by Liz Isaacson
“Yep.”
She stepped, and stepped again. “What was her name?”
“Kyla.”
“Any kids?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Tate drew in a deep breath and told himself that these were normal questions. Wren should ask them, if they were going to continue holding hands, maybe share a sunset kiss….
He cleared the fantasies from his mind. “She filed for divorce when I was in Afghanistan this last time,” he said, his voice almost being swallowed by the sound of the river beside them. “She said she’d met someone else and that she didn’t love me anymore.”
He’d expected the words to hurt—and they did. More than he’d thought they would. He’d only told two other people what Kyla had really said to him—his father and Jeremiah. Even his other Marine buddies didn’t know that Kyla had gone on to get married only five days after their divorce was final.
“I’m so sorry,” Wren murmured, reaching over with her free hand and wrapping her fingers around his forearm. She leaned her head against his bicep, and it felt so nice to have someone at his side.
Not just someone. Her.
“How long ago was it?” She slowed her steps again and paused at a bend in the path.
Tate cleared his throat. “Just last year.”
Surprise flitted across her face. “So you were married for a long time.”
“Nine years.” Strangely enough, he’d been lonelier with Kyla than without her. He just didn’t want to have to explain to everyone how he was doing all the time. And he inevitably ran into people who didn’t know he and Kyla had split up, and they’d ask about her.
Being in Brush Creek was definitely better than having to deal with those kinds of conversations.
“We should head back,” she said. “It’s going to get dark soon, and that path goes alllll the way around before it comes back to your place.”
“All right.” They started back the way they’d come, but she didn’t strike up a new topic of conversation. Tate didn’t either. He enjoyed the evening sounds, the whisper of insect wings, and the feel of Wren’s hands on his skin.
She paused at her back gate. “So tomorrow, my brother is doing some construction on the high school. It might be a good place for you to learn more about the town. We haven’t really talked about that.”
“You’re going home? You haven’t had any cake.”
“Oh, I had some.” She gave him a coy smile and stretched up on her toes to brush her lips across his cheek. Fire and goose bumps erupted simultaneously, a strange sensation that left Tate immobile. “You keep the rest.”
She slipped through her gate and stood on her deck before turning back to him. “If you can go tomorrow, I’m leaving here around nine.”
“I’m getting furniture delivered tomorrow,” he said. “Can I let you know?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and said, “You have my number,” before nearly skipping into her house.
Tate stayed on the path for another few seconds, trying to make sense of everything that had happened since he’d shown up at her office. It seemed like a pivot point in his life, and he wanted to hold onto these memories for as long as possible.
He finally started back to his place, his fingers tracing the spot where her lips had last been and a smile curving his mouth in anticipation for when he could kiss her.
I’m coming. Tate sent the text at 8:57, hoping Wren’s “about nine” meant “after nine.” Are you still home?
Yep. Want to ride with me?
Sure. He’d managed to get the delivery driver on the phone about ten minutes ago and had learned that they wouldn’t be coming until closer to noon.
He’d lain awake last night for a long time, the window open so he could hear the leaves playing with the breeze. Sully hadn’t liked it; he kept lifting his big head and looking at Tate like it was unusual for him not to be able to sleep.
Fact was, it wasn’t. Tate had suffered from insomnia since his first tour in Djibouti. But he was used to operating on five hours of sleep—or less—so he hurried out front door and onto the sidewalk, his sights set on the cottage next door.
Wren exited the door on the side of her house as he came down the driveway. He couldn’t help the smile that came over him. “Hey.” He wasn’t even sure he recognized himself. He’d thrown himself into the improvements on the house, and he’d gone up to visit Octagon every day. He’d sort of assumed that would be his life from now on. But Wren had thrown a ray of light into his day-to-day happenings he hadn’t expected.
“Hey.” She clicked her keys and the door on the shiny, navy blue car unlocked. He swept his gaze over it, wondering how much it had cost, and when he slid inside, it was clear the vehicle had fetched a pretty penny.
Tan leather, automatic everything, more dials and buttons than he even knew what to do with, and a large screen that came up with a menu he could barely understand. Tate had never been in such a nice vehicle, and a tremor of doubt ran through him. Her lifestyle was obviously different from his—everything about them seemed on opposite ends of the spectrum.
Once they were both settled in the car, she said, “So we’re meeting my brother Brennan. He’s just older than me at twenty-eight, and he’s pretty fun.”
“Brennan, got it.”
“We’ll ease you in one sibling at a time.” She grinned as she backed out onto the road without even looking for traffic. He supposed there wasn’t any traffic, but still. His military training wouldn’t allow him to drive without both hands on the wheel at all times.
She went down by the white church a few blocks from their houses and turned left. She drove with wilderness on the east for a bit, and then turned left and then right. Then, before his eyes, a high school came into view.
“Wow, I had no idea this was here.”
“Haven’t been over here, I guess.” She parked and got out, waving to another man who walked toward them. He pulled off his work gloves and embraced his sister.
“Hey, Wrenny.” He glanced past her to Tate. “And you must be Tate. Wren said she was bringing a friend.”
