Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Wren had spent the better part of the day trying to remember every complaint Lark had ever made about Grayson—and coming up frustratingly short.
It didn’t make sense.
Because from where Wren stood, shoulder to shoulder with him inside the bustling serving tent, with the festival humming around them, Grayson was…easy.
That was the only word for it. Because he was easy to talk to, easy to stand beside, easy to exist with.
Which, frankly, was unsettling.
Wren didn’t do easy when it came to men. Not strangers or acquaintances or anyone who wasn’t safely kept at arm’s length.
And yet here she was, close enough that she could feel the heat of him every time he reached for another bottle. She should’ve been counting down the seconds until she could escape.
Instead, she found herself lingering.
“You can pour a little more in each cup,” Grayson murmured, as she tilted a bottle.
Wren glanced down, aware she was offering what amounted to a “her” pour, not a “Lark” pour. She was fine with mere sips, while Lark would eschew the glass and chug straight from the bottle if left to her own devices.
“Oops,” she said lightly, flashing what she hoped passed for her sister’s easy grin.
“You’re usually the one pouring with a heavy hand.” There was a teasing note in his voice, but it was soft rather than sharp.
“Pacing myself, so there’s more for us at the end,” she quipped, attempting a Lark-style joke.
Grayson narrowed his eyes briefly, and she figured she must have hit the mark on her imitation—one of the few times today—because he looked a little annoyed.
“We’re not drinking what’s left.”
Wren channeled her sister as she said, “Party pooper.”
Grayson snorted, and they went back to serving wine, returning to the easy camaraderie they’d established over the course of the day.
They fell into their own familiar rhythm as the crowd ebbed and flowed—pour, smile, chat, repeat.
Wren mirrored Lark as best she could, trying to be brighter, bolder, and a little more carefree than she felt.
Somehow, alongside Grayson, it didn’t feel like such a stretch, though she was also pretty sure she wasn’t hitting a tenth of her sister’s outgoingness.
Grayson’s arm brushed against hers as he bent forward to grab the tasting cards the wind was trying to blow away. He placed one of the rocks they’d collected from the parking lot earlier on the stack as a paperweight.
Warmth curled low in her stomach, confusing and unwelcome.
Lark doesn’t care for Grayson, she reminded herself for the millionth time.
There had to be a reason, but if there was, Wren couldn’t see it.
Most likely it was just a personality thing.
Lark could be a lot. Like, A LOT a lot, and Grayson struck her as the type of guy who preferred quiet and calm… something she could relate to.
“Hey there, gorgeous.”
The slurred voice cut through Wren’s concentration. She turned, forcing a polite smile into place. The man leaning against the edge of the table was flushed, his grin swarthy, his gaze unfocused.
Clearly, this wasn’t his first tasting of the day. Given the way he swayed as if on the deck of a boat, she’d say he’d been here since the gates opened at noon. Considering it was nearly eight, that was saying something.
Surprisingly, they hadn’t come up against anyone yet who’d been truly trashed. Sure, they’d had to deal with more than a handful of tipsy people, including a large group of women who were using the festival for a bachelorette celebration, but they were just giggly and super loud.
Not leering and creepy…like this guy.
She glanced in Grayson’s direction, wondering if there was some sort of rule about serving someone who was too intoxicated.
Unfortunately, he had his back to her as he boxed up a large order placed by the group he’d been talking to.
As the night wore on, and the first day of the festival wound down, a lot more people were returning to buy their favorite wines.
“Do you want a tasting?” she asked, prepared to give the man no more than a drop of each wine. She wasn’t entirely sure he’d even notice.
“Nah,” he said, reaching out. He moved faster than she expected, given his level of intoxication. His fingers wrapped around her wrist before she could step away. “I wanna dance with you.”
The world narrowed instantly as her breath caught and her body went rigid. Strange men didn’t touch her. Because she never let them get close enough.
“I—please let go,” she managed to say, though it came out thin and weak. Why couldn’t she channel Lark now? Her sister wouldn’t let some drunk asshole manhandle her.
