Chapter 17 #5
The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, the sky glowing a deep purple as dusk slowly gave way to night.
Grayson helped her into the truck, and they took off across the farm, turning down a lane higher up on the mountain.
She’d never been this far, since the turnoffs to the brewery and winery were farther down the main drive and closer to the valley.
Finally, he stopped beside a small cabin tucked among a grove of trees. The front porch light was on, as if they were expected.
“Are we visiting someone?” she asked, confused.
Grayson shook his head. “Nope. This is one of the rental cabins. But it’s vacant at the moment.”
Wren frowned. “Why are we here?”
“Because this is one of my favorite places on the farm.”
They climbed out of the truck at the same time, and he met her at the front, clasping their hands together.
The woods were quiet, peaceful in a way she never truly got in her own apartment.
She lived just off Main Street, and while Gracemont was a sleepy town, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a fairly steady stream of traffic—cars and foot—in front of her place.
Grayson opened the door, gesturing for her to enter, and she was instantly struck by the warmth of the place. She’d lived in her apartment for just over a year, and it didn’t feel anywhere near as homey as this cabin.
“Oh!” she said. “It’s lovely.” They entered directly into a big living room, where a large gas fireplace was tucked into the back corner. A plush, inviting rug sat in front of it.
“Most of the cabins on the farm have this same open floor plan, though some are bigger, some smaller, depending on how many bedrooms. Once Granddaddy, Dad, and Uncle Ronnie decided they wanted to build more cabins, they found a plan they liked and rolled with it.”
“I don’t blame them for not shaking it up. This is wonderful,” she said, as she strolled through the living room space, stopping by the island that separated it from the kitchen. To her right was a breakfast nook that also served as the dining room.
Grayson pointed toward a hallway. “This is one of the larger cabins. Down that hall are two bedrooms, connected by a Jack and Jill bathroom. And over here,” he said, directing her to the left, “is the master bedroom.”
They walked inside the room, and she drew in a sharp breath at the king-sized bed, complete with gorgeous wooden head- and footboards. “That’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.”
Grayson grinned. “Right? I helped my granddaddy and father build it when I was in high school.”
She couldn’t resist walking over to run her hand along one of the smooth, polished wooden posts.
“My grandmother made the quilt,” he said, stepping next to her.
“You have a very talented family.”
He nodded, then led her to the master bath, giving her a moment to peek inside. After that, they returned to the living room.
“Thank you for showing it to me,” she said, hovering in the middle of the room. The moment they’d stepped inside, she knew why he’d brought her here. It was completely private, while also feeling warm and safe.
Grayson had been so patient with her, promising that whatever this thing was between them could progress at a speed she was comfortable with.
However, after her nightmare a few evenings ago, it was obvious they’d hit a fork in the road.
In order for things to move forward, she needed to trust him.
She wished she’d come to that epiphany on her own, but in truth, it was Sophie who’d told her it was time to be brave, during her last therapy session on Friday.
“Sit with me, Wren,” he said, walking to the couch and sinking down.
She hesitated. The coward inside her was frantically searching for an excuse to leave.
The realist, however, waved the white flag.
She was tired.
Of hiding.
Of being alone.
“Little bird,” Grayson urged, patting the cushion next to him.
She joined him, her stomach twisted in knots. Lark and Sophie had both been encouraging her to come clean to Grayson for weeks, but every time she arrived at this place, the words got stuck.
Grayson didn’t push her, giving her the time she needed. She wasn’t sure how he always knew what to do, but it was as if he’d found the Wren instruction manual and read it cover to cover.
“I…” she started, her throat clogged. The walls she’d built for years began to crack.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked.
Because you’ll look at me differently.
Because you might leave.
Tears burned behind her eyes.
“Please.” His voice cracked, and the sound shattered something inside her. “Little bird.” His expression was soft, but he wasn’t backing down. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”
For some reason, she believed him.
Grayson reached for her hand, enclosing it in the warmth and comfort of his own.
He wasn’t backing down, wasn’t walking away, wasn’t seeing her faults and deciding she was too much hassle.
Still, the silence stretched, heavy and painful.
Suddenly, a sob escaped—and she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“I was nine years old when my great-uncle molested me.”