Tate wasn’t sure he liked the label, especially because it didn’t start with “boy” and end with “friend,” but he shook Brennan’s hand, glad for the easy-going nature of the man. Tate didn’t need an overprotective brother asking Tate about his intentions with Wren. Tate honestly didn’t have any intentions. He knew he liked spending time with her. He liked how he wasn’t so melancholy when she was around.
“Hey, that’s the shirt I gave you for your birthday.” Brennan grinned at his sister.
Tate hadn’t noticed the shirt that morning, but now he found himself scanning it. The sky blue shirt had the periodic table printed on it in black, with the words I WEAR THIS SHIRT PERIODICALLY underneath. With it, she wore a pair of khaki shorts, and Tate realized he’d never seen her wear the same thing twice.
Of course, it had only been a few days, and he’d only seen her a handful of times. But he had a suspicion that Wren’s wardrobe was vast, and again he wondered if he’d be able to support her. Which was ridiculous. She’d come over to his house for dinner once, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
But the fact that there was a yet on the end of that sentence made Tate’s heart beat faster and his nerves a little more frenzied.
He chuckled and absently reached for Wren’s hand to help anchor himself. She jolted when he touched her, like his skin was made of energy and she’d just been shocked.
Brennan saw the contact too, and his eyebrows lifted sky high. “Oh, so we’re that kind of friends.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Wren said, her voice heavy with warning. She cut a glance to Tate that said why’d you do that?
“Who else knows?” Brennan asked.
“Berlin.”
“So it’s a deal.” Brennan turned back the way he’d come. “We’re tearing down the old gym, and I’ve got all the memorabilia for you.”
Tate squeezed a swallow down his too-narrow throat and then gripped Wren’s fingers a bit tighter as if to say I’m sorry.
“It’s not such a big deal that anyone else needs to know.” Wren strode after Brennan, towing Tate with her.
“Relax, Wren. You can hold hands with whoever you want.” He looked at Tate over his sister’s head. “He seems nice enough.”
“Sometimes,” Tate said.
“Yeah, you should’ve heard him when he called on Monday and needed a maid,” Wren said. “Very demanding.”
Regret lanced through Tate again, but Wren’s laughter erased it. “He’s a Marine, so I guess he’s used to giving orders and having them followed.”
“Taking orders,” Tate corrected her, though he had been a commanding officer during his time in the armed forces.
“Oh, great,” Brennan said as he arrived at the construction site. “I need all those boxes moved so the construction equipment can be moved. Then I can get the landscaping started.”
Tate followed his finger to a sea of boxes, some of them gaping open with picture frames protruding out of the top. “You didn’t mention that I would be working,” he whispered in Wren’s ear. She shivered, and Tate took great satisfaction in her reaction.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You were bragging about your roofing muscles just yesterday.”
“I was not bragging.” He met her eye and discovered that she was flirting with him, not accusing him of anything. He softened, melted, with the teasing sparkle in her gaze.
Wren giggled. “I know. If you had been, I would’ve gotten to see those muscles.” She reached up and touched his biceps, then his shoulders, and Tate was very aware of her older brother’s watchful eye.
He stepped back, heat flaming through his whole body at her feminine touch. “How many of these can we fit in your car?” He didn’t think anything besides people should be transported in a car as nice as hers, and some of those boxes looked downright filthy.
“My truck’s right there.” Brennan pointed to a truck infinitely closer than Wren’s sedan parked on the street. “Fill ‘er up, and bring ‘er back when you’re done.”
Tate nodded, sure his face was the color of a tomato. He walked away with as much dignity as he could, but he could clearly hear Brennan say, “Wren, whatever’s going on between you two is a very big deal.”
Tate’s mouth twitched, but he wasn’t sure if it was into a smile or a frown. So he did what he’d always done. He dug in and got the job done. Work first. Everything else later.
Chapter 7
Wren could schlepp boxes as well as the next blonde woman. Certainly not as well as Tate, especially when she caught herself simply staring at him as he lifted two boxes over the tailgate of her brother’s truck like they weighed nothing.
It only took fifteen minutes to move the boxes, but Wren felt like she’d been under Brennan’s scrutinizing gaze for an hour. And he was the least judgmental of her brothers. And if the twins found out she was holding hands with the handsome new addition to Brush Creek, Wren would never be able to go to the family dinner again without having to answer a whole slew of questions.
“So maybe you want to take me to breakfast?” she asked, hoping he had a fast metabolism and had burned off all the pizza he’d eaten last night.
“Uh.” He rubbed one palm up the back of his neck while everything in Wren rebelled against itself.
“Oh, okay.” She turned and walked away, cursing herself for believing Brennan about this new thing with Tate being a very big deal. She felt something heated and charged between her and Tate whenever they touched, but maybe he didn’t feel the same things for her.
“Why are you running off?” he asked. “We’re taking the truck, remember?”
“Oh, right.” She spun back, nearly colliding with him, unsure if she could get in a vehicle with him in her emotional state.
His hands slid up her arms, one thumb getting stuck in her shirtsleeve as the other hand traveled to her shoulder. “I don’t eat breakfast.” He looked down on her with sympathy in his eyes. Sympathy she didn’t want.
