Chapter 39
WREN
We went for a walk after we left the nursery. The air was cold and still, and our boots crunched over frost-covered gravel. We didn’t talk much, just stayed close, walking in step like our bodies were still catching up to everything our hearts had just been through.
And when we came back inside, Sawyer didn’t close the nursery door.
He walked past it like it was just another room. No pause. No quick glance over his shoulder. No key turning quietly in the lock. The light from the hallway stretched into the lavender space like it had every right to.
For as long as I’ve lived here, that door has stayed shut—sealed off like the grief inside it might leak out if it weren’t. But this morning, without ceremony or explanation, it was wide open.
Sawyer didn’t say a word. Just stepped out of his boots, flipped the light on in the kitchen, and grabbed a mixing bowl so we could start making breakfast like letting that light in wasn’t one of the bravest things he’s ever done.
We’re halfway through our pancakes when there’s a knock at the front door.
I pause mid-bite and glance at him. “Were you expecting someone?”
He shakes his head, his mouth still full, and grabs a towel to wipe his hands as he stands.
The second he opens the door, a blur of pink and glitter launches into the house. “Uncle Sawyer!”
A small human cannonball throws her arms around his legs like she hasn’t seen him in years.
She’s covered in Band-Aids like they’re stickers, wearing sparkly rain boots and a plastic tiara that’s slightly askew on her head.
Her blonde pigtails bounce as she slams into him, and he bends to catch her, laughing.
“Hurricane Nora,” he says, lifting her with both arms. “Hey, bug.”
And then the rest of them come in. All of them.
His parents stepped in behind her first—Estelle with her hair swept up and makeup already done, carrying two pies and a couple of Tupperware containers like she’d been prepping since dawn.
Vaughn had a jacket folded over one arm and a tray of something that smelled incredible in the other.
Then came his siblings, layered up in coats and scarves, talking over each other, arguing about who left the car lights on.
Even Anna came, trailing in last, looking polished and put together, a soft cream sweater stretched gently over her pregnant belly.
Suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of everything. My hair, which I haven’t brushed. My morning breath, which I haven’t dealt with. The shirt I stole from Sawyer’s closet.
Estelle spots me and smiles like nothing is out of place. “Wren, sweetheart,” she says, voice warm, already walking toward me. She sets the food on the island and pulls me into a hug that smells like lemon pie and expensive perfume.
I pat her back gently. “Hi, Estelle.”
Anna’s right behind her. Her hair is softly curled, and she looks good in that effortless way people in their second trimester seem to pull off. She hugs me too—less intense, but just as real.
“Hope it’s okay I came,” she says, already setting down a stack of wrapped gifts on the edge of the island. “The Harts said I could spend Christmas here with them so I don’t have to drive two hours back home on the icy roads.”
I nod, still trying to catch up. I’d forgotten she mentioned she was living in Juniper Falls for now—a city a couple hours north of here. Not ranching country like Summit Springs. More coffee shops than feed stores. More sidewalks than dirt roads.
She’s been staying with the Harts while she trains with me a few days a week. It’s temporary, but still. There’s something about her being here, wrapped into all of this, that makes it feel a little fuller. Like she belongs, even if none of us really expected her to.
“I thought you were spending it with the adoptive parents?”
She shrugs. “They took a trip to the coast in Oregon. Said they wanted one last Christmas, just the two of them.”
“Oh.” I pause. “Yeah. That makes sense, I guess.”
She doesn’t offer anything else, and I don’t press.
By then, Sawyer’s got his niece perched on his hip while she tells him, in great detail, about a dream she had involving a talking llama and marshmallows.
His siblings are already in the kitchen.
Someone’s pulling mugs from the cabinet.
Someone else is unwrapping foil from a tray of cinnamon rolls like this is just a regularly scheduled family brunch.
And I’m still standing here, Sawyer’s shirt swallowing me whole, surrounded by all of it.
Anna looks around, her eyes wide. “ This is Sawyer’s house?”
I nod.
She blinks once, then glances at me with a crooked smile. “Well. I guess it’s your house, too.” She nudges me gently with her hip. “Mrs. Hart.”
It catches me off guard—not because it’s not true, but because I’m not used to hearing it said out loud like it’s a real thing, not just something written on a piece of paper at the courthouse. But I smile, because it is true. Somehow. This is my home now.
“It’s really nice,” she says, still looking.
“Thank you.”
She shifts her weight, palm curving lightly over her belly. “Maybe I should be a veterinarian.”
That gets a quiet laugh out of me. “You say that like you want to deliver a calf at three in the morning.”
