Chapter 10 #2
She’s made it pretty obvious she’s interested, always finding reasons to hang around after lessons, twirling her hair around her finger, laughing a little too hard at things that weren’t even jokes, stretching conversations until they stop making sense just for the sake of talking.
Wren was right—there’s definitely some eye-fucking going on. At least on Anna’s end.
She can’t be older than twenty-one, maybe twenty-two if I’m being generous. I’m pushing thirty-six. Fifteen years and a lifetime between us.
I’m polite and always have been. But I keep it short. Short answers, short smiles, short exits. You’d think she’d take the hint. Maybe she has and she just doesn’t care.
She flashes a smile that’s a little too much for this early in the morning.
“Morning, Sawyer,” she says, her voice already doing that thing where it drops half a register.
I nod. “Hey, Anna.”
She lingers, shifting her weight from one boot to the other, playing with the strap of her bag.
“You’re up early,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
“I’m always up early.”
Simple. Straight.
She laughs a little, like that was a joke. It wasn’t.
“You headed somewhere?” she asks, tilting her head, the way girls do when they want you to look at them longer.
“Nope. It’s my day off.” I adjust the thermoses in my hand, making it clear I’m not about to stand here and chat.
But Anna doesn’t budge.
“Well, if you find yourself wanting some company on your off day,” she says, “I’m around.”
Jesus.
I scratch the back of my neck, keeping my voice even. “Not looking for company. But thanks.”
Her smile flickers for half a second before she pastes it back on. Her eyes dart toward Wren, like maybe trying to figure out if she’s the reason I’m not biting.
Anna hitches her bag higher up on her shoulder, giving me one last shot.
“Maybe some other time, then?” she says, tossing it out casually, even though the pout in her voice says otherwise.
“Take care, Anna,” I say, already shifting my body toward Wren.
She hesitates, like she might try one more time, but finally turns and walks toward the parking lot, kicking up dust as she goes.
I shake my head, mostly at myself, and glance back at Wren. She’s pretending she didn’t hear a damn thing, busy tugging her gloves on, eyes down, scarf pulled so high I can barely see her mouth.
But I know better. Wren doesn’t miss much.
I walk toward her, the thermoses heavy in my hands, boots crunching over the packed sand.
Wren looks up when she hears me, tugging her gloves tighter, eyes cutting toward mine. They look even bluer today—sharp and grey, like ice pulling tight across a lake in early winter. She smirks, just barely, the edge of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to.
“Poor girl,” she says under her breath, nodding toward where Anna disappeared.
I huff out a laugh. “Not sure who I feel worse for.”
The smirk grows, warming into something closer to a smile, and before I can lose the nerve, I hold out one of the thermoses toward her.
She glances down at it, then back up at me, brow pulling tight. “What’s that? Poison?”
“Hot chocolate,” I say.
She straightens a little, already shaking her head. “I can’t—”
“It’s vegan,” I cut in before she can finish. “And gluten free,” I add, like it might sweeten the deal.
Her eyebrow lifts, skeptical. “You just happen to keep vegan hot chocolate lying around your house?”
I chuckle under my breath. “Picked some up in Bozeman last week.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the thermos like she’s trying to figure out if I’m messing with her. Or if it really is poisoned.
Slowly, she reaches out and takes it, her fingers brushing mine for half a second before she pulls back.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, voice a little quieter now.
“I know,” I answer, shrugging one shoulder like it’s no big deal.
She tilts her head, studying me the way she studies a nervous horse—careful, patient, trying to figure out what makes me tick.
“Then why did you?”
I blow out a slow breath, watching it hang in the air between us. “I don’t know.”
Wren lets out a soft laugh. “Fair enough.”
She pops the lid on the thermos and takes a cautious sip.
For a second she just blinks, surprised, and then her whole face lights up in a way that’s too real and too damn rare.
“Oh my God ,” she says, looking at me like I just pulled off some kind of miracle. “This is actually good!”
I grin without thinking, something easy and stupid pulling at my mouth when she takes another sip, longer this time. For a second, she just stands there grinning like she forgot how much she usually holds back.
And I can’t stop staring.
It’s a small thing. Nothing life-changing. A cup of hot chocolate on a cold morning.
But somehow it feels bigger than it should—watching her standing there with cold hands wrapped tight around something I handed her, as if it’s been a while since someone thought to do something just for her.
And it feels good. God, it feels really good.
Not the big, loud kind of good that demands anything back. The quiet kind.
There’s a part of me that forgot what it feels like to just… like someone. Not because they fix you. Not because they make you forget what you lost. But because when you’re standing next to them, the world doesn’t feel as heavy.
And it’s not about how she looks, though it would be easy enough to get stuck there. It’s about the way she doesn’t ask for anything from me. She doesn’t look at me like I’m a problem to solve.
She just lets me be here.
She makes the silence between us feel less like a reminder of everything I’ve lost and more like a place I don’t have to run from.
I’m not stupid. I know better than to want anything from her. But standing here, watching her laugh over something as simple as a cup of hot chocolate, I want it anyway.
I don’t know what the hell to do with any of that. I’m not even sure I’m supposed to do anything at all. But right now, with her smiling like that, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to ruin it. I just want to let it sit between us, warm and fragile, and hope like hell she doesn’t push me away.
Wren shifts on her feet, the smile slipping away like she suddenly remembered why she doesn’t hand them out easily. She stares down into her thermos, then looks back up at me.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about…something,” she says, her voice low, like she’s not sure she wants to say it anymore.
