Page 73 of Falling for the Enemy

“You mean since we left the Chowder House?”

By the confusion in his voice, he could already tell the answer was no. “Never mind.”

“I thought she was with you.”

“What’s wrong?” came Wren’s concerned voice in the background.

“She was. We just got…separated. I gotta go.” He hung up before Wren could take the phone. Ten seconds later, his phone rang, but it wasn’t Jocelyn. It was Wren.

He silenced it.

Then the texts flooded in.

What happened?

You two were supposed to talk. You better not be fighting!

Soren, why aren’t you answering me?

It’s bad luck to ignore a pregnant woman!

When he refused to answer, she topped it off with a middle finger emoji. The effect of pregnancy hormones on Wren was wild. She never used to be this feisty.

He rubbed his temples. Jocelyn could be anywhere. The café, a bar, the library, the hardware store—buying rope, tarps, and a shovel.

Another text came through, this time from Olivia.

Soren, we need to talk.

About what?

He was still pissed that she confronted Jocelyn without coming to him first. When he saw her watching them, he felt a pinch of guilt, but nothing more. His concern was mostly about Jocelyn’s feelings, immediately registering that Olivia had just undone all his progress.

He tried calling her again. It was now getting dark. Glancing down at that goddamn wineglass that had been parked on the step for a month, he frowned.

The night they drank that bottle of red, they had been reminiscing about childhood. It was a hot summer day, and kids were running through sprinklers trying to cool off. There was something lazy and nostalgic in the air, and it had been one of the few times he and Jocelyn actually talked.

Of course, they had a hot, sweaty fuck first. But after he pounded her against the wall, she invited him to stay for a glass of wine, which turned into a whole bottle, as they got to talking.

He chuckled, recalling how he’d walked his glass to the sink and washed it before leaving. Yet, here hers sat.

He stiffened as the hint of a memory teased the frays of his mind. He rolled back the conversation as best he could remember, and then it came to him. He knew where she was.

On his feet, he rushed to his SUV and had the car in drive before the engine fully started.

Avoiding the foot traffic on Main Street, he took the back roads past the central part of town and deep into the woods. When he spotted the flash of hazards in the distance, he prayed it was Jocelyn’s car.

Relief flooded him when he confirmed it was.

The ancient stone arches of the bridge spanned the babbling brook below, as glass mason jars glowed like fireflies on the balustrade. Jocelyn wasn’t looking over the edge, but she was there, sitting with her back to an aged pillar, knees up as she sat on the planked ground.

He parked behind her car and turned off the engine.

Despite seeing him, she didn’t acknowledge his approach as he crossed the bridge, so he silently lowered himself to her side and sat in the same position. It had been a decade since he’d visited this place. The scent of wet earth and minerals brought back feelings of his teenage years, some pleasant, some not so much.

Looking like a version of her younger self