She smirks. “Okay, maybe I’ll settle for marrying one instead.”
Before I can answer, Sawyer walks over with Nora still clinging to him like a koala. Her cheek rests against his chest now, sparkly boot swinging lightly with each step. Her voice has gone quiet, her thumb in her mouth.
Sawyer doesn’t say anything, but he rests his hand at the small of my back. I don’t think he even thinks about it—it’s just where his hand goes when he’s near me.
And I don’t mean to think it. I don’t go looking for it. But watching him like this—in his own kitchen, holding a child on his hip, touching me like it’s second nature—it sinks in anyway.
How natural it looks. How safe she looks, curled up against him like she doesn’t have a single doubt in her little body that he’ll keep holding her as long as she needs.
It’s a picture that sinks somewhere deep in my chest. And then that quiet, familiar guilt follows right behind it. That dull ache that shows up whenever I think about the thing I can’t give him. The thing someone else already did once before.
His thumb moves slightly against my back, like he knows I’m thinking something that I won’t say out loud. I lean into him just a little. Enough to remind myself that he chose this. Chose me.
I glance at Nora, her cheek still pressed against Sawyer’s chest.
“Hi,” I say to her, smiling. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Wren.”
Her head turns slightly, her eyes finding mine. “I know.”
I raise a brow. “You do?”
She nods like it’s obvious. “You’re the pretty lady from the wedding.”
That makes me laugh—quiet and surprised. “Oh yeah? You remember that?”
She sits up straighter now, suddenly revived by the sound of her own voice. “I liked your dress. It was the twirly kind. Mine wasn’t twirly, but my daddy said it was sparkly, and I like sparkles the most. But also dinosaurs.”
Sawyer lets out a low laugh beside me. “She’s been really into stegosauruses lately.”
“Because their tails are spiky,” Nora explains enthusiastically. “And they can whack things. If I had a spiky tail, I would definitely whack Riley when he’s being bossy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Riley, huh?”
She nods, very serious. “He made me eat broccoli last night. Four pieces. Can you even believe it?”
Sawyer lifts an eyebrow. “So the broccoli led to you…wanting a weapon?”
Nora scoffs. “Duh. If I had a tail, I’d whack him. Just one little thwack. That’s what he gets for making me eat trees.”
I bite back a smile. “Honestly, that’s a valid feeling.”
She studies me for a second, head tilted. “Are you a mommy?”
The question lands like a small stone in the middle of something still. I feel Sawyer’s hand tighten slightly at my back, but I keep my expression easy.
“Not to any humans,” I say softly, trying to manage a small smile. “Just to Hank. He’s kind of like a kid.”
Her eyes brighten. “Uncle Sawyer’s big dog with the drooly mouth?”
“That’s the one.”
“I like him. But he sniffed my butt one time. It’s okay, though. Dogs don’t know boundaries . My dad’s always telling me about boundaries.” She huffs and rolls her eyes for dramatic effect. “It’s pretty annoying.”
Sawyer clears his throat like he’s trying not to laugh.
I smile, stifling a laugh of my own. “You’re very forgiving.”
“I’m five,” she says with a shrug. “I know a lot already.”
And somehow, I believe her. I glance down at the sheer number of Band-Aids on her arms and legs.
“I like your Band-Aids,” I tell her. “Very decorative.”
She immediately perks up. “Thanks. I picked them all out myself. Wanna see?”
Before I can answer, she’s already twisting sideways in Sawyer’s arms, her little fingers pointing to each one in order.
“This one’s Bluey. She’s my favorite,” she says, touching her knee.
“And this one’s Bingo, her sister. And this one has glitter but it’s not a character, it’s just sparkly. Still good, though.”
I reach out and gently touch the one on her forearm, the corner starting to peel a little. “Ariel,” I say. “She was my favorite princess when I was your age.”
Nora looks up at me like I’ve just passed some kind of secret test. “Really?”
I nod. “She had red hair like me. I thought maybe we were cousins.”
She gasps a little. “You do kinda look like her!” She leans closer, inspecting my hair like she’s about to make a formal ruling on the matter. Then she beams, satisfied. “Even your eyes are the same. But you don’t have a mermaid tail.”
“Not that you’ve seen.”
Sawyer lets out a quiet laugh beside me, and Nora giggles, delighted. “You know what? You’re funny.”
She turns again, showing me the Band-Aids on her other leg. “These ones are my favorites.” She points to two overlapping ones. “Bluey with sunglasses, and Bluey with a hat .”
I nod solemnly. “That’s some next-level Bluey.”