Chapter 9
“Oh, Damn, Look What I Forgot”
The moment Wren stepped outside, two things became clear.
Her aunt had arrived at The Haven sometime that morning, and snow would follow.
Both left their mark on the atmosphere—one scientific, pressure dropping like a stone, the other wafting a trail of patchouli and rosemary like breadcrumbs from a fairy tale.
She smiled and sought out Bodhi, who would undoubtedly be sharing time with his sister, Astrid. The Sol Room drew Wren like a magnet—that sun-drenched sanctuary where retreat guests found a peaceful place to sip tea and reflect in quiet, but also where Bodhi often liked to sit and read.
“There she is!” Aunt Astrid rose the instant she spotted her, arms opening wide and disrupting the morning peace like a whirlwind in silk scarves.
“Oh, would you feast your eyes on this glow? You’re absolutely luminous!
” She pulled Wren close, whispering against her ear with breath that smelled of ashwagandha and echinacea tea, “Only two things paint a woman with such radiance. You’re not carrying a child, are you, pumpkin? ”
“No!” Heat climbed Wren’s neck as her eccentric aunt’s smile widened with knowing satisfaction.
“Then it’s a man. I demand every delicious detail.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Astrid, but my love life is as mundane as ever.” Certain secrets deserved protection when Aunt Astrid entered the picture with her uncanny ability to read people like open books.
Wren’s aunt frowned, her wooden bangles clacking as she gestured dramatically. “Really, I was so certain I sensed a shift in your aura. I hope my vertigo’s not coming back. Damn inner ears can give the third eye such problems.”
“Sorry. Any glow I have comes strictly from daily yoga and a plant-based diet.”
Astrid’s brow furrowed as she shook her head, clearly unconvinced.
“My intuition’s getting worse with age.” Reaching into her blouse, she withdrew a satchel of herbs and tossed it onto the table like dice, the dried leaves rustling with aromatic promise.
“Brought this for you. Last season’s lemon balm.
It eases tension and digestion. Steep it for ten minutes with honey. It pairs beautifully with hibiscus.”
“Thanks.” As the town apothecary, nothing surpassed one of Astrid’s freshly ground teas.
“Too long since I’ve read your tea leaves, Wren. Maybe we should brew a cup now.”
“I can’t. I promised Jocelyn a visit this morning.”
“How is Hideaway’s bestselling author? I devoured her latest series. Who knew I harbored such an appetite for Viking smut?”
“Viking smut, you say?” Bodhi raised an eyebrow with genuine curiosity as he sipped his tea. Her father devoured anything printed, but she wasn’t sure Viking smut was up his alley.
“Devastatingly sexy,” Astrid informed him with a knowing nod. “Magnificent braids and you wouldn’t believe the size of the Vikings—”
“Weapons,” Wren interrupted, shooting her aunt a warning look.
Experience taught her to derail such conversations before they careened off track. Other guests lingered nearby and Viking anatomy didn’t really match The Haven’s aesthetic.
“Maybe you should support your friend by reading more of her books, Wren. You seem rather tightly wound this morning. How long since you’ve indulged in proper self-care? And I’m not referring to manicures or yoga.”
“On that note, I’m departing. Thank you for the tea.” She kissed her aunt, then her father, breathing in the familiar scent of spices and contentment that always surrounded him. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
She escaped The Haven before business could sidetrack her. Jocelyn wasn’t expecting a visit, but Wren needed advice, and Jocelyn had a knack for getting right to the point on matters of the heart—sort of the way a sledgehammer reveals the inner workings of a delicate egg.
When she knocked on her friend’s door, Jocelyn’s voice echoed from deep inside the house, muffled by walls and creative chaos. “Go away.”
“Joce, it’s me.”
“Me who?”
“Wren.”
She waited in silence until the door opened a crack and her friend peeked at her with a messy head of hair three times its usual size, mascara smudged beneath tired eyes. “Did you bring snacks?”
As their custom demanded—sort of like a toll one had to pay to interrupt Jocelyn’s writing time—Wren held up a box of donuts from Making Woopie, the local bakery.
Her friend snatched the box out of her hand and left the door open.
On writing days, Jocelyn had a very specific wardrobe ritual—silk against skin, freedom from constraints, everything designed for creative flow.
She wore either kaftans or kimonos and very little underneath.
She didn’t like to be disturbed by bras or people, and she preferred not to break her focus for meals.
She did, however, have a soft spot for coffee, booze, and sweets.
It was common knowledge that any beverage in Jocelyn’s hand after eleven a.m. was adequately spiked, which she claimed helped to keep her romances extra spicy.
