Chapter 5
Edie
Ipull up to the Hall house at five-fifteen sharp, the sky already dark over town.
My hands shake a little as I smooth down my red dress before stepping out of the car. It’s the one that hugs every curve, the kind Nick used to call too much for family dinners. Maybe it is. Do I look like I give a Christmas fig anymore? I like red! I am wearing red!
The door opens before I can knock. Heather Hall stands there, neat as an Instagram influencer, wearing pearls and that fixed smile that always seems slightly at odds with her gaze. “Edie! You came.” Her tone falters half a note. “We weren’t sure, given… well.”
“Given that Nick dumped me six months ago?” I say lightly. “Your invitation was very kind. My parents are already here?”
“In the living room with everyone.” She takes my coat, her fingers brushing the fabric of my sleeve. “You look lovely, dear. That color suits you.”
I thank her and step inside. The familiar smell of peppermint candles and roast beef fills the house, mingling with something faintly floral—Heather’s perfume, maybe.
The living room is crowded with more Halls and family friends.
My parents wave from near the fireplace where they’re chatting with Mr. Hall and, of course, Nick.
He looks perfect as always. Pressed navy suit, hair gelled into place, and a polished grin that claims half of his cheeks. But his smile falters when he sees me.
I barely notice, because Wren isn’t here.
The disappointment hits harder than I expected. I scan the room again, pretending I’m not searching for her or that the empty spot near the hallway isn’t betrayal in the form of a coatrack.
Nick approaches me, drink in hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Your mother invited my parents,” I reply. “It would have been rude not to come.” I take a glass of wine from a passing cousin. “Besides, why should I miss a perfectly good dinner just because you decided I didn’t fit your future?”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not what happened.”
“No? ‘You’re wonderful, Edie, but you’re not the right image.’ Ring any bells?”
He shifts. “I was trying to be kind—”
“You were trying to be strategic,” I correct. “And it’s fine. I’m over it.”
He studies me, eyes narrowing. “You seem different.”
“I seem like myself,” I say. “You just never liked that version.”
Before he can respond, the front door opens again.
Even from across the house, I feel the energy shift.
Wren strides in wearing dark jeans and a black button-down rolled to the elbows, her hair damp from the rain and curling at her temples. She looks like she stepped out of a storm instead of the usual drizzle that ruins half of the hairdos in the Bay Area.
Her eyes find mine almost instantly. It’s like being seen and stripped bare all at once.
“Wren!” Heather calls from the hallway. “We’re about to sit down.”
“Sorry, Mom,” she says, shaking her hair out with one hand. “Got held up at the shop.”
Nick moves toward her, already bristling. “Don’t even think about—”
But Wren’s already walking straight to me. She doesn’t slow down. One second, she’s a breath away. The next? Her hand is on my jaw, her lips on mine.
Not a polite greeting. More like a big holiday statement.
For a moment, I forget we’re not alone. I melt into her, hand rising to her chest, feeling her warm heartbeat beneath her damp shirt.
The room explodes.
“Wren Hall!” Heather’s sharp voice slices through the air.
Nick’s shout follows. “What the hell!”
Wren pulls back slowly, thumb brushing my cheek. “Hey,” she murmurs, low enough for only me to hear.
“Hi,” I whisper.
Nick’s voice cracks. “You’ve got to be kidding me! My sister?”
“I’m standing right here, Nick,” Wren says, dapperly calm and perfectly in control of the moment. Good. Because I’m not!
“What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Are you doing this to humiliate me? To—what—get back at me?”
I square my shoulders. “Maybe this isn’t about you.”
He cackles. “Please. You think she’s interested in you? Wren doesn’t—”
“Doesn’t what?” Wren’s voice cuts through him. “Know what she wants?”
Nick’s mouth opens, then shuts.
“Enough,” Mr. Hall says finally, voice weary. “We have guests. Dinner’s ready. Everyone… dining room.”
The awkward shuffle to the table feels like a walk through wet cement. Conversations stutter and restart, no one sure where to look. Heather’s cheeks are pink, but she’s giving her best hostess smile. Wren’s hand stays low on my back, a steady pressure that says I meant that.
We end up side by side, of course, while Nick sits across from us, tight-lipped and simmering like stew. No, like chili. Thick and full of big, fat beans.
