“At least let me pay for mine.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “It’s on me.”
“I can’t let you do that,” she said as the waiter returned with my card and the receipt.
“It’s not up to you.” I grinned and signed the copy, my body humming from the good meal and even better company. It made me happy to do something for her. To treat her to something.
“I’ll pay you back.” Like hell she would. I wouldn’t allow that to happen.
Even so, I knew I couldn’t tell her that. Wren was too strong, too independent to want to accept anyone’s charity.
“It’s the least I can do,” I said. “I know you gave me a deep discount on those photos.”
She scrunched up her nose, but she didn’t deny it. About a month ago, I’d hired her to take photos of some of the animals at the shelter in the hopes that they’d get adopted. She’d brought River, and we’d spent the day laughing and having the best fucking time. But she’d undercharged me, even if she wouldn’t admit it.
“Come on.” I stood. “You want to get out of here?”
She nodded and stood. “I have all night. I love River, but it’s so nice to have adult time sometimes.”
“And what does ‘adult time’ typically include?” I rasped, my hand on her lower back.
She leaned into me and lowered her voice. “Sometimes—I like to get really naughty and stay up past my bedtime reading.”
I chuckled. “Oh yeah? What kinds of books?”
“Psychological thrillers, end of days, post-apocalyptic–type stuff.” I wasn’t sure what I’d expected her to say, but it wasn’t that.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“No reason,” I said. “I just figured you’d prefer something lighter. Everyone around here seems obsessed with Meghan Hart.” She was a local romance writer who was famous across the world for her love stories. Though, as far as I knew, no one had ever actually seen her around town. She was reclusive, liked her privacy.
“I’m sure her books are great, but I prefer something a little more… I don’t know. Different.”
I nodded, holding the door open for her as we emerged onto the street. “Have you readOne Second After?”
“Oh. My. God.” She turned to me as we strode down Main Street. “So good, right?”
“Yes. Your dad was the one who recommended it to me.” We paused on a bridge overlooking the pond, a family feeding ducks on the grass nearby. Farther down—past the gazebo—a little girl and her dad were fishing.
Wren laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Me too! That’s too funny.”
We found a bench and stayed there awhile, comparing notes on books. She’d always been a big reader—like the rest of her family. But Wren’s choice of genre surprised me.
“Want to grab some ice cream?” I finally asked, hooking my thumb over my shoulder.
“Always.” She stood, and when I held out my arm, she curled hers through it.
We stopped at Lick, where the owner, Sandra, wiped her hands on her colorful apron and gave us a wink. “Aren’t you two adorable. Out for an evening on the town. What can I get you?”
I didn’t bother to correct her, and neither did Wren.Interesting.
She ordered her usual—salted caramel—while I opted to try the new flavor, horchata. I thanked Sandra and paid, and then we took our cones outside.
“Oh damn,” I said, licking the coconut-based cream. “This is good.” It tasted like…a cinnamon roll and something else.
“Let me try,” she said, leaning closer.
