Chapter Twenty-three
W hat made you guys decide to make your own ornaments instead of just buying some really pretty ones that had to do with tattoos and art?”
Sam sat at the table with Wren, holding a glass ball in his hand as he swirled paint on the inside of it, coating it in white, red, green, and pink. The kitchen table was covered in black trash bags, protecting the surface from paint and glue. As promised, he’d laid a thick blanket on the floor for Duke, who was curled up on his side, snoring.
“I guess when you’re artistic,” Sam said, turning the ball in his hands until it was fully coated, “it’s hard to not want some control over how you’re viewed by the world.”
“Do you get along with the people you work with?” Wren asked, dabbing glue on a red pom-pom.
“I do, but I also have a hard time trusting people after what happened in Oregon, so we’re not close. Especially since I want to go out on my own eventually. They’re the only tattoo parlor in town, so I’ll have to look at opening in Fairfield or somewhere else. I don’t wanna burn any bridges, especially since my current boss has been good to me.”
“That makes sense. Is the owner anywhere near wanting to retire?”
“No, she’s been here for fifteen years, and she wants to stick around for probably another twenty before she calls it.”
“That sucks,” she said.
“It is what it is.” Sam sat up straighter, checking out her side of the table. “What are you making over there?”
Wren covered up her workspace, shaking her head. “This is a surprise. You don’t get to be nosy.”
Sam chuckled. “Alright, fine, I’ll just focus on my stuff.”
He poured the excess paint from inside the ornament onto a canvas and tilted it several different ways, watching the paint spread out over the surface. He set his ornament down to dry with the open end up, then he picked up a paintbrush and used it to cover the rest of the canvas.
“What are you gonna do with that?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he said.
“Oh, so that’s how we’re gonna play this?”
Sam arched a brow, staring at her. “You started it, not wanting to show me what you’re making.”
“I’m embarrassed because you are an artist and I am not.” She held up her Popsicle stick reindeer with buggy eyes and a puffy red nose. “Obviously.”
Sam tilted his head to the side and laughed. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s got a little something.”
“Yeah, it’s got something alright. It’s got ‘a fifth grader made this’ vibes.”
“You have talent in other places, Wren,” he said, smirking. “You can’t be the best at everything.”
“Well, I think that sucks,” she said with a sigh. She pointed her Rudolph ornament at him. “So are you gonna tell me what you’re making?”
“I’m making a ball ornament with swirls on the inside, and I am going to paint a design on the outside.”
“What kind of design?” she asked.
“I want it to be a surprise.”
She huffed, picking up one of the clear glass balls and setting it in front of her. “I’m surprised that you guys bought Popsicle sticks and stuff to make reindeer and snowmen.”
“Oh no, I got that special just for you,” he said.
Wren scowled. “What do you mean?”
“I stopped by the market and grabbed a few of those kid ornament-making kits for you.”
Wren threw a white pom at him. “You think you’re a funny guy, huh?”
“I am a funny guy,” he said.
“Just ask your fan club,” Wren grumbled.
Sam slapped his hands against the surface of the table with a whoop, startling Wren and waking up Duke. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“Seeing Ilsa talking to me bothered you.”
Wren snorted. “Please, she was doing more than talking to you.”
“How do you mean?” he asked.
Wren sighed. “Seeing you with another girl hanging all over you bothered me.”
“I don’t know how to take that, since we really were just talking, and more to the point, you aren’t interested in anything from me, right? So what’s with the note of jealousy I’m hearing?”
“That’s why I debated even saying anything,” Wren said, avoiding his gaze. “I was just pointing out that if I acted a little weird earlier, that’s why.”
“Because you were bothered that girls were quote, unquote hanging on me?”
“Maybe a little more than bothered, since my Taser hand was twitching.”
Sam chuckled. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I am not doing anything with anyone else in town.”
“That does make me feel a little better,” she said softly, pouring two shades of green and baby pink into the glass ball, then swirling the paint inside.
Sam didn’t understand how she could admit to being jealous and yet act as though him promising to be monogamous wasn’t a big deal.
