Nick’s mouth opens, then shuts.
“Enough,” Mr. Hall says finally, voice weary. “We have guests. Dinner’s ready. Everyone… dining room.”
The awkward shuffle to the table feels like a walk through wet cement. Conversations stutter and restart, no one sure where to look. Heather’s cheeks are pink, but she’s giving her best hostess smile. Wren’s hand stays low on my back, a steady pressure that says I meant that.
We end up side by side, of course, while Nick sits across from us, tight-lipped and simmering like stew. No, likechili.Thick and full of big, fat beans.
Heather says grace. I keep my eyes down, but Wren’s presence is beside me—her thigh brushing mine beneath the table.
“Potatoes, Edie?” Heather offers once the prayer is over and we’re ready to dig in.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the dish with careful hands.
Wren leans closer, her breath ghosting my ear. “You okay?”
“Define okay,” I whisper back.
“Looks like you’re shaking.” Her tone is amused, but there’s concern there, too. Her pinky grazes my thigh again—an accident, except totally not.
I swallow hard. “You just kissed me in front of your entire family.”
Her lips curve. “Yeah. Kind of hard to top that, huh?”
Across the table, Nick’s knife screeches against his plate.
Heather flinches. “Nicholas…”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, not looking fine at all.
Conversation starts up again, but it’s stilted and artificial. Wren slips her hand under the tablecloth, resting it on my knee. The casualness of it is almost worse than the kiss. It’s like we’ve been dating for years, let alone what… a day?
Her fingers move higher, slow and deliberate.
“Wren,” I hiss.
“What?” she replies, still smiling at her mother’s story about the neighbor’s new puppy. “You look tense. Thought I’d help.”
I hiccup when her hand slides up another inch. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.” Her thumb strokes the inside of my thigh. “You’re beautiful when you’re trying not to react.”
I reach for my wine glass to cover the tremor in my hand. Meanwhile, I’m getting felt up in front of the whole family, only it’s beneath the nice holiday tablecloth. Somewhere at the other end of the table are my parents. Oh, God, did they see the kiss? I haven’t seen them in a week and haven’t talked to them in three days. Since they moved up to Florence for dad’s retirement, we don’t cross-check what’s going on…
Damnit. Wren is still touching me. I think she’s about to stop before it goes too far…
She doesn’t.
“You’re shaking,” she whispers. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
I don’t.
“Edie, sweetheart, you look flushed,” Heather says. “Are you alright?”
I manage a tight smile. “Just warm.”
“It is a bit warm in here,” Wren agrees, voice a touch lower than usual. “Maybe we should crack a window.”
Nick’s fork clatters against his plate.
