Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Wren had just finished rinsing her dinner plate when someone pounded on her apartment door hard enough to rattle the frame. She glanced at the clock and saw it was just after eight p.m.
Only one person knocked like the building was on fire.
Wren opened the door to find Lark standing there in faded jeans with rips in the knees, a Lightning in a Bottle polo, and giant sunglasses shoved into her messy blonde bun. Her sister looked exhausted.
“You look terrible,” Wren said.
Lark groaned as she walked inside. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear after driving four hours, then immediately working an eight-hour shift.”
“I thought you were coming back from Pittsburgh yesterday.”
“I was supposed to.” Lark dropped dramatically to the couch, kicking her feet up on Wren’s coffee table. “But Aunt Judi talked me into staying another night because she wanted to take me to this new speakeasy she found.”
“Of course she did.” Despite the fact they were identical twins, Wren still sometimes wondered if there was any way Aunt Judi was really Lark’s mother, as their godmother’s adventurous, up-for-anything nature matched her sister’s perfectly.
Because while staying out late drinking at a speakeasy might sound like fun, the piper would be paid the next day.
“And then this morning…” Lark winced. “I overslept.”
Wren scowled. If everything she’d gone through this weekend was for naught and her sister got in trouble for being late, she would legit lose her shit. And that wasn’t something Wren did often.
“By how much?” Wren asked.
“Just a little.”
“How much, Lark?”
Lark shrugged. “Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
Wren crossed her arms.
“Don’t give me that look,” Lark said.
“What look is that?” she asked.
“The mom one that says you’re disappointed in me,” Lark replied.
Wren ignored that complaint. “Did Nora notice you were late?”
“Yeah. But she didn’t say anything.” Lark slouched lower on the couch cushions. “I’m going to be better, I swear.”
Yeah, Wren thought. Famous last words of a fool and ones she’d heard a million times before.
Wren disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing the planner she bought online for her sister after hearing she’d lost the last one, along with a couple of cans of soda, then returned. She popped open the drinks after dropping the planner into Lark’s lap.
Then Wren opened the drawer on the end table and pulled out the pen she used to do crossword puzzles and sudoku.
Her sister gave her endless shit, claiming only eighty-year-old grannies still played games in print rather than online.
Not that it mattered to Wren if that was true.
She was a librarian, for God’s sake. The printed word was her bread and butter.
Give her a paperback over an eBook any day of the week.
Wren sat down beside Lark. They’d filled out a planner like this over the Christmas holidays, and for a while, it seemed to work. For several months, Lark was better about being on time, remaining organized, focused.
“Open your phone and pull up your work schedule,” Wren demanded.
Lark did so without argument. She always did, which was why Wren continued to help her. Because her sister genuinely and sincerely wanted to do better.
For the twenty minutes, Lark called out her daily work schedule and hours as Wren wrote them in the planner.
She’d chosen this planner because each page covered one day with a breakdown by hours.
Wren had learned over the years that Lark did better with less information on a page.
She’d tried monthly and weekly charts before, but Lark had been less successful, overwhelmed by so much information.
After they filled in the planner, they took a few more minutes and set alarms for each day, complete with reminders so that, hopefully, Lark wouldn’t continue to oversleep. They even set three backups in ten-minute increments, in case Lark hit the snooze. Which she frequently did.
“Set the alarm clock by your bed tonight too,” Wren said.
Lark gave her a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Keep this planner on you at all times. I know it’ll fit just fine in that gargantuan bag of yours.”
Lark laughed. “Don’t diss the bag,” she said, as she tucked the planner away.
Wren hadn’t oversold how big the damn thing was. She suspected the last planner wasn’t really lost at all, just buried deep in the endless well of Lark’s purse.
They’d done these same things countless times in the past, and those were the weeks—sometimes months—when Lark nailed it. The problem was, her sister was shit when it came to remembering to do these things for herself. No matter how many times Wren reminded her.
“Okay. Now, if you would just do that same thing every Sunday when you get your new work schedule, you’d be set.”
Lark nodded. “I will. Thanks, Wrennie. I wish I could be half as organized as you.”
Wren grinned. “And I wish I could be half as outgoing as you.”
“Which reminds me,” Lark said, “you didn’t tell me how the festival went.”
“It was fine.” Wren used the planner as a way to stall, because she hadn’t been looking forward to this conversation. She’d wrestled all last night and today over how much to tell her sister.
