Chapter 9 #2
“What do you think? He wants to talk about the breakup.”
Wren’s patience for Tommy had evaporated long ago. “Block his number.”
Lark burst out laughing. “Yeah, because he totally can’t find me if I do that. His parents live next door to ours.”
“I know, but still,” Wren said, lifting one shoulder casually.
“He’d just come bang on the door.”
Wren hated that Lark was right. For someone who seemed to have very little patience for most of her sister’s personality traits, Tommy was still determined that she was the woman for him.
The problem was, he kept promising to change, to accept her for who she was, but then Lark would get a little loud when they were out with friends or show up late or forget to do something he asked her to do, and they were thrust right back into the same cycle.
Tommy would correct her or condescend to her, Lark would see red, tell him to take a hike, and so on and so on and…
It had happened three times before, which should mean he was out—for good. This was strike number four.
“Lark,” Wren started.
“I’m done with him, Wrennie,” Lark insisted, with enough sincerity that she believed her.
“Maybe you could say something to Jace,” Wren suggested. “They’re best friends. See if Jace can convince him to move on.”
Lark made a face. “Jace is Team Tommy. He’s made that obvious from the start. Plus…I get the feeling he doesn’t like me very much.”
Wren frowned. “Why would you say that?”
Lark shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s this super-chill, fun guy around pretty much everyone, but with me, he’s either distant or cold.”
Wren was surprised by that, because she honestly hadn’t met many people who didn’t like Lark.
Despite her flightiness and forgetfulness, she was the most fun person Wren knew.
And she didn’t feel that way just because Lark was her sister.
Wren had eyes, and she could see the way Lark attracted people like bees to honey.
People enjoyed being around her because she was fun and funny, lively, and a good friend.
And on top of that, she had an incredible singing voice.
Wren was convinced Lark could make it big if she tried, but her sister was a small-town girl at heart.
And Lark’s heart—like Wren’s—was one-hundred percent Gracemont.
Wren stood and grabbed the empty soda cans from the coffee table. “If Tommy keeps bothering you, you don’t have to deal with it alone. I’ve got your back.”
Lark smiled. “I know. And I love you for it. Wanna catch up on Below Deck Down Under with me?”
Wren groaned because reality TV was not her cup of tea.
However, she plopped back down on the couch and grabbed the remote.
She knew her sister preferred being here rather than hanging out at home.
Mainly because Mom and Dad controlled the TV there, which meant they were probably lounging in their matching recliners, watching some National Geographic documentary with David Attenborough talking about the ocean.
Wren smiled to herself. It was obvious the wrong daughter had moved out. She freaking loved David Attenborough.
An hour later, Lark rose, yawning deeply. “I’m going to go home and fall face down on my bed and sleep until…” She paused, grimacing. “Until my alarm goes off at six-thirty.”
Wren shook her head, grinning. “Why the hell did you ask to be put on the schedule? I know they would have given you a couple of days off following the festival.”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Because I didn’t work the festival. You did. And I’m totally giving you the money for that.”
“Lark,” Wren said, “I told you, I don’t—”
Lark held up her hand, cutting her off. “You did the work. You earned the money. Which means I need the hours because I’m,” Lark held her pointer finger and thumb close together, almost touching, “this close to earning enough for a security deposit on an apartment. I’ve been talking to Edith, and she has a place that will be opening up in the next month or two. It’s only two blocks from here.”
Knowing Edith, the kind, generous woman would cut the rent for Lark, just so that she could finally find some independence and move out.
“That’s awesome.”
Lark gave her a quick hug as they said their goodbyes, then Wren locked the door behind her. The apartment was silent the second Lark was gone.
Too silent.
Wren frowned, surprised when those words crossed her mind. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind quiet. Hell, she preferred it. But tonight, it felt almost oppressive.
She dismissed the thought, chalking it up to exhaustion. Because while Lark had spent her weekend partying, Wren worked the festival, returning late on Sunday, then getting up bright and early to do her real job at the library today.
She was running on fumes, so she changed into her nightgown—er, sleep shirt—brushed her teeth, flipped on the nightlight, and climbed into bed. Unlike Lark, she didn’t fall face down. Instead, she stared at the ceiling.
