22. Wren
TWENTY-TWO
WREN
My leg shakes as I sit in the comfortable waiting room on a well-worn couch. It’s like visiting your grandma’s house, waiting for the tray of cookies she baked for you. I hope it’s like that when I get through the door.
I’ve considered for a long time whether taking the step to therapy is the right thing to do, and I’m not really sure what’s pushing me to do it now.
Maybe it’s because for the first time in my life, things are going the way I hoped.
My career is on track, I have a nice place to live, I have friends, and…
I have Ridley. I don’t want to lose any of it, but it feels like it could slip out of my hands at any second.
My phone buzzes in my pocket for about the hundredth time today. Apparently everyone I know watches Good Morning New Onyx , and I’ve had people from high school all the way up to some old hookups messaging me today. Noticeably though, my family hasn’t and neither has Trent.
Not that I expected him to. The way things ended wasn’t exactly friendly.
What would he even say to me? Hey, I saw you finally met all your goals after I spent years telling you that you never would?
Fuck knows he’d never apologize. Do I want him to?
See, this is why I need to be in therapy.
I don’t have a clue how to process all this shit in my head.
I pull my phone out to silence it, but the name on the screen is Ridley’s so I unlock it and read the text.
Ridley: Thursday to Saturday nights are booked solid and we can expect a wait. All because of our sexy ginger executive chef slaying the morning show.
He sends a series of emojis, from water drops to an eggplant to a cheesy grin.
Me: That’s incredible. Guess I better be well rested.
Ridley: Happy to help if I can.
Me: I have some ideas.
The dots pop up but then disappear a few seconds later before popping up again.
Ridley: Seriously though, you were incredible. I’m so proud to know you and be associated with your talent. See ya later, rabbit.
My stomach flutters as I read the message a second time. I’m not sure anyone has ever told me they were proud of me except my culinary instructor on occasion.
“Wren?”
I look up as my name is called by the therapist, a woman who’s probably in her forties. She has long brown hair, tattoos on one arm, and a nose piercing. I knew what she looked like based on the website, but something about her physical presence is instantly soothing.
In her office, I settle into the armchair, glancing around nervously. She sits across from me, a warm smile on her face.
“It’s nice to meet you, Wren. You can call me Maisy. Let’s start with the basics. Can you tell me why you decided to seek therapy at this time?”
The question causes a flurry of activity in my brain, my thoughts swirling in several directions, until the dust settles and one answer stands out.
“Things are going well for me, for the first time in maybe forever, and I’m absolutely terrified of losing it all.”
Maisy nods, smiling, so I continue.
“I’m ready to tackle the stuff that’s getting in my way.”
“I can help with that. Let’s get started.”
Ridley wasn’t kidding, and by the time the kitchen closes hours later, I feel like I’m ten feet tall. Everyone was ordering the two items I prepared on the morning show, and for the first time since we opened, we ran out of ingredients to make them. Wild.
After a final check of the kitchen, I release the staff and head to my small corner of the office where I keep my papers and make notes of what dishes were popular. Not that I’d forget a day like today, but I’ll jot it down for consistency.
As soon as my butt is in the chair, the details of my therapy session rush back.
I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to open up to a stranger and talk about things I’ve never said aloud, but Maisy has a way about her that made me spill.
The next thing I knew an hour had flown by and I was drained.
Weirdly, I’ve wanted to tell Ridley about it all day. I know he won’t judge me.
That thought lingers in my head for a few seconds, contrasting with the one time I mentioned to Trent that I was considering therapy.
He said it was for losers who couldn’t get their lives together, and then very coldly told me that it could be good for me.
I still remember the look on his face as he used his verbal dagger on me.
Funny that he was a big part of the reason I couldn’t get my life together.
I used to wonder what was broken in me that I would stay with a guy like Trent.
It’s not like I didn’t see the red flags or how fucked up our relationship was.
I was well aware, but something kept me there.
I hope to unlock that something so I never make the same mistake again, or worse, project a bunch of shit onto someone who doesn’t deserve it. Someone like Ridley.
A smile tugs at my lips in spite of myself.
I have no business thinking of him as a long-term option, but that doesn’t mean I don’t.
If everything could stay exactly like it is right now, I’d be happy.
No career angst, relationship indecision, or where-should-I-live thoughts.
Just a comfortable existence where I wake up each day and get the opportunity to live my dreams.
That’s what makes it so damn terrifying.
