Chapter 23
Wren
“Holy hell, it smells amazing,” Greer praises as she walks into the kitchen, balancing a bottle of wine in one hand and a pie pan in the other. “I’m looking for Wren Drummond’s house, but it smells like I stepped into a five-star restaurant.”
I chuckle, stirring a wooden spoon as garlic and butter sizzle in a skillet. Tonight, I’m having the girls over for dinner and drinks. We’ve been trying to go to Pilates every weekend, but not all of us can make it. Tonight, we’re all here, and I’m looking forward to some girl time.
“It’s carbonara,” I say. “Nothing fancy.”
“Whatever you say, Giada,” she teases, referring to me as Giada De Laurentiis. She leans close, pressing a welcoming kiss on my cheek.
“Did you all carpool?” I joke as I watch the rest of the girls follow Greer through the doorway.
“Not all of us,” Saylor answers from somewhere in the living room.
“I picked up Saylor. The other two were a coincidence,” Greer explains.
“Oh my god, your hair!” Abby gushes as she walks in with her infant daughter, Clementine, who's sleeping in the baby wrap slung around her chest. She’s wearing a simple, black floral dress with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
I absentmindedly run my fingers through my curls. “Saylor brought me back to the dark side.”
This morning at the salon, I asked Saylor to color my hair in a brown balayage. It was time to ditch the blonde and go back to my natural roots. The decision was easy since I hated being blonde…but it’s what the network wanted.
“It looks great,” she adds with a bright smile.
“Where’s Goldie?” I ask, wondering where her three-year-old daughter, Marigold, is.
“She’s home with Jacob. The two were playing in the field, chasing the sheep when I left.
” Abby and Jacob live down the road, about ten minutes away on their own hobby farm.
Abby is a softie when it comes to farm animals and keeps surprising Jacob with more.
So far, they have a small herd of sheep, a slew of chickens and ducks, a cranky goat, too many cats, and a few cows.
Two of their cows are Highlands, a blond one named Ferdinand and a red one named Princess Anna.
I'm dying to meet them. There’s something about Highland cows and their emo bangs.
Saylor comes through next, carrying another bottle of wine.
Her long pink hair hangs down her back. She’s dressed in a hot pink and orange checkered jumpsuit and a cropped light pink tank, an outfit that perfectly describes her.
The oversized wide-leg jumpsuit hangs loosely off her slender frame, and the crochet vest pulls the outfit together perfectly, framing her upper half and showing off her tattoos.
“Long time no see,” Saylor greets, hip checking me as she walks past, and I flash her a smile.
Julia is the last to come in. Her denim mini-dress shows off the collection of tattoos running down both her arms and over her chest.
“Thanks for the invite,” Julia says, glancing around.
The girls file into the kitchen, moving deeper into the space as they gather around the table where a large charcuterie board is spread out, waiting for them to dive in.
“If you get bored running Hannah’s Haven, you should open up a restaurant on Main Street,” Abby says as she eyes the selection.
“Seriously, we could use a good Italian restaurant,” Julia adds, spreading Brie over a cracker.
I bring the pot to the sink, dumping the boiling water into the strainer before adding the pasta to the sauce.
“I promise, I’m not a chef. Bacon carbonara is one of the few dishes I know how to make.”
“Whatever you say,” Greer chides. She’s moving through the kitchen as if she lives here. Opening drawer after drawer. “Do you not have a wine opener?”
“You mean this?” Saylor asks, holding up the opener I already placed on the counter next to the wineglasses and ice bucket, where a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc is chilling.
Greer takes the opener and places it in the cork. “Everyone?” she asks as the cork pops free.
“Please,” we all answer.
Voices rise as Greer pours hefty servings of wine for all of us. I stir the pasta again, watching the sauce thicken and glisten around the noodles. The smell of crisped bacon mixes with the tang of Parmesan. For a fleeting moment, I think this is what home feels like.
Copper pans glow above me from the sun reflecting its golden hour haze. The floor creaks beneath our feet, mixing with the music floating softly from the speakers. Through the open window, a soft breeze filters through as the wildflowers dance along with the music.
“This charcuterie board slaps,” Saylor mumbles around a mouthful of food.
I chuckle. “Thanks. I took a charcuterie class in LA.”
“They have those?” Abby asks, bouncing Clem in her lap.
“There’s a class for everything in LA,” I answer, plating the pasta in a white ceramic bowl before sprinkling the crumbled bacon on top.
“What can we help you with?” Julia asks, standing and taking the bowl from my hands.
I shake my head. “I’m good. Just need to bring everything over and we can eat.”
