I take a step closer, voice dropping. “You don’t scare me, Nick. You never have.”
Something flickers in his eyes. I mistake it for shame at first, but I should know better. There’s only ambition in those eyes now. Thank God he has Dad’s eyes, so I don’t have to share them with him! “You don’t know everything, Wren.”
“Then enlighten me.”
He doesn’t. Just takes his tea and turns toward the hallway.
I can’t stop myself. “She deserved better than you.”
He stops for a second, then keeps walking.
I stay where I am, trying to shake the heat crawling up my neck. The rain starts again outside. I barely realize that it had stopped for even a few minutes.
For a moment, I remember—Christmas when we were kids. Edie sitting cross-legged by the tree, wrapping paper in her lap, her hair dangerously close to the fire. Nick laughing, me pretending I didn’t notice how pretty she looked amid the Christmas lights. She always had that open smile, the kind that made you want to be friends with her.
I should’ve said something. Now, I can’t stop thinking about the way she tasted today.
By the time I pull on my jacket, Mom’s already asleep upstairs. I step out into the drizzle, breathing in the humid early winter air. The walk to my place isn’t far. Just a brisk ten minutes down the road and a slight turn onto a barely-illuminated sidewalk that I know like the back of my hand. By then, there’s enough traffic on Virginia Avenue that I can make out where I am, even when the rain is heavy or the fog is thick. Like now. I let it pour on top of my head and drip off my slick rain jacket like I’ve got something to prove to everyone around me.Look how tough I am. I don’t mind some bitter cold rain.
The lights of my garage glow before me, and the sight of it loosens something in my throat. Then again, that could be the rain dripping down my cheeks and threatening to clog my nostrils. Like I’m not used to it.
The studio above it is small but warm, cluttered with old records and half-finished projects. I hang my jacket, kick off my boots, and sit on the edge of my bed, leaving a wet imprint on my comforter. The sound of the rain on the roof is steady. Now that I’m no longer out in it, I kinda like its tinkling sounds.
I should be thinking about Nick. About what tomorrow’s going to look like when Edie walks into that house and Mom’s pretending everything’s fine. But all I can think about is her.
Her breath on my neck. The way she said my name like she’s bottled it up inside for most of her life. The way she trembled when I touched her.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the water. But it’s useless. Edie’s in my head now. Soon, she’ll join my bloodstream and officially become a part of me.
Part of me knows this is dangerous. That she’s off-limits. That I’m walking straight into somethingcomplicated.
But another part—the part that’s still burning from that kiss—doesn’t care.
I want her.
And tomorrow, when she walks through my childhood door, I’ll know if she wants me back.
Chapter 5
Edie
Ipull up to the Hall house at five-fifteen sharp, the sky already dark over town.
My hands shake a little as I smooth down my red dress before stepping out of the car. It’s the one that hugs every curve, the kind Nick used to call too much for family dinners. Maybe it is. Do I look like I give a Christmas fig anymore? I like red! I amwearing red!
The Hall house looks the same as it always has—a long, low split-level from the ‘90s, still painted the same soft blue from before, with a string of white Christmas lights running along the eaves. But something in the air feels different. Yesterday’s encounter with Wren has left me restless, charged. I keep checking my phone, though she hasn’t texted. Not that I expected her to.
The door opens before I can knock. Heather Hall stands there, neat as an Instagram influencer, wearing pearls and that fixedsmile that always seems slightly at odds with her gaze. “Edie! You came.” Her tone falters half a note. “We weren’t sure, given… well.”
“Given that Nick dumped me six months ago?” I say lightly. “Your invitation was very kind. My parents are already here?”
“In the living room with everyone.” She takes my coat, her fingers brushing the fabric of my sleeve. “You look lovely, dear. That color suits you.”
I thank her and step inside. The familiar smell of peppermint candles and roast beef fills the house, mingling with something faintly floral—Heather’s perfume, maybe. The living room is crowded with more Halls and family friends. My parents wave from near the fireplace where they’re chatting with Mr. Hall and, of course, Nick.
He looks perfect as always. Pressed navy suit, hair gelled into place, and a polished grin that claims half of his cheeks. But his smile falters when he sees me.
I barely notice, because Wren isn’t here.