“What about you?” he asked, fighting his aggravation. “Are you going to be seeing anyone else from town?”
“No, I hadn’t planned on it.” She dumped the excess paint on a palette, casually adding, “I’m concentrating on one thing here. I don’t need to complicate my life by having a harem of fuckboys waiting in the wings.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. “You are so funny I forgot to laugh.”
Wren looked up from her project, watching him thoughtfully. “It really does bother you.”
“What, the term ‘fuckboy’? Yeah, it does because you’ve used it to describe me.”
“I’m sorry, but to be fair, that was before I got to know you again.”
“Well, to set the record straight, I’m not a boy. Second of all, I have a brain. I have talent. I have ambitions, and I don’t want to be reduced to a tool that someone uses to scratch an itch.”
“Sam,” she said, getting up and rounding the table, settling onto his lap. “You’re not a tool.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled.
She kissed him soundly before she got up and whispered in his ear, “However, your tool is fantastic.”
Sam laughed, smacking her ass, and she squealed, rubbing her posterior all the way back to her seat. Sam picked up the paintbrush again, smiling as he made little strokes, concentrating on his task. He could feel her eyes on him, watching, and he caught her gaze.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. You’re just adorable. Even with your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth.”
Sam hadn’t realized he’d been doing that and tucked his tongue back into his mouth.
“I wonder if our kid will do that when he or she is concentrating,” she mused.
Sam’s heart skipped a beat, imagining a little boy with blond hair biting his tongue as he helped his mom do something. Would she think of him?
“Sam,” she whispered, catching his attention. “I know you offered to do this for me, but if this is too much, we can stop now. I’m sure we haven’t succeeded yet.”
“Why are you sure that we haven’t succeeded?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I thought this was something that usually took most people some time.”
“Well, we’re not like most people,” Sam said, tired of his heart seizing every time he thought she was going to bail on him. “I’m not backing out of this. I told you I would do it. I signed a contract, and I’m going to see it through.”
Wren cleared her throat. “Thank you very much. I appreciate your friendship.”
“You’re welcome, although I’d rather you didn’t thank me,” he said gruffly.
“Sorry.”
Sam put his brush down and studied his handiwork. “Do you want to see what I was doing with my ornaments?”
“Yes, I do.”
He turned the ball around and in beautiful calligraphy, it read Baby’s First Christmas .
“Even though I can’t be in the kid’s life, he’ll have something in it from me,” Sam said, setting the ornament in the egg carton he’d grabbed to let it dry, pain twisting inside him like rope being tightened with every turn.
“Sam, it’s lovely.”
“Thanks,” he said, his chest squeezing so tight he was afraid he might pass out. He got up from the table before he made a fool of himself.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m getting some air.” Sam grabbed his coat from the hook by the front door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
Sam didn’t like the hurt he heard in that one word, but damn it, could Wren really not see how this was killing him? Not even the kid part, but the fact that it hadn’t taken much for him to fall in love with her again, although this time was different. She wasn’t the same wild child she’d been, and he respected the calm, collected woman who could walk into an unstable situation and put everyone at ease. The way her mood could shift from sassy to playful, keeping him on his toes. The way her touch could leave him weak, desiring her with an intensity that made him want to keep her in his arms forever.
Wren couldn’t see any of that, though. She thought that he was just being a good friend, that offering her a part of him without any strings attached was just him being supportive. Part of him had hoped that by being there for her, she’d realize her love for him, too, but that hadn’t happened.
The door opened behind him, and Wren stepped out, her jacket zipped under her chin.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” he asked.
“I feel like you need this,” Wren said, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him in close.
Sam’s arms returned the embrace, his lips pressed against her hair. “Thanks.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you’d like to come over and help me decorate the tree, since you don’t have one?”
She had no idea how painful that sweet invitation was to hear. Wren wanted him to be part of something special, but couldn’t see the significance. Trees were for couples. For families to decorate as they changed and grew.
Yet just like everything else she’d ever asked, Sam couldn’t say no.
“Sounds like fun.”