“C’mon. That guy can handle things. Music’s hopping.” He tugged with enough force that it hurt.
Wren froze as every instinct she had—every carefully built wall—slammed into place at once, locking her in. Sound dulled and movement slowed. Her heart pounded so loudly, it drowned out everything else.
Suddenly, she was a nine-year-old girl, jolted awake in her dark bedroom by the monster who didn’t hide under the bed, but in plain sight.
She felt herself being propelled around the counter. She couldn’t pull away, couldn’t think, couldn’t—
“Let go of her.”
Grayson’s voice wasn’t loud. Because it didn’t need to be. Somehow, it still sliced through the white noise deafening her.
The man blinked, turning away from Wren but not releasing her. “Relax, dude. We’re just going to—”
“I said,” Grayson repeated, stepping closer, his tone still controlled but now edged with something much more menacing, “let go.”
There was a flicker of tension before the drunk guy huffed out a laugh and released her wrist. “Didn’t know she came with a bodyguard.”
“Now you do,” Grayson said, arms crossed in such a way that his chest looked muscular, thick, huge. “We’re not serving you. You’re clearly drunk. I suggest you find water and a ride home.”
The guy muttered something under his breath but staggered off, obviously intimidated by Grayson. Guess he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t recognize danger when it stared him in the face.
Wren didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
“Lark?” Grayson’s voice shifted, all the steel dissolving into something gentler, kinder. He turned toward her, his gaze searching. “You okay?”
She nodded automatically. Too quickly.
“I’m fine,” she lied. Wren closed her trembling hands into fists, tucking them behind her back. Her chest was tight and all of a sudden, this tent felt too small, too crowded.
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “You don’t look fine.”
Shit. She needed to pull herself together—and fast—because Lark wouldn’t freeze, and she sure as shit wouldn’t act so frightened.
Lark would have laughed in the guy’s face, twisted his arm, made a joke at his expense, and sent his sorry ass packing.
Wren swallowed hard, forcing herself to move, to be like Lark.
“He just…caught me off guard.”
Grayson didn’t look convinced.
“Are you sure? Because I recall Nora saying she was going to make you a bouncer after some incident at the winery,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “She said the guy hadn’t stood a chance against you.”
Relief flickered, and suddenly, Wren was grateful that her sister never stopped talking.
Because Lark had shared that story with her, and while Wren suspected the details had been embellished, that only helped her cause now.
She could relay it exactly the way Lark had, with all of her sister’s bravado.
“Yeah, well, that was a different situation. I knew that guy. Went to school with him. He’s a total idiot but not dangerous.
Honest, Grayson, this one just snuck up on me.
Everyone’s been so cool today, I guess I wasn’t expecting anyone to be a shithead. ”
Grayson studied her for a long moment. Too long. Then he nodded. “Trust me, anywhere alcohol flows freely is a breeding ground for shitheads.”
She laughed, though it was a weak one at best.
“You don’t have to handle the assholes alone, Lark. Bouncer or not, you could have called me for help.”
“Next time, I will,” she promised.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Something in his tone—steady, certain, compassionate—broke through the last of her composure. Before she could think through her actions, Wren stepped closer, leaning into him, as his hands instinctively rose to embrace her.
The contact should have sent her spiraling, should have made her recoil—but it didn’t.
Not even when his arms came around her without hesitation, firm and grounding, one of his large palms settling on her lower back.
“You’re okay,” he murmured.
And for the first time since that man had grabbed her, she believed it.
That realization shook her harder than she expected.
She felt safe.
With Grayson.
It seemed impossible.
And very much NOT a part of the plan.
Grayson had to lock his knees to hold himself steady, though he wasn’t sure it was going to be enough. His entire fucking world had just tilted sideways, nearly knocking him on his ass.
He’d hugged people before. Friends. Family. Employees celebrating milestones. It wasn’t a foreign concept.
