Page 12 of Left of Forever

Yeah, actually, screw this. He’s in love with my best friend. He’s obligated to be friendly with me.

I march up her front steps and rap my fist on the door. Immediately, there’s a series of thuds and muffled voices—the sounds of scrambling and putting on clothes if I’ve ever heard them. There’s the drumbeat of footsteps and then Sage herself is here, leaning awkwardly in the doorway in a flannel robe, her hair a mussed-up tangle, skin flushed and covered in a dewy sheen. I feel my smile up to my hairline.

“What areyouup to?” I ask. “Forget it was a school day, Miss Byrd?”

“I’m sick. I had to call in,” she cheeps.

She’s the worst liar I’ve ever met. All the Byrds are. They each have the same tell. A line between their brows as if they’re trying to look stern, but eyes that widen like they’re scared.

I tilt my head and pout sympathetically. “Aw, poor love. Got a case of the streptoCOCKus?”

“What?!”

“You require an injection only he can provide?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you play coy with me. I know what kind of fever you got. The kind you stay in bed all day for and get precisely no rest.” I cackle merrily. “You’re playing hooky with your boyfriend.”

She darts a resigned glance over her shoulder before she opens the door wider and reveals an equally love-rumpled Fisher, a furious blush on his cheeks and his hoodie on inside out.

“It’s the Friday before Thanksgiving break. We weren’t doing anything, anyway,” Sage admits sheepishly. I press my lips together hard to contain another laugh.

“Hey, Wren,” comes Fisher’s warm greeting. But his gaze bounces right back to Sage, tracing her profile in a way that makes me feel like I might blush, too. It’s like his entire bodysighs. He looks at her the same way people look at my fresh chocolate croissants, like he’s imagining taking her apart and how she would melt on his tongue and… and god, I’m lonely. I need to get laid.

It has to be more than that, though. I’ve done that. I dedicated myself to going out and trying to have my bodily needs met early on after the divorce—tryingbeing the operative word. My efforts were met with dismal results.

This ballooning sensation in my chest isn’t wanting physical comfort again. It’s more of that dangerous hope, as delicate as blown sugar. I wantthat. I want to feel cherished and wanted again, I want to feel that way for someone again. The realization makes me unsteady, like I’m being pulled in two directions.

“Come in and I’ll make us some breakfast?” Fisher offers, and it sends a fresh pain through me. They’re already such acouple, a unit so melded that he’s comfortable enough to make offers when it’s technically her home. I’m elated for her and heartsick for me. Another disconcerting emotion. Sage studies me carefully, and I work to keep my expression bland.

“No, no.” I wave them off. “I’m taking Bud for a ride before the rain rolls in.”

Fisher stretches halfway out the door to peer up toward the sky, one of his earrings glinting in the light.

“Guess that means we should get going then, too,” he says.“I gotta pick up the sample chairs and go through the charade of letting Martha approve them.” He grins.

“Take my van,” I offer. “They’ll fit in the back, and that way if it starts up early, they won’t get wet.”

“You sure?” asks Sage.

“Yeah, I want to muck out Bud’s stall and clean him up and everything, anyway, so I’ll stay awhile.”

They go about getting dressed and take off in my van, so I set myself to brushing Bud’s winter coat, murmuring sweet nothings to him in between his satisfied whickers and snorts.

A cacophony of other animal noises rings through the air. Sable barks happily, the geese honk, and the donkeys bray. I step out of the open barn doors, expecting Sage and Fisher have forgotten something and are back to grab whatever it is, and come face-to-face with Ellis.

CHAPTER 6

WREN

The gears in my mind screech to a halt at the sight of him, even from twenty yards away. I can tell his do the same. His hands ball into fists at his side, the outline of his broad shoulders stiffening. He casts a yearning glance back at his truck and lets out a long exhale that curls silver through the cold air.

I don’t blame him for wanting to flee. Part of me hopes he’ll leave and save us what is sure to be an awkward exchange, especially given our last one.

My chest splinters at the memory of him falling apart in my arms in that hospital hallway a few months ago, knowing how terrified he had to be for Silas and how wrung out he must’ve been to let himself lose it like that. I grind my teeth and try to forget the way my heart thudded against my bones like it wanted to break out and get at his the moment he was in my arms. His warmth and the feel of his hair sliding through my fingers.

No. I can’t let myself think of those things, not when he’s pivoted and marching toward me now.