“I’d hoped to see you before I saw Grayson, but Murphy’s Law hates me,” Lark grumbled. “The second I walked into work, there he was, eating lunch with Jace.”
“What did he say?” Wren asked, her stomach fluttering nervously. The memory of Grayson’s kiss slammed into her without warning. The heat of his mouth, the scrape of his beard, his big hands gripping her waist.
Had he mentioned the kiss to Lark?
No. He hadn’t. Wren could answer that herself.
Because there was no way Lark wouldn’t have left work mid-shift and come straight to Wren if he’d told her.
“Nothing. I avoided him like the plague because I was afraid he’d ask me something about the weekend I couldn’t answer.
Luckily, a group of women came in right after I got there, so I did the tasting and kept talking until he left.
Did he suspect anything? Did he figure out you weren’t me?
I’m assuming not, or else my ass would have been so fired. ”
“He didn’t suspect.”
Lark breathed a visible sigh of relief. “Good. Give me at least a handful of details so I’ll have something specific to say, should it come up.”
So Wren did. She mentioned a few of the more colorful groups who came to the tent for tastings, and then she shared about the drunk and how Grayson had intervened.
Lark looked crestfallen that she’d put her in that position, so Wren drastically underplayed it, reassuring her sister it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
Even though it totally was.
Then, because Wren was almost certain it would come up, she told Lark about the flooded hotel…and how she and Grayson had shared a bed.
It was a hell of a lot harder to calm Lark down after that.
“Oh my God! I should never have asked you to do this. I am the worst sister ever!”
Wren reached over and grasped Lark’s hands, squeezing them reassuringly. “It was fine. He was a total gentleman. He slept on top of the covers while I was underneath, and I—” Wren blushed when she admitted, “I built a pillow wall between us.”
Lark, despite her concern, laughed. “Jesus. That’s kind of hysterical. And honestly, probably something I would have done just to be a smart-ass, since Grayson is such a grump.”
Wren shook her head, because now that she had firsthand knowledge of the man, she couldn’t stop herself from defending him against her sister’s description. “That man is anything but grumpy. Maybe he’s more serious than you’re used to, but he was really very nice and funny and…”
Wren had gone too far—because all trace of concern left Lark’s face, replaced with interest.
Keen interest.
“Is that right?” Lark said, studying Wren way too closely.
Wren had to cut this train off at the pass. Fast. “The two of you are very different people, so I get why you rub each other wrong. All I’m saying is that doesn’t mean he’s grumpy or unfriendly.”
Lark, mercifully, accepted that answer without further question.
Wren didn’t know if that was because her sister was letting her off the hook easy, too tired to debate it, or if she accepted the words at face value since the idea of Wren being attracted to a man was completely out of the realm of believability.
Wren had to admit, the thought that Lark might believe the latter hurt.
“Sounds like I dodged a bullet.” Lark pressed a hand to her chest, palm flat against her heart. “I swear, that’s the last time I’ll ever ask you to do something like that again. I put you in some really awful situations. If I’d known any of that would happen, I never would have asked you to—”
Wren cut her off. “It’s fine, Lark. I swear.
” She pursed her lips, considering if she was wise to confess the next part.
Then she went for it, because she knew her sister well enough to know she’d lose sleep over putting Wren in an uncomfortable position.
“To be perfectly honest, I had a lot of fun this weekend.”
Lark’s eyes widened, then a shit-eating grin emerged. “Wait. Are you telling me the ultimate homebody actually had fun out in the world around—gasp—other humans?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you that.”
Lark threw her arms around her. “I’m glad you told me. And I’m so happy that you had fun.”
Wren hugged her back, then swallowed hard.
She should tell Lark about the kiss. Her sister needed to know. Unfortunately, the words lodged in her throat, refusing to be spoken.
Because Lark would absolutely lose her shit.
Besides, there was a part of Wren—a reckless part she’d had no idea existed—that didn’t want to say the words aloud and make them real.
Grayson had promised to forget it, and she hoped he meant that.
Lark’s phone pinged with a text. She read it and groaned. “Speaking of dodging bullets…”
“What now?” Wren asked, uncertain if she could take any more of her sister’s drama tonight.
“Tommy’s texting.”
Wren rolled her eyes. “What’s he want?”