Because the second she lay down, Grayson filled every available space in her mind. Wren ran her fingers over her lips as the memory of that kiss returned.
She could still feel it. Still feel the warmth of his mouth, the firm grip of his hand on her waist, how wonderful it was.
For a brief time, it had been enough to make her forget she was pretending to be someone else. Someone who was capable of having a normal relationship without freezing or fleeing or trembling in fear.
Rolling onto her side, she yanked the blanket higher.
It had been wrong for her to pretend to be her sister. It felt innocent enough at the time, but it had still been a mistake.
Just like it had been a mistake to not tell Lark about the kiss.
Forewarned was forearmed.
Unfortunately, those mistakes were child’s play compared to the one she was making now. Because all she could think about was how much she wanted Grayson to kiss her again.
Wren had slept approximately twelve minutes.
Okay, maybe it had been closer to two hours, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.
Every time she closed her eyes, she’d seen Grayson, standing next to her with a bottle of wine in his hand. Then, she replayed the way he held her after that asshole manhandled her. And then she remembered the devastating heat of his mouth on hers.
That kiss had ruined her, scrambling her brain thoroughly.
By the time she unlocked the library doors on Tuesday morning, she was running on caffeine and pure denial. Not that the denial was proving effective.
“You look terrible.”
Wren glanced up from the circulation desk, struggling not to glare at Mrs. Baxter, one of her most regular library patrons. “Good morning to you too.”
The older woman snorted. “Late night?”
Wren sighed. “You could say that.” Her answer had been the wrong one, because Mrs. Baxter was a busybody from way back, so she’d just stupidly stoked the woman’s curiosity.
“Do tell,” Mrs. Baxter purred.
“Lark came over to watch reality TV,” she replied, shutting the woman down fast.
It worked. Mrs. Baxter sighed and moved on to the craft books, no doubt hunting down her next cross-stitch pattern.
Wren spent an hour shelving returns and helping patrons while trying not to think about a pair of broad shoulders, dark eyes, a sexy beard, and a kiss that had made her toes curl.
Naturally, the universe gave her no credit for the attempt, deciding to punish her anyway. Because the library doors opened shortly before lunch and Grayson walked in.
Wren froze as every bit of air vanished from her lungs.
He looked unfairly good in faded jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Sunlight streamed through the windows behind him, outlining his tall frame when he paused just inside the entrance and looked around.
Then his gaze landed on her.
He studied her face intently, and her stomach dropped straight to her shoes.
Oh God.
He knows.
Her heart raced frantically as she lowered her eyes to the stack of books in front of her. She pretended to be suddenly fascinated by the barcodes.
She needed to act normal, but that was hard. Normal people breathed and she’d lost that ability. She’d also broken into a cold sweat, and her insides were shaking like a sapling in a hurricane.
So yeah…acting normal had gone out the window.
“Wren?”
His voice saying her real name—at last—rolled through her like smooth whiskey.
She looked up carefully, trying to blank her expression as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.
Unlike Lark, who was never without a ponytail or messy bun, Wren preferred to wear her hair down.
Keeping it pinned up all weekend had made her scalp sore, and she wondered how her sister maintained the style day after day.
Grayson smiled politely, but his eyes were sharp, too focused, and she was sort of sorry she hadn’t put on some of the mascara she hadn’t returned to her sister. She didn’t need a mirror to know just how rough she looked right now, tired and drawn and…
Plain.
Wren had liked the way she’d looked this weekend in Lark’s makeup.
Her eyes appeared bigger and brighter and livelier.
Makeup was something she’d never bothered with because—she sighed, recalling something Lark had said—she really was guilty of trying to blend in with the wallpaper most of the time.
“I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Grayson Storm.”
Her cheeks heated instantly, even as a wave of relief washed through her.
He was introducing himself as a stranger. Because to him, they were.
Before this weekend, she and Grayson had exchanged hellos maybe six times in her whole life.
Those greetings had been random town events when she was younger, simply because Wren had spent most of her adult life away at college in Radford, only coming home for the holidays.
As such, she’d known Grayson’s name, face, what he did for a living, and precious little else.