Chapter 24 Wrenley #2
The moment his lips touch mine, I find myself settling a little.
The doubts and questions are still there, but I know I’m not carrying them alone.
I wrap my arms around his neck, needing the solid warmth of him, his familiar woodsy smell.
Mostly, though, I just need him. Here in his arms, feeling the beat of his heart against my chest and the way he folds into me like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, I can’t bring myself to regret any of it.
Whatever decisions wait for us down the road don’t belong in this moment.
This moment belongs to us, and I let myself stop worrying about the future long enough to simply hold on.
A horn honks outside, breaking us from our kiss. I laugh softly and let my forehead rest against Ruger’s.
That’s probably Remi, I say. She’s waiting for me.
Ruger tips my chin up and brushes one last kiss across my lips, soft and lingering enough to make my heart squeeze.
Get out of here, he says playfully.
As I head for the door, I look back over my shoulder. Ruger is still standing in the kitchen, watching me.
I’ll see you later.
Count on it.
The sound of a sewing machine hums through the shop as I step inside. Audrey’s head of curls peeks over the partition.
Coffee with Remi was nice. We didn’t solve anything from this morning; we left all that in the truck outside Ruger’s house.
Everything that can be said has been, so why keep going?
Instead, we talked about her latest manuscript and how her editor counted forty separate uses of the word growl in one sex scene.
Remi spent a solid five minutes defending herself and asking when men growling during sex became a bad thing.
Then I pointed out that men actually mostly narrate, like feels so good and come here and holy shit.
We broke into a fit of hysterics that had pretty much everyone in Walter’s coffee shop looking at us.
It was nice going back to us, but the worries never truly disappeared. They just loosened their grip enough to remind us not every conversation has to be about fixing problems.
But now that I’m in the shop and don’t have Remi to distract me, everything is coming back in full force, and I feel pressure to make a choice.
Are you okay? Audrey’s voice makes me jump.
Oops, she chuckles. Sorry about that.
I shake my head. All good. And yeah, I’m okay.
She tilts her head. Really?
My lips press together. Where do I even begin?
I’m not okay. I’m lying to you and your mom, the kindest people I’ve met here. I just had incredible sex with my fake fiancé, and now my best friend’s worried that everything is going to change for the worst.
It’s wedding stress, isn’t it? Audrey asks.
It’s an easy out and not entirely a lie. I nod.
I get why people elope, she sighs. Honestly, I’m surprised you and Ruger are doing a wedding at all.
My heart kicks. Does she know?
That was originally the plan, I say. But then… I trail off, not sure how to kindly say the town seemed to decide in less than an hour that we were having a full-blown wedding.
But then Alpine Harbor happened, Audrey says, saving me from having to.
Exactly.
The price of moving to a small town, Audrey says. I had the exact same thing happen. I wanted something small and intimate, but the town caught wind of the plans, and it wasn’t so small anymore.
Isn’t that weird, though?
She shrugs. Probably to an outsider, but to me, it’s just… Alpine Harbor. Everything has always been a community event, and I don’t know any different.
I smile because there’s something about this town’s weird need to be involved in everything that’s almost charming. Which is strange to think because when I first got here, I would’ve described it as suffocating.
I lived in the same building for almost a decade, and I couldn’t tell you the names of most of the people I rode the elevator with. But here, everyone knows everyone. And there’s something comforting about belonging somewhere that never lets you feel alone.
So, what’s got you stressed about the wedding?
Oh. Shit. I need to think of something fast to tell her. So much to do. Decorations. Wedding dress.
Oh! How about a little bridal party? Instead of games, we could help make things for the wedding.
I open my mouth to protest, but Audrey’s already off and running.
We could do it at my house. I have a huge basement that will be perfect for this. I’ll set up stations, get a cake, finger food… Oh, Wrenley, please let me do this for you.
I want to scream no. To tell her it’s not necessary.
But then I think of Ruger. And Remi. About everything they’re doing and sacrificing for me and how I can’t decide which future makes the most sense, and once again, I’m frustrated with myself. But I can’t let Audrey know any of that.
That sounds amazing, I say instead.
Audrey claps. I’m so excited.
I smile again, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
You still look stressed.
I shrug, forcing tears back. If I crack, everything might spill out.
Oh, Wrenley, she says gently. I know this is a lot.
But in the middle of the stress, there’s beauty.
Marriage is like making a quilt. At first, it’s just scraps you’re not sure will fit together.
But as you keep stitching, it grows into something beautiful.
Every moment, every memory, it all becomes part of the design you’ll call your life.
And what if the quilt gets dirty and worn? The words slip out before I can stop them.
You’re a seamstress, she says with a wink. You mend it.
The words settle somewhere deep inside me.
For so long, it feels like my life has been a series of things unravelling. My career and relationship came apart at the seams so quickly I barely had time to understand what was happening before I was packing my life up into boxes.
As a seamstress, I know there are times when something is too damaged to save.
Sometimes the fabric is threadbare or the tear too large.
Sometimes something new is the only option.
But sometimes a garment just needs a little patience and a careful hand.
A willingness to sit down and do the work of putting it back together.
And maybe that’s what I need to give myself right now. A little patience and a willingness to take the time to decide. To stop treating my future like a garment that needs to be finished immediately and allow myself the space to keep stitching, one piece at a time, until the pattern becomes clear.
I finally let myself smile.
That’s better, Audrey says.
Thanks, I reply, and mean it.
She nods toward the machine. I’d better get back to mending. And you’ve got a pile of your own.
Lunch later? I ask.
I’ll buy.
We go our separate ways, and though Audrey stitched me back together a little, I can’t change the fact that eventually, I will have to stop pinning pieces together and decide whether I’m ready to sew the final seam.