Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Wren had no idea what Grayson meant by “You’re mine now.” The words should have sent her running for the hills, given his deep, growly, possessive tone.
A week ago, he’d walked away from her, and as she stood in that library watching him leave, she convinced herself that she’d ruined everything, that she would never see him again except from a safe distance whenever their paths crossed in town.
Yet here he was. Holding her hand like he had every right. Looking at her like he was never going to let her go.
None of it made sense to her. Yet, she didn’t care.
Which was out of character for her. She’d been a second-guesser from way back.
She could overthink whether to buy blue cheese or balsamic vinaigrette.
She once spent the better part of a week exploring the pros and cons between two used cars she was debating buying.
In the end, the decision had been taken away from her when one of the cars sold.
She was the type of person who had to know why things were happening the way they were.
Lark was the impulsive one. She was the analyst.
So the fact she was letting Grayson hold her hand simply because it felt good and without trying to figure out his reasons was an unusual occurrence.
“I thought you were mad at me,” she said softly, wanting to kick herself for immediately bringing up what she’d done.
The corners of Grayson’s mouth twitched. “I got over it.”
His fingers tightened around hers, and the simple pressure shot through her body like an electrical current. She sucked in a shaky breath.
She recalled his cousins sharing all the details and stories of the Storm legend at book club. How everyone in the family supposedly fell hopelessly in love at first touch.
The stories had been wildly romantic, if a little far-fetched.
Now, though, they didn’t seem ridiculous at all. Because ever since Grayson had taken her hand, something inside her felt settled. It was as though her heart recognized him before her brain got the message.
“Come on.” He led her to the dance floor as Wren sought to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Unbeknownst to Grayson, he’d given her the first kiss she’d ever had that didn’t thrust her immediately into gut-wrenching panic.
And now? Now, he was going to be her first dance as well.
The deejay was playing a slow song. Couples swayed beneath strings of white twinkle lights while laughter drifted through the community center.
The moment Grayson wrapped his arms around her, every nerve in her body relaxed and she felt…safe.
The word came instantly.
She placed her hands on his shoulders, and he pulled her closer, his large hands resting on her back in a way that made her feel cherished. She’d felt the same way that night in the hotel when he kissed her.
They moved together slowly, swaying in time to the song, and in some ways, it felt as if they’d done this a hundred times before. She lifted her head from where it rested on his chest, glancing up.
Grayson’s gaze met hers, connected, never left.
For several moments, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.
Eventually, he lowered his lips to her ear again. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
A shiver danced down her spine. “Feel what?” she whispered.
His eyes locked on hers. “You know what.”
She didn’t bother pretending again. She’d spent too much of her life hiding and she was sick of it. “I feel it,” she confessed.
The smile that spread across his face stole her breath. Because it was so warm, so genuine. Her words had made him happy, and he was letting her see just how much.
“Good,” he said, as they continued dancing.
“Grayson?”
“Yeah, little bird?”
God, what that nickname did to her. Her nipples tightened and her pussy clenched. She fought to push those sensations aside so she could say what she needed to say.
“I’m sorry.”
His expression softened. “Wren—”
“No. Please let me say it this time.” At the library, he’d cut her off, stormed away without letting her explain. He deserved an explanation and an apology.
He nodded.
“Switching places with Lark at the wine festival was the wrong thing to do. Trying to fool you was wrong. We never meant any harm, but that doesn’t make it okay.” Regret tightened her throat. “I was trying to help her keep her job, and it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“You’d do anything for Lark,” he said, no question in his tone.
“Yes, I would.”
He smiled. “I’d do the same for my brothers.”
Her heart skipped a beat as she forced herself to continue.
“Regardless, it was stupid and unfair to you, and I should have come clean during your first visit to the library. You have every right to be angry. I mean, I let things go too far between us that weekend, and then, when we got home, I pretended not to know you. I let the lie stand even when I knew how much you hated being lied to. I shouldn’t have done any of that. ”
The confession lay between them until he lifted one hand and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I understand why you did it.”
The knot in her chest loosened. “You do?”
“Yeah. It’s okay, Wren. I accept your apology.”