I make my way to the front of the house, peeling off my chef’s jacket to take it home to be laundered.
There’s not a single chair or stool available, which is my clue to go home instead of hanging out.
I scan the bar for Ridley, finding him chatting with a group near the dartboards, his hands full of empty beer pitchers.
I take a few moments to simply watch and admire him, recalling the first time I saw him on my interview day.
I couldn’t believe how hot all six owners were, but even in a crowd like that, Ridley stood out.
Maybe because of the wild hair color or the vibrant tattoos or the megawatt smile.
I was too nervous to let myself notice much more than that, but over time I learned that despite having the outward appearance of a heartbreaker, he’s kind, and much softer than he seems. He’s chill, but serious when he needs to be.
Mostly, he’s comfortable to be around. He’s sexy, and he’s unlocked a part of me that needed to be let out.
He leaves the table, smiling brightly as he heads in my direction.
“Hey, rabbit. Kitchen closed?”
“Yeah. Still busy out here. Weird for a Tuesday.”
“Salem said we were all over local social media sites after your appearance. Guess word travels fast.”
“He told me that too. Indy thinks people are excited to try something outside of the city.”
“Definitely. Let me set these down.”
He darts behind the bar, dropping off the pitchers, then rejoins me as we step out of the way and lean against the wall.
“How ya feeling?” he asks.
“Good. It was an amazing day. I’ll tell you more when we’re alone.”
“And when will we be alone?” The innuendo in his voice makes my stomach flutter.
“You could text me when you get home.”
“I could.” He leans in even closer, his warm breath fanning over my lips. “Or you could be waiting for me in my bed.” Ridley lifts my hand, brushing his lips over it. “Naked and warm.”
That feels like a new step. Should we take it?
“Unless you want to be alone,” he says. “That’s okay too.”
“No. I want to see you later.”
“Cool.” He drags his tongue along his bottom lip. “I want to touch you so bad right now.”
“How? I mean, where?”
“Everywhere. Every way.”
I sway towards him, putting my hand on his chest for balance. All around us people chat, laugh, and drink their drinks, but I’m in my own little world where it’s only me and Ridley. I don’t care who sees us or what they think. I love this moment.
“I’ll be in your room, Ridley.”
“In my bed?”
I nod, releasing a quiet moan as my cock swells. “In your bed.”
He brushes his thumb across my chin. “I won’t be long. It’s only an hour until we close.”
A surge of bravery or recklessness, I don’t know which, spreads through me, pushing me to taste his lips, so I do, leaning in and pressing our mouths together. Ridley grunts, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling our bodies into each other.
The kiss is so intense that I have to remind myself that we’re in public and I can’t just drop to my knees to worship his cock.
“Fuck,” he whispers against my lips. “You drive me wild, Chef.”
I slump against the wall, catching my breath and swiping my tongue over my lips to taste his kiss a little longer. He makes a point of adjusting himself and we both chuckle, releasing the heated tension of the moment.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Ridley nods. “As soon as possible.”
Forcing myself away, I look over my shoulder before I leave to find Ridley still watching me.
He waves and winks as I dart out the door.
Small groups of people gather right out front, waiting for rideshares or just talking before heading home.
The warmer weather definitely keeps people out longer, and it’s nice to see it’s not just the college students, though I have to wonder if these people have day jobs.
That’s their problem though. If they want to spend their weeknights at our bar, we’ll have them.
Only a few minutes later, I make it home and practically sprint up the stairs to my room, peeling out of my clothes on the way to the bathroom. I take a quick shower and brush my teeth, throwing on a pair of shorts before slipping across the hall to Ridley’s suite.
A shiver runs down my back as I walk into his bedroom, a tingle of excitement for what’s going to happen when he gets here. I pull back the covers and sink into his soft mattress, the same place I slept last night, and the night before that.
I can’t work out yet whether it’s the sex or the bed or special Ridley magic that helps me sleep lately, but I don’t need to. It works right now.
Checking my phone, I note the time. The bar closes in thirty-five minutes.
I can entertain myself for that long, clicking on all the posts me or the bar have been tagged in today.
I smile through them, shaking my head at the many posts discussing my looks.
Apparently gingers are hot—a trend that definitely hasn’t been my experience before, but I’ve always been a late bloomer in everything. Why not this too?
Mostly the posts are pics of the bar and plates of my food, which I’ll take over discussing the face I had no choice in any day.
All in all, it was a damn good day, and it’s not over yet.