Right now, though, she won’t look at me. Just keeps tracing that same worn spot on the saddle like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. That blush creeps down her neck, and it’s clear she doesn’t talk like this often.
If ever.
I shift in the saddle, slow Moose to a stop beside her. “You know you could have your pick of guys in this town, right?”
She lets out a dry little laugh, still staring straight ahead. “Sure.”
“I’m serious, Wren.”
She finally lifts her head and looks at me, somewhere between annoyed and trying not to laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
She gestures at me, all loose and exasperated. “Have you ever looked in a mirror? You’re basically every guy’s type in Summit Springs. Probably every guy’s type, period. You could have your pick.”
I let out a breath, half a laugh. “Okay, that’s a stretch.”
Her brow lifts, daring me to argue.
“You’re hot, Wren,” I say, simple as that. “I don’t know why you don’t see it, but it’s obvious. Guys notice. You walk into a room and heads turn—don’t act like they don’t. But it’s not just that. You’re smart. You’re solid. You’ve got your shit together. You aren’t someone that people justsettlefor, okay?”
She drops her gaze, thumb brushing the worn leather of the saddle horn, like she’s trying to keep her hands busy. Her mouth twitches—could be a smile, could be something else. With Wren, it’s hard to tell.
She gives the smallest shrug. Doesn’t say anything.
I let the silence hang for a beat, not pushing her. Wren isn’t someone you press for answers—she gives them when she’s ready.
Then, quietly, she says, “It’s not that I think I’m not enough. Not exactly.”
I look over, surprised she’s talking about this at all.
“I just…” She sighs, shakes her head like the words are tangled. “I’ve never really beenchosen. Not first, anyway.”
She’s not looking at me, but I can hear it in her voice—how much that truth costs her.
“I’ve been the friend. The convenient option. The one they text late when they’re lonely, or after it falls apart with someone else. But no one’s ever looked at me and thought,yeah, it’s her. She’s the one I want, no question.”
My chest aches for her.
“People assume I’ve had this whole string of guys lined up,” she says, voice flat. “Like I’m turning people away left and right. But it’s not likethat. It’s never been like that.”
I want to say something, anything, but I can’t find the words that’ll land right.
Wren laughs softly, like she can feel my silence stretching. “I’m not saying it for pity, Lark. I’m just…tired of pretending I don’t notice. Or that I don’t care, I guess.”
She finally looks over at me. Her eyes aren’t sad—they’re just honest.
And I get it now. The way she carries herself, the walls, the calm. It’s not because she doesn’t care. It’s because she’s learned how to hide it.
“One day,” I say, nudging Moose forward a step, “someone’s gonna show up and choose you—without hesitation, without backup plans. They’ll see the weight you carry, all the things you never say out loud, and they’ll stay anyway. Because it’s you, Wren. And that’ll be enough. And when that day comes, you’ll owe me fifty bucks.”
She lets out a dry laugh, finally meeting my eyes. “Might be holding onto that cash for a while.”
I shrug, a smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. “We’ll see.”
Moose tosses his head like he’s ready to move, already itching to run again. I loosen the reins just enough and glance over. “So, Ringo got anything left in the tank, or did he leave it all back at the creek?”
Wren shifts in her saddle, nudging Ringo forward with a small kick. Her smile breaks easy this time, bright and unguarded. “Hell yeah, he’s got more. He was just pacing himself, waiting for Moose to tire out.”