But this…
This was different.
The instant Lark leaned into him, the world narrowed until there was nothing beyond the woman in his arms.
She fit.
Not physically—though she did, almost unnervingly, as if she’d been measured against him long before they met—but in some deeper, quieter way he couldn’t begin to explain.
His heart stuttered, then thundered.
She was warm despite the chill in the air. Her hair brushed his jaw, carrying the softest of scents, something uniquely her that settled into his lungs until he couldn’t remember how he’d ever breathed before this moment.
She trusted him. He could feel that in her grip, and the realization hit with a force that should have hurt, but instead felt right.
She trusted him enough to step toward him instead of away, enough to let him hold her, enough to believe him when he promised he would keep her safe.
His protective instincts had always been fierce. It was part of the Storm DNA, something so deeply ingrained, he’d never questioned or resisted it.
But this was different. This felt…primitive. Ancient.
As though every instinct he’d ever possessed had abruptly aligned behind one purpose.
Her.
Keep her safe.
Keep her smiling.
Never let anyone scare her again.
The certainty was so immediate, it bordered on irrational. After all, he barely tolerated her. Everything about her usually annoyed him, grated against his nerves.
Except none of that had been present today.
His hand flexed against the small of her back, the embrace lingering longer than it should. Not that he cared. If it was up to him, he’d hold her from now until the end of time.
The second he touched her, something inside him had simply…settled.
Like he’d spent years searching for something without realizing it existed until now.
It was the legend. It was real.
He couldn’t deny what his body, his heart knew. The relentless noise of the day—the loud music and tipsy people vanished beneath the quiet rhythm of her breathing.
She was trembling less now.
He’d done that, helped her. A fierce, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. He was grateful. Grateful that she’d given him something precious simply by trusting him.
Carefully, almost afraid to disturb the peace, he rested his cheek lightly on the top of her head. “You don’t have to be brave every second.”
She laughed, but it was barely more than a shaky breath.
“No one’s ever accused me of that.”
He frowned, confused by her words. Before he could question her, she lifted her head from his chest and shook it, even as she refused to meet his gaze.
“I mean, I don’t know how not to be.”
Grayson wasn’t sure why, but he knew without a doubt, the first thing she’d said had been the true thing.
Regardless, he responded to the last when she placed her head back on his chest. “You don’t have to figure that out tonight.”
Silence settled between them again, but it was comfortable, and unexpectedly intimate.
He began to suspect she wasn’t holding onto him because she was scared anymore. She was holding him because she wanted to.
The thought nearly undid him.
His chest tightened with an emotion so huge, he didn’t dare examine it too closely.
He’d watched his brothers fall in love. Smiled through Levi’s wedding, Maverick’s engagement toasts, listened to Theo as he described the moment he knew Gretchen was his.
His gaze drifted down as she finally leaned back enough to look at him. Her eyes lifted slowly, still glossy from the tears she didn’t shed. She searched his face with the same cautious curiosity he was trying to hide.
For one moment, neither of them moved.
He noticed the tiny smattering of freckles on her nose, the way one curl had fallen loose from her ponytail, the vulnerable expression on her face.
She was beautiful.
Not because she looked fragile, but because she didn’t.
Even shaken, she possessed a quiet resilience that radiated beneath the fear.
His thumb brushed lightly across her cheek before he could stop himself. It was a mere whisper of contact, but her breath caught.
Hell, so did his.
The air between them shifted as something invisible and undeniable took root.
Grayson had spent a lifetime waiting for this moment. Waiting so long, he’d given up hope of finding it. Of finding her.
The woman standing in front of him had reached into places inside him that he hadn’t known were empty. She’d changed his life with just one touch.
He was already falling, not slowly or cautiously but completely.
He didn’t know if she felt it as well, but he knew one thing for damn sure.
From this moment forward, every plan he made for his future had just rewritten itself around one hope.
That something, someday, Lark would choose to stay in his arms not because she needed somewhere safe, but because she wanted him.