Page 156 of One Wild Wish

You were right that I only heard what I wanted when it came to us. There are things I’ve realized about our relationship, things you deserve to hear that I never said. It’s time we talk instead of fight. I’d like to meet in person.

I steered clear of her crude accusations, Caroline’s damaging text, and any divorce talk. I’d sent plenty of angry messages in the past. This was a new tactic. A last-ditch effort to find acceptance so we could both make peace.

I hit Send, then glanced at the clock. Ainsley would be here in half an hour. Her folks lived in a nearby suburb, so I offered to drive, suggesting she leave her car at my place. It would allow her to relax with her friends. Plus, if she drank too much, I wouldn’t let her drive home. A prick move maybe, looking for any excuse to have her stay over, but I was greedy to sleep with her warm body tucked into mine. I wanted to wake her up with my mouth between her thighs, the best kind of breakfast in bed.

I got ready, nerves emerging as I dressed. She didn’t know I’d taken private ballroom classes this week, preparing for tonight’s clubbing afterward. I’d hated missing her texts, but dusting off my dancing skills so I could woo my girl had been more important. Showing her how much she meant to me was more important.

As long as I didn’t trip over myself and blank on the steps.

By the time she arrived, I was fumbling while trying to tie my goddamn shoes, but one glimpse of my blond bombshell dispelled my nerves. Her golden hair fell around her shoulders, mile-high heels adding a sway to her step. Her purple dress was something from The Great Gatsby —shiny on the top half, fringed on the bottom. Sexy as sin. The sight made me happy I wore a vest with my slacks and dress shirt. I couldn’t wait to spin her around a dance floor.

I clasped her fingers and kissed the back of her hand. “You’re beautiful.”

Her gaze slid down my body. “You’re not so bad yourself. Love your shoes.”

The black-and-white wingtips would hopefully serve me well when waltzing.

We didn’t talk much on the drive, but the tension between us had thinned. Odd how silence had so many decibels, this one ringing with comfort.

Ainsley touched my thigh, and I covered her hand with mine, gathering her fingers in my grasp. I wanted to pull to the side of the road and kiss her senseless. I kept my foot on the gas. She gave me directions, seeming a bit fidgety on her seat, but not with unease. I sensed some kind of excitement, hopefully the idea of me meeting her family. If so, it meant she was finding it in her heart to trust me wholly. The notion made me pleased as hell.

Until I parked on her street.

Her white house was small and nondescript, the neighborhood a bit worse for wear. Some lawns were overgrown, others tended. Nothing was odd or out of place, except for the massive tattooed man leaning on her door frame. His thick arms were crossed over a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt, bold ink splashed up his exposed skin, even his neck. His shaved head gave him a sinister look, and his thick blond beard accentuated the death glare launched our way.

I kept my hands on the steering wheel, ready to peel away if necessary. “Are you expecting someone else for dinner?”

Ainsley was all smiles. “Nope. That’s my dad. My brother, Jason, should be here soonish.”

“Your dad ?”

“Don’t worry. I had him lock up his guns. He’s a pussycat, as long as he likes you.”

My balls ran for cover while she hopped out of my truck and practically leapt at the intimidating giant. He lifted her up and flung her through the air.

I struggled to swallow.

Once inside the house, Mason Hall was even more intimidating. He nearly crushed my hand when he shook it, his steely appraisal unrelenting. Ainsley’s mother was a different story. Colleen was as petite as her daughter, rounder curves, her blue eyes tired but warm. She fussed over Ainsley. “Your dress is lovely. Something new?”

Ainsley twirled and the bottom fringe fanned in a circle. “Found it at a vintage shop. Owen likes old movies, so I thought it would be fun.”

The admission hit me square in my chest. I reached for her waist, to pull her closer, but Mason’s scowl deepened. I froze and dropped my arm.

“I understand you just moved back to town, Owen.” Mason growled more than spoke, his voice its own force of nature.

The women drifted into the kitchen, leaving me in the living room to fend for myself. The walls were a light yellow, a few family photos and dried flowers on a mantel above a brick fireplace. There was even a framed ballet poster over their brown couch. Mason Hall looked more of a brute in the slightly feminine space.

I cleared my throat. “I did, sir. I was living in D.C., but spent my teen years in San Francisco. I wanted to come back, be closer to my brother and grandmother.” Unsure whether to cross my arms or let them hang, I shoved my hands into my front pockets.

“And you were married there?”

I bristled at the question, hadn’t expected Ainsley to discuss my history with her father. Not that I had anything to be ashamed of, but his glower darkened with each passing second. “I was married for eight years. We got together young, and it didn’t work out.”

“So now you’re dating around, making up for lost time.”

Jesus fucking left field. “No. Now I’m volunteering at a Habitat for Humanity build, which is where I happened to meet your daughter. I wanted to contribute to the community while I figured things out.” It was bad enough Mason thought I was a player. I didn’t need him assuming I was a deadbeat, too.

He didn’t invite me to sit, didn’t make a move to be polite. “Sounds pretty convenient to me.”