Chapter 31 #2
She lets out a snort that turns into a breathy little laugh. “Smart ass.”
She’s trying to sound annoyed. She really is. But her voice gives her away—lighter, higher, like maybe my mouth on her neck is making it hard to think. I kiss the same spot again, then lower, and her hands tighten slightly where they’re hooked around my neck.
God, she’s so soft here. All warm skin and quiet gasps and everything that makes me want to stay right here for as long as she’ll let me.
She shifts slightly, her fingers brushing against my chest, and then her voice cuts through the quiet.
“Wait,” she says, pulling back just enough to look at me. “Did you…order food? For me?”
I straighten. “Yeah. I figured you’d be hungry.”
Her expression flickers—something in her posture changing. A little retreat, like she’s trying to hide it, but I still see it. Her mouth pulls into a tight line, and her eyes drop from mine. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I step back, just enough to really look at her. “Like hell I didn’t. You had a granola bar and some orange peels in your bag, Wren. That’s not breakfast.”
“I was fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugs, her eyes still not meeting mine. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“It wouldn’t have bothered me. You have to eat.”
She lets out a breath, quiet and tired. “My food’s just…expensive. And complicated. It’s not convenient, for me or anyone else. I don’t like making it everyone’s problem.”
The way she says it—it’s practiced. This isn’t the first time she’s had to explain herself. She’s spent years believing that needing something makes her a burden.
I reach out and tilt her chin up, just enough to meet my eyes. “It’s not a problem,” I say, quiet but steady. “It’s not inconvenient. You’re not inconvenient.”
She blinks at me, startled. I don’t let her look away this time.
“You have to tell me when you need food, alright? When we get home, you’re writing me a grocery list. You’re gonna tell me exactly what to get.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off.
“I want to,” I say firmly. “And the week after that, you’re doing it again. And the week after that. And the week after that.”
Her brow pinches, and she tries one more time. “Sawyer, it’s really expensive. I can get my own food, I really don’t—”
“I don’t care,” I say, louder than before. “I don’t give a shit how much it costs, Wren. You’re going to make the lists, and you’re going to give them to me. You’re going to have what you need at home. Always.”
Her mouth parts slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that. A smile tugs at her lips, soft and surprised. “Home?”
I pause, the word registering only after she says it out loud.
And I meant it.
Wherever she is, that’s where I want to be. Where I feel like I can actually breathe. Where I can sleep past noon and not wake up feeling like the world’s about to collapse. Where things don’t feel borrowed or temporary or halfway.
So I nod, my voice quieter now. Certain. “Home.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, but then, soft as a whisper, “Thank you.”
I tilt my head. “For what?”
She shrugs, fingers toying with the edge of my shirt. “For taking care of me. I’m not really used to that. But I think I like it.”
My chest tightens. I think about how often she’s had to be the one taking care of someone else. How many times she’s probably tucked herself into the corner of someone else’s life, trying not to ask for too much.
I brush a kiss against her lips—slow and certain—and rest my forehead to hers. “Always.” Then I take her hand and lead her over to the table. “Come on, you need to eat before it gets cold.”
She steps up to the tray, lifts the lid, and lets out a low, surprised laugh. “Wait—how did you even know I’d want this?”
I hand her a fork, leaning in just enough to kiss her temple. “I didn’t. I guessed. Mostly I just thought about what I’d want if I hadn’t eaten all day and couldn’t have bread or cheese.”
Her eyes flick up. “You guessed this well?”
I shrug. “I pay attention.”
She bites her lip, like she doesn’t know what to do with that, and picks up her plate. I grab mine and we both drop onto the couch, plates balanced on our laps.
She takes a bite and hums, then glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
“You didn’t have to walk my dog before I woke up, but you did.”
She nudges her knee against mine. “Yeah, but that was selfish. I wanted him all to myself.”
I smirk. “Figured. He likes you better than me now, anyway.”
She looks smug about that, which is fair. We fall quiet for a second, eating. Her thigh presses lightly into mine. Then she says, “You snore.”
I glance over at her. “I do not.”
I do.
Julia used to say the same thing—claimed it sounded like a tractor starting up in my chest—but I’ll die before I give Wren the satisfaction of knowing she’s right when it comes to this.
“You do. Not like chainsaw snoring, but like…tiny bear snoring.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
She takes another bite, grinning. “It means I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep.”
“Oh yeah?” I reach for my glass. “That’s rich coming from the human burrito who stole every last inch of the blanket last night.”
“I did not. ”
“You did. Rolled yourself up like you were prepping for hibernation or some shit.”
She laughs, shaking her head as she chews. “I left you some .”
I shoot her a look. “You left me the top sheet.”
Her hand rests on my thigh as she takes another bite. “I’ll be more generous next time.”
I smile around a bite of food, but the words stick with me. Next time. She says it so casually, like it’s just something to toss into a conversation. But my chest goes all stupid and soft because the truth is, I want there to be a next time.
I really hope there’s a next time.
And a thousand after that.