“I thought you’d be heading into town to set up for your fundraiser tonight.”
Jocelyn grunted over a sugary bite as she walked, crumbs trailing behind her like literary breadcrumbs. “I wanted to get a few words in first. Besides, that doesn’t start until later. Plenty of time.”
Wren gave her a skeptical look. “Did you delegate?”
“Of course, I did. You know I’m too pretty to do the heavy lifting. So, what brings you by?”
They sat on the sectional in the living room, and Wren pulled a cozy blanket onto her lap, needing the comfort of soft fabric against her skin. “I have a problem.”
“You think you have problems? I’ve got two characters who can’t stop fucking.
I mean, it’ll sell, but the plot’s been nothing but blowjobs and buttfucking since chapter two.
My agent’s going to hate it. Ooh!” She grabbed for a second donut, tossing her already half-eaten one back into the box. “I love a Boston crème!”
“My problems are a little more PG than buttfucking and blowjobs.”
“Pity.” She sat back and closed her eyes over a bite of the cream filled donut, moaning with theatrical appreciation. “So, what’s got your panties in a bunch? You can’t figure out what to wear tonight to my fabulous auction of man meat?”
Wren sank a little. “You know that’s not my thing—“
“Nope.” She cut her off with a finger wag, powdered sugar dusting her silk sleeve. “I’m your thing. As my official BFF, your attendance is mandatory. You can show your emotional support by buying a donated book or bidding on a hot item to support my fundraising endeavors. Be a good citizen, Wren.”
“I am a good citizen.”
“Then be a hornier one. It might do you good to bid on a hottie for a night. Clear out some of those coochie cobwebs you’re so fond of collecting.”
“My coochie does not have cobwebs!”
“Really? When’s the last time a guy’s been in there to…dust?”
“I handle my own damn dusting.”
“That’s not the same.”
Wren rolled her eyes and mumbled, “You’d be surprised.”
“So, let’s hear it.” She took another bite into the donut and moaned with exaggerated pleasure. “Did someone piss in your lube and call it foreplay?”
“Dear God, where does your head go?”
“Right to the dick. It’s a wonder we’re best friends, being that you’ve lived the last thirty years without one.”
“Seriously. But that’s why I’m here.”
Jocelyn sat up. “Oh?”
“Times, they are a’changin’.”
Sudden interest sharpened her features. “Do tell.”
Wren drew in a galvanizing breath, her pulse fluttering with nervous energy. “Logan kissed me.”
Jocelyn stilled and gaped at her, pastry nearly falling out of her mouth. “Logan Hawthorne?”
“What other Logan do you know?”
“Ho-ly shit. I knew he always had a thing for you! When? How did it happen? I want all the details!”
“It was behind the corner market. We were on a date.”
Jocelyn curled her lip in a look of disappointment. “Behind the corner market? Like where the dumpsters are?” She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “He could have done a little better than that.”
“It was cute. It was a scavenger hunt thing.”
Her friend snicked her tongue against her teeth. “Well, you didn’t mention that. That’s adorable.”
“I know!”
Jocelyn looked off in the distance as if picturing it, then moaned with appreciation. “If I had a shot at Logan Hawthorne I’d break him in one use.” She grinned wickedly. “How was the kiss?”
“Sweet. Gentle.”
“Ugh. I’m so sorry to hear that. Maybe he just needs a good spank—”
“I also kissed Soren.”
“Wait! What?” She shoved the donuts away to focus, chocolate smearing her fingers. “This. Just. Got. Interesting. Spill! I want all the tea, you little hippie harlot!”
“We had a date... Last night.”
“Where?”
“Salt & Ember.”
She physically melted from the couch and onto the floor with dramatic flair. “Of course, he would take you there. That boy has such alpha energy. He’s the sort of guy a woman can run a few rounds with. Tell me about his kiss.”
“It was a really good kiss.” Even now, Wren’s toes curled remembering the way he held her close, the taste of champagne on his lips. “Slow, but deliberate. Sort of forceful, but not in a rushed way.”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Go on.” She pulled the donuts back to her lap as if holding popcorn for a movie.
Wren bit her lip, heat climbing her neck. “I haven’t even told you the biggest part yet.”
“Wait, there’s more? Oh, my God! Did you go to bed with him? Because if so, that calls for more than donuts.”
“No.” Her face burned as a nip of shame tightened her throat. She bit her lip and covered her face in embarrassment. “Greyson also kissed me.”
Silence.
Wren peeked through her fingers. Jocelyn just blinked at her, mouth hanging open. “Say something, Joce.”