I raise a brow. “Yeah? About what?”
She chews the inside of her cheek, arms crossing tight over her chest. For a second, it looks like she’s about to back out of it altogether.
Then she sighs, loud and frustrated, and says, “You’re gonna think I’m a crazy person.”
I smirk. “I already thought that from the moment I saw your bright ass car.”
She narrows her eyes, shooting me a glare that would probably knock a lesser man on his ass.
“No,” she says, dead serious now. “I mean it. You’re gonna actually think I’ve lost my damn mind, Sawyer.”
“Try me.”
She drags a hand down her face and groans into her palm. “You know what? Forget it. It’s a bad idea, anyway.”
She starts to move past me, the toes of her boots kicking up sand with every step.
Before she can get too far, I reach out and grab her elbow, spinning her gently back toward me.
She stumbles a little, blinking up at me.
Her chest is rising and falling a little quicker now that we’re standing this close.
“What do you need, Wren?”
She winces, her mouth pulling to the side like she can’t figure out how to word it. “A…business deal?” she says, voice lifting in a question. “Maybe? If that’s what you wanna call it?”
I bark out a laugh, quick and loud.
“A business deal,” I repeat, grinning. “Hell of a sales pitch, Wilding.”
She groans again and spins to leave for real this time, already muttering something under her breath.
“Jesus, Wren,” I call after her. “Do you wanna come to my place? We can talk about it there. It’s not a far drive from here.”
She stops, half-turned, thermos still clutched tight in her hand. I can see her weighing it, thinking it over, her lips pursed together.
Then she takes another sip of the hot chocolate, like it’s buying her time, and finally nods. “Let’s go.”
I laugh to myself and fall in step behind her as we cross the yard toward my car, boots crunching against the frozen ground.
I don’t know what the hell she’s about to drop on me, but damn if I’m not curious to find out.
* * *
Some days, the silence feels heavier inside this house than it does anywhere else.
Today isn’t any different—until Wren steps through the door and Hank seems to forget that I even exist.
He barrels into her, tail spinning like a damn helicopter, pushing his whole body into her legs without a second thought.
She laughs, crouching low, scratching behind his ears. I let the door click shut behind me, leaning back against it for a second. Watching her. Watching him. Watching the place come alive like it hasn’t in years.
“You’re a real loyal one, aren’t you?” I mutter to Hank, peeling off my jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch.
Wren grins up at me, running her hands through Hank’s fur. “We’re kindred spirits.”
I shake my head, pushing off the door with a grin. “Makes sense, you and him. No patience, no manners.”
She scoffs, then stands, her eyes skating over the living room. Wide open floors. Not much furniture. No clutter. No signs of a life lived. Her arms cross over her chest, and she lets out a low whistle.
“Of course this is your house,” she says, glancing at me like the pieces have just clicked into place.
I lift a brow. “And what exactly does that mean?”
She walks a few steps farther in, dragging her fingers lightly along the counter as she goes.
“It’s…sterile,” she says. “It looks like a model home or something. Like nobody actually lives here.”
I push my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “It’s clean.”
“It’s empty,” she corrects, turning to face me fully now.
I nod once, because she’s not wrong. And because there’s nothing I’m interested in pretending about with her.
“Did you come here to judge my taste in furniture,” I say, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, “or were you planning to pitch whatever business deal you were going on about?”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, just pulls out one of the barstools and plops onto it like she’s done it a hundred times before. Her boots swing lightly against the footrest, her hands tightening around the thermos still clutched between them.
She takes a breath like she’s about to jump off a cliff, then looks up at me, serious as hell.
“There have to be rules for this conversation,” she says.
I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms loosely over my chest, amused. “Rules?”
She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “Rules.”
I raise a brow. “How many we talkin’?”
She thinks for a second. “Okay…maybe just one.”
I fight a grin, rubbing the scruff along my jaw. “Alright. What’s the rule?”
She shifts on the stool, adjusting her grip on the thermos like it might anchor her.
“You’re not allowed to talk,” she says.
I bark out a laugh before I can stop it. “That doesn’t sound much like a conversation, Wilding.”
She smiles, quick and crooked, but it’s gone just as fast. “Okay, I’m serious. No talking until I’m done.”
I run a hand down my face, dragging my palm across my mouth to keep from laughing again. “Deal.”
God, what the hell is she about to say? Is this how Wren Wilding asks people out? Because she looks like she’s about to pitch a hostage negotiation, not a coffee date.
Except she said business deal. And between the Wildings and the Harts, there’s not a whole lot of business we’ve got left to offer each other.
So what the hell’s got her looking like she’s about to be throw up all over my kitchen floor?
She pulls in another breath, squares her shoulders, and says, “I think we should get married.”
My head whips toward her so fast I nearly crack my damn neck.
There’s a beat of silence. Just the low hum of the fridge. The distant click of Hank’s nails on the hardwood floors.
I stare at her, waiting for the punchline that doesn’t come. I open my mouth, instinct, and she lifts a hand fast, eyes wide.
“Remember the rule,” she says, pointing at me like she thinks I might forget.
I snap my mouth shut, still staring at her like she’s grown a second head.
Married. She said married. As in, husband and wife.
Either I’ve had a stroke, or Wren Wilding’s just proposed to me on a random Tuesday.