Chapter 6 Wrenley #3
Look, we don’t have to make this huge and ridiculous, she says gently. We just have to make it believable enough that nobody starts asking questions.
I exhale slowly. Okay, I say.
Remi immediately brightens again. Amazing. I’m keeping the lanterns on the list.
Remi.
Fake antlers, then. Final offer.
Fine. I take another long sip of wine, draining the glass completely.
Remi points at it. Do we need…
Keep the wine flowing, I say.
Because right now, wine is the only thing standing between me and a complete spiral over the fact that an entire town of apparently lovely strangers is willing to invest in my deeply fraudulent future marriage.
Remi pours me more wine, then checks the lasagna. Okay. Food’s ready. Let’s eat and plan some more.
The lasagna is mostly gone. The salad bowl’s empty despite zero help from Ruger, who claimed he was allergic.
We’ve migrated to the backyard to enjoy the crisp fall air, and even though the sun set over an hour ago, it’s still weirdly nice.
The sky is deep blue, the stars just starting to blink awake.
I’m nursing my… fifth?… glass of wine while Remi is halfway through a dramatic story about the mysterious Soup, who, despite my pressing questions, still doesn’t seem to have a real name. Unsurprisingly, no firm decisions were made about the wedding.
And I—I’m drunk.
My cheeks are on fire. My head is floating somewhere above my body. When I reach for the bottle to top off my glass, I completely miss the mark and slosh wine all over the table.
Oops, I giggle.
Remi shrieks with laughter and grabs a paper towel. You are cut off, ma’am.
I’m fine, I lie, even as I wobble in my seat. Just hydrated.
I don’t think that’s how alcohol works, Ruger says dryly across the table.
I raise one finger in the air like I’m about to say something profound. Then I need hydration!
Remi is still laughing, but I feel a strange pressure building behind my ribs.
I didn’t mean to drink this much, but somewhere between lace dresses, prenups, and someone named Soup, I stopped pacing myself.
I stand up… well, try to. The world shifts sideways. My stomach lurches. Oh no.
Wait, I mumble, the word dragging. Wait—I think I need to—
I make it three steps toward the side yard before my foot catches something—air?
Gravity?—and I stumble directly into the bushes.
Actually, stumble is too kind a word. I full-on collapse.
I land face-first in a tangle of wet leaves and damp earth, my knee jammed against something that might be a lawn gnome.
For a moment, I just lie there, groaning.
Behind me, Remi gasps, then howls with laughter. I can’t blame her. She’s as drunk as I am. Ruger mutters a curse as I press my face into the mossy dirt. My eyes sting. My hair is probably full of twigs. Any ounce of cool I’ve ever pretended to have is gone. Then I feel a shadow over me.
You need help up? he asks, his voice low.
No. I think I’ll just live down here, thanks, I mumble into the bush.
He huffs out something between a sigh and a laugh, and then his hand finds the centre of my back. It’s barely a touch. Just enough to say I’ve got you without drawing attention. But it lands like a full-body embrace. I close my eyes for half a second and let myself lean into it.
Come on, Ruger says softly, the gravel in his voice lower than usual. Let’s get you home.
Ruger slides his arm under mine and gently lifts me to my feet like I weigh nothing.
The motion makes the world tilt for a second, but he steadies me with that same warm hand at my back.
It stays there as he walks me over to Remi.
She’s still giggling, sprawled in a chair with her empty wineglass cradled to her chest like it’s an award she’s just won.
You gonna be okay getting yourself to bed? Ruger asks.
Remi raises her glass in a wobbly salute. You kidding? I can handle my booze. Take care of Bambi so she doesn’t wander into traffic.
I’m fine, I mutter despite my bra being full of pine needles from Remi’s bushes.
She’s fine, Remi echoes with a grin. She only mistook my backyard for a bed. She snickers like she just told the funniest joke in the world.
Okay, then. Ruger starts to direct me away from his sister.
Hey! she calls out. Are you okay? Can you drive?
Yes, Ruger replies, his tone edged with annoyance. I had one beer and have been drinking water ever since.
It’s called female bonding, Remi retorts.
It’s called being a public safety hazard. Good night, Remi. Thank you for dinner.
I love you! I call to my best friend as Ruger leads me away.
We walk through the house and out the front door to Ruger’s truck. The stars are sharp above us, scattered across the sky. It’s quiet, save for the crunch of our shoes on gravel.
His hand is still on my back, and damn, it feels really nice right now. Even though I’m a mess, I feel more cared for in this moment than I have in a long time.
He walks me to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door.
I climb into his truck. He closes the door behind me as I lean my head against the cool window, and I let him take me home.