“It’s fine.”
“I mean, I eat breakfast, but not breakfast foods. It’s weird.” He chuckled like he was the one who should be feeling anxious.
“You don’t eat breakfast foods?”
He shook his head, a ghost of a smile touching his mouth. She wanted to trace her fingertips along his lips before she kissed him. Her stomach tightened with want of food—and more.
“No scrambled eggs? No pancakes?”
“No French toast, no omelets, none of it.”
Wren tilted her head to the side, trying to see the puzzle of him from a different angle. “Why not?”
“I’d rather eat pizza or chips and dip.”
“You’re not allergic or anything?”
“No.”
“So you just don’t like breakfast food.”
“I like cold cereal.” He rubbed his hands down her arms, sending a thrill to all her extremities. “So maybe we can go through this stuff at your place, and after my furniture gets delivered, we can go to lunch.”
“We can’t go to my place,” she blurted, thinking of the week’s worth of dishes in her kitchen sink and trying to remember if she’d picked up her pajamas that morning. She didn’t think so.
“Why not?”
“I…don’t know?”
Tate laughed, the sound rich and round as it vibrated in her ears. “Let me guess. You’re worried I’ll judge you if your place isn’t spotless.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, it makes no sense to move this stuff to my place, and then to yours.” He held open the passenger door of her brother’s truck so she could get in. “So how about I give you a five-minute head-start before I come inside?”
“Five minutes? Make it ten, and you’ve got a deal.”
He chuckled, closed her door, and walked around to climb in behind the wheel. “What am I supposed to do for ten minutes?”
“You have a smart phone. I’m sure you have some sort of social media to check.”
Tate gave her a long look. “Do I look the type of guy who checks Facebook?”
“You don’t have Facebook?”
“Why would I? So I can tell my thirteen friends that I don’t like scrambled eggs?”
Wren felt like she’d been stung by a killer bee and the poison was spreading through her chest. She had more than thirteen people in her family. And a heck of a lot more than thirteen friends on Facebook.
The silence in the truck seemed strained, and Wren shook the depressing thoughts from her mind. “So church tomorrow. Do you want to go with me?”
“Do you sit with Brennan?”
“Sometimes,” she said evasively. “But we don’t have to.”
“I don’t think he liked me much.”
“He liked you fine.” Her brother’s words streamed through her head. Whatever’s going on between you two is a very big deal.
“I just don’t think he was expecting the hand-holding.” She watched him, the adorable flush climbing from under his collar wonderful. “I wasn’t either, to be honest.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I—it just happened.”
“I liked it,” she assured him. “I just…hadn’t told him that much yet.”
“Who’s Berlin?”
“My youngest sister. She called last night with a dating question of her own.” Wren watched the trees go by out the window. “She’s the reason I wore the blouse and not some silly T-shirt.”
“I like your T-shirts.”
Warmth filled her, and she said, “Thanks. I like your shirts too.”
He looked over and met her eye, and they laughed together. Wren felt herself slipping, slipping, sliding down a treacherous path toward a real relationship with Tate Benson.
Wren woke the next morning, drifting halfway between reality and fantasy. She knew, because in her dream she’d just kissed Tate, could feel the ghost
of his strong hand cupping her face. At the same time, she could feel the sunlight heating her neck, and the kiss had happened at night.
Her mind tumbled through what day it was, and what was on her to-do list, and if she was late for work. Her eyes popped open when she realized it was Sunday. No work. Nothing to do.
“Except church.” She sat up, her emotions roaring up and curling around as if she was on a rollercoaster. She wanted to go to church with Tate. Wanted to sit by him. Wanted to secretly hold his hand on the bench between them so no one could see.
But she knew better than most that nothing was really a secret in a town the size of Brush Creek. Or with a family the size of hers.
She reached for her phone and texted him. You sure you want to sit by me at church?
She wasn’t surprised when he responded immediately. Why wouldn’t I?
My family will see us.
It’s up to you. I don’t want you to have to deal with a very big deal or anything.
So he’d heard her brother. Brennan hadn’t exactly tried to keep his voice down, but Tate had walked away smoothly, never flinching, and Wren had been trying to figure out how to talk to him about their relationship.
And she didn’t want to do it in a text. So she tapped the call icon and held her breath.
“Morning, Wren.”
She really liked his morning voice. Slightly froggy and indicative that maybe he was still lying in bed.
“Did I wake you?”
“Nah, I’ve been up for hours.”
“Are you home?”
“Yeah. Just lying here with Sully.”
“Okay, well, I wanted to talk about—you know—talk about…us.”
He said nothing, which only made Wren’s nerves riot.
“Going out with you is a very big deal for me,” she admitted. “I haven’t gone out with anyone in a couple of years, and the last guy was a pilot in the Air Force who broke my heart.” The tension in her chest released, and she could finally take a real breath. “So that’s why Brennan said that.”
“I understand.”
If anyone could, it was him. So Wren nodded and faced the sun streaming in her bedroom window. “So if we sit by each other at church, you should expect to meet the whole family too. There are thirteen of us. And grandparents, and great-grandparents.” She did the math quickly. “Eighteen, including me. And a baby on the way.”