Emotion rushed through her so quickly, her eyes stung.
The song ended, then the deejay switched gears, playing something fast and energetic that had people jumping out of their seats and rushing to the dance floor. It immediately exploded into chaos.
Grayson’s arms fell away, and she felt that sudden shift like a physical blow.
Without his arms, her pulse quickened and the space around them closed in. It was crowded. Too crowded.
Grayson noticed the change in her instantly, and his expression sharpened. He cupped her cheeks, drawing her attention back to him. “Breathe, Wren.”
She sucked in a shallow breath, but it didn’t help. The pressure built as the sensation of being trapped overwhelmed her. Without thinking, she moved closer to him, and he embraced her, holding her tight.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Do you want to get out of here?”
Relief flooded her, and she nodded. “Yes.” The answer came out much faster than she’d intended.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said, keeping his arm looped around her waist, tucking her against him as they left the dance floor. He gestured to the table she’d been sharing with Lark and some of their friends. “Do you need to grab anything?”
She shook her head. “It was warm enough to walk here without a jacket. All I brought is my phone and it’s in my back pocket.” The Harvest Dance was a casual one, so most people simply wore jeans.
Together, they made their way to the exit. Halfway across the room, Wren spotted Lark at the edge of the dance floor. Their eyes met. The moment Lark noticed Grayson’s arm around her, her eyes widened. Then a huge grin spread across her face before she gave Wren a wink.
Wren giggled. Her sister was impossible.
Last night, Lark had shown up at her apartment immediately after getting out of work, demanding answers. Specifically, why Wren had neglected to mention that Grayson had kissed her at the wine festival.
She wasn’t sure why Grayson had told Lark about the kiss, but Wren didn’t ask, too busy scrambling for a plausible excuse for keeping it a secret.
She claimed she was embarrassed about making such a mess of the switch, but in truth, she hadn’t known how to explain what she was feeling.
How could she?
Everything involving Grayson felt too big and too important.
Her last therapy appointment with Sophie had occurred just two days earlier, and Wren had spent every second of it discussing Grayson, dissecting every detail of their confrontation and how she had reacted afterward.
She’d insisted that losing him was proof that she couldn’t have a normal relationship. Sophie listened patiently before dismantling that assumption piece by piece.
One mistake doesn’t define your worth, Wren.
Feeling anxious doesn’t make you incapable of love.
Healthy relationships aren’t built by never making mistakes. They’re built by repairing them.
Sophie had challenged the idea that Wren needed to be perfect before allowing herself to be loved.
That thought had lingered with her ever since.
Then Lark had shown up last night, demanding a complete retelling of the kiss—after which, her sister had basically lost her mind, declaring Grayson was her ideal match.
That assertion felt good and bad at the same time, as Wren was certain she’d screwed up any chance she may have had with Grayson. However, she didn’t voice that opinion. She just reminded Lark that she thought Grayson was a grumpy bastard.
Neither Lark nor Sophie had managed to pull Wren completely out of the sadness she’d fallen into after Grayson walked away. Nothing had truly changed that. Not the therapy or the logic or the book club or Lark’s relentless determination to drag her to the Harvest Dance.
Those feelings hadn’t evaporated until Grayson crossed the room tonight and asked her to dance.
Outside, warm autumn air greeted them as the noise of the festival faded. Wren released a long breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“Better?” Grayson grasped her hand in his.
“Yes. I’m not a fan of crowds.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Me either. I’m just as glad to be out of there as you are.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
They started down the sidewalk together, the streetlamps illuminating their way. Pumpkins decorated the storefronts and leaves rustled in the trees lining the street. Everything felt peaceful and for several minutes, neither of them spoke.
Wren didn’t mind.
Silence with Grayson felt different than silence with other people. It was easy and comfortable, and she didn’t feel any pressure to be anyone other than herself.
“Will your family miss you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I didn’t go to the dance to hang out with my family.”
She frowned. “Why did you go?”
He chuckled as if it should be obvious. “To see you.”
“Just me?”
“Just you.” The certainty in his voice wrapped around her like a blanket. “Why is that so surprising?”
“You were so mad the last time—”