dane was a perfect candidate for a summer fling: hot, smart, funny, not planning on sticking around.
She took in his rangy body, his loose stride.
He was simply dressed, in a white T-shirt, loose-fitting cargo pants, and expensive trainers on his big feet.
He hadn’t shaved for a day or two—or three—and looked a little wild, a lot sexy.
Wren’s mouth dried up, and she felt that slight tug in her womb.
Of what? Lust? Need? Recognition? All three?
Was this what real attraction felt like?
And if it was, what did she really feel for Alex back then?
Her eyes widened as she saw Luna racing down the sidewalk, the wind blowing her hair over her face.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered.
“What’s going on and why did you go quiet?” Poppy demanded.
“Luna has just accosted Dane on the street, and she’s jabbering at a mile a minute,” Wren said, watching her godmother wave her hands in the air. Then she reached inside her huge tote bag and pulled out a plastic file thick with paper. “Ah, dammit, Luna.”
“What now?” Poppy asked, resigned.
“I think she’s hassling Dane to buy Dr. Morris’s practice. She’s just handed him some documents.”
“Did he take it?”
“No, his hands are full, he’s holding two coffees, and he’s shaking his head. Oh God, now he’s just looking stubborn and she’s put the file back in her bag.” Wren sighed. “When will she realize Dane isn’t someone she can push around?”
“Has the irresistible force met the immovable mountain?” Poppy asked, smiling.
Wren shrugged. “Maybe.”
“So, about Alex—”
Wren didn’t want to talk about him anymore, mostly because she still felt like a fool for falling for him, for being hurt when he chose Jess over her.
For leaving her alone, for moving on to someone better.
It wasn’t that she was still in love with him; she still felt raw because he had left her. Just like her dad did.
Over thinking and dissecting her feelings, Wren turned and gestured to the empty studio. “I need to get going, I have to start thinking about a routine for the kids to perform.”
“You seem to be enjoying yourself in the studio. You sound brighter and happier.”
“I’m having fun, but don’t you dare tell Luna that.”
“I won’t. It’s nice to see you smiling, it reminds me of the old Wren. Now, about Alex—”
“Nope, not talking about him.”
Poppy narrowed her eyes at her. “You always avoid the Alex subject when you feel cornered,” she pointed out.
And that was the problem with a friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. They always saw the wobble beneath the smile.
* * *
Fifteen long minutes later—it had taken longer than he expected to escape Luna—Dane nudged the studio door open with his foot, relieved when it didn’t squeal and give him away. He eased his shoulder into the doorframe, arms folded, letting himself look.
And, God, there she was.
Wren seemed completely lost in her own world.
Her cropped orange top slid off one shoulder, bright against her skin, flashing her smooth, flat stomach every time she moved.
The loose dance pants, knotted to keep them from sliding down her sexy hips, stopped mid-calf, showing off her elegant feet and the musical note tattoo on the inside of her ankle. It was very Wren.
She looked exactly like what she was—a professional dancer. But to him? She was a fist in his gut, a punch he hadn’t been prepared for.
He couldn’t pull his eyes off her.
She moved across the floor to a haunting melody, her body flowing, her moves smooth and sure.
She dipped, swayed, spun, lifted her body into the air, and Dane sucked in a breath as she fell to the floor, the air escaping as she rolled, leg extended into the air, her toes pointed at the ceiling.
Stopping abruptly, she rested her forehead on the floor.
Then, in one fluid movement, she stood up and walked over to the sound system, cutting the music. Silence filled the studio.
“The choreography is too complicated. The kids’ll find the music boring,” she said, speaking to herself.
He watched as she scrolled through her phone and what he presumed was her extensive collection of tunes.
A pulsing beat, hot and hard, filled the studio.
Dane, by no means a music aficionado, immediately thought of a hot club, sweaty bodies grinding together, sex and booze in the air.
“I could fuck you day or night…” The rapper’s words were completely clear, and Dane winced. Well, he could, easily. Wren just needed to give him the word…