Grabbing the large salad bowl and dressing, I carry it to the table, set with dinner plates, appetizer plates, bowls, and silverware. The timer on the oven beeps, announcing the breadsticks are ready. I place them in a basket with a fabric napkin before joining the girls at the table.
“Everything looks delicious,” Saylor praises. “Please marry my brother so Sunday dinners can look like this.”
I choke on the wine I'd taken a sip of, sputtering through a cough.
“I’m kidding.”
“But are you?” Greer asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
I blow out a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and Jett tonight?”
“So there is a you and Jett!” Greer gasps.
“Yeah, the whole ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ is code for there’s something to talk about,” Julia adds with amusement, scooping a pile of bacon carbonara onto her plate.
Narrowing my eyes, I shoot her a playful and pointed look. “Hey, new friend, who’s side are you on?”
Julia shrugs with a chuckle, twirling the pasta onto her fork.
Abby uses one hand to scoop her food onto her plate like a pro, but I guess with two kids needing her attention, she’s a professional. “Let her have her secrets. We’ve all got them.”
Our heads whip in her direction, but it’s Greer who speaks up. “Everything okay, Abbs?”
“Yes,” she answers as Clem makes soft baby noises as she sucks her tiny fist. “We all have skeletons in our closets and secrets we keep close to the chest.”
“That’s fair,” Saylor says as she reaches for a breadstick.
The teasing dies down as everyone plates their food. I sprinkle Parmesan over my heaping pile of creamy pasta.
“This is so good, Wren,” Julia mumbles around a mouthful. “It’s almost good enough to make me believe in love again.”
Saylor points her fork. “There’s a story there.”
Julia shrugs. “Isn’t there always.”
“Here, here,” Greer adds.
“This is healing food,” Julia praises between bites. “Heartbreak who?”
“I’ll take that compliment. There’s nothing that cheese, carbs, and wine can’t fix.”
Clementine begins to fuss as Abby takes a bite of salad. A piece of lettuce lands on her daughter’s arm and Abby shrugs. “Hazards of the job.”
We share a laugh as Abby tries to soothe her daughter, praying for a moment of peace so she can finish her dinner. When the fussing turns to wails, she asks us, “Mind if I nurse her here?”
“God, of course not. Make yourself at home, mama.”
She unbuttons her dress with one-handed precision, guiding her daughter to latch. The baby takes hold, settling instantly as the sound of suckling fills the room.
Saylor sets her fork down, eyes softening as her voice cracks. “Every time I see that, I think—wow. Women are literal superheroes.”
“Damn right,” I agree, raising my glass. “To women keeping everyone alive.”
We all clink glasses, the candlelight catching the white wine like liquid sunshine.
“Makes me want one,” Saylor adds quietly.
“Really?” Greer whips her head to her side. “Is there a love interest we don’t know about?”
“Please,” Saylor grumbles, stabbing a piece of lettuce and ripping it off her fork between her teeth. “My love life is as dry as the Sahara.”
“You’re young, babe. Put yourself out there,” I encourage, taking a sip of my wine.
“Is that how you and Jett ended up having hate sex on your living room floor?” Greer questions, smirking around her wineglass.
This time, I do choke, swallowing the cold liquid down the wrong pipe. A coughing fit ensues as heads whip toward me and Saylor shouts her disgust.
I tap my chest as Julia pats my back. When the coughing subsides, I stare at my now former friend. “How did you know?” My voice comes out raspy from the coughing.
“So it’s true?” Greer squeals. “I thought Heath was full of shit!”
“I knew it!” Saylor shouts. “You two were giving off major flirty vibes.”
“Flirty vibes? I don’t even know what that means,” I mumble, totally full of shit, avoiding everyone’s gaze because my cheeks heat.
“Don’t ignore my revelation,” Greer says, before taking a forkful of her pasta.
“It’s not like it’s the first time.”
Saylor’s eyes widen. “You’ve slept with him more than once.”
Greer nudges Saylor’s shoulder. “Obviously, Say. These two were hot and heavy in high school.”
“I meant since she’s been back.”
I shake my head, covering my heated face with my wineglass. “No, it was a one-time thing.”
“It’s never a one-time thing,” Julia chimes in.
“I mean, not that I want to think about my brother having sex, but the two of you looked like you could’ve mounted each other in my salon this morning.”
I gasp, mouth dropping open. “We did not!”
“Yes, you did,” Saylor argues, eyes widening as she wiggles in her chair. “He whispered something in your ear and I thought you were going to combust right then and there.”