Heather says grace. I keep my eyes down, but Wren’s presence is beside me—her thigh brushing mine beneath the table.
“Potatoes, Edie?” Heather offers once the prayer is over and we’re ready to dig in.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the dish with careful hands.
Wren leans closer, her breath ghosting my ear. “You okay?”
“Define okay,” I whisper back.
“Looks like you’re shaking.” Her tone is amused, but there’s concern there, too. Her pinky grazes my thigh again—an accident, except totally not.
I swallow hard. “You just kissed me in front of your entire family.”
Her lips curve. “Yeah. Kind of hard to top that, huh?”
Across the table, Nick’s knife screeches against his plate.
Heather flinches. “Nicholas…”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, not looking fine at all.
Conversation starts up again, but it’s stilted and artificial. Wren slips her hand under the tablecloth, resting it on my knee. The casualness of it is almost worse than the kiss. It’s like we’ve been dating for years, let alone what… a day?
Her fingers move higher, slow and deliberate.
“Wren,” I hiss.
“What?” she replies, still smiling at her mother’s story about the neighbor’s new puppy. “You look tense. Thought I’d help.”
I hiccup when her hand slides up another inch. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.” Her thumb strokes the inside of my thigh. “You’re beautiful when you’re trying not to react.”
I reach for my wine glass to cover the tremor in my hand.
Meanwhile, I’m getting felt up in front of the whole family, only it’s beneath the nice holiday tablecloth.
Somewhere at the other end of the table are my parents.
Oh, God, did they see the kiss? I haven’t seen them in a week and haven’t talked to them in three days.
Since they moved up to Florence for dad’s retirement, we don’t cross-check what’s going on…
Damnit. Wren is still touching me. I think she’s about to stop before it goes too far…
She doesn’t.
“You’re shaking,” she whispers. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
I don’t.
“Edie, sweetheart, you look flushed,” Heather says. “Are you alright?”
I manage a tight smile. “Just warm.”
“It is a bit warm in here,” Wren agrees, voice a touch lower than usual. “Maybe we should crack a window.”
Nick’s fork clatters against his plate.
“Enough,” their father says.
The tension is so thick it could be carved like the Christmas turkey.
Wren finally withdraws her hand, only to brush her thumb across her lips, a gesture small enough that only Nick—and me—notice. His eyes flash with a warning toward his bratty sister.
“Excuse me,” I say quickly, standing. “I just need to use the restroom.”
“Down the hall, same as always,” Heather says brightly, as if nothing had happened.
I nod, trying to steady my breathing as I walk away, every nerve in my body still alive with Wren’s touch and the knowledge of what just happened.
Once I’m safely in the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t help.
My reflection looks nothing like the woman who walked into this house half an hour ago.
My pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
My whole outfit is deliriously debauched despite not having a single wrinkle. I look wrecked… by her.
The door clicks open.
Wren slips inside and locks it behind her.
“Someone’s going to notice,” I say.
“They already have.” She closes the space between us until my back hits the counter. “The question is whether you care.”
“I should.”
“But you don’t.” Her hands come down on either side of me, caging me in. “You like it. The danger, huh? You like being wanted so much that I can’t keep my hands off you, even with a house full of people outside that door.”
She’s right, and she knows it. The “bad girl” tendencies of the situation only make it worse… as in better. So much better.
“Tell me to leave,” she says. “Say you don’t want this.”
I can’t. I can only look at her, waiting for her to make the next move.
“Didn’t think so.” One hand tilts up my face. “You’ve been thinking about this, right?”
“Yes,” I confess.
Wren’s smile makes my knees weak. “Good.”
Her fingers trail up my arm until they reach my throat. Nothing more than that. Just enough to remind me who’s in control. Here we are now, with nothing else going on around us.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” she says, mouth hovering over mine. “Watching you tonight, pretending you’re not trembling every time I look at you.”
“Wren…” It comes out as a plea.
“Say what you want.”
“I—” My voice breaks when she leans in, brushing her nose along my skin. “I want you.”
She smirks, and I know I’ve played right into her crazy plan. Her hand slides to my waist, anchoring me. “Then stop pretending this isn’t happening.”
Her lips find mine again, not gentle this time. It’s hungry, deliberate… claiming me. Her mouth opens over mine, and the sound I make isn’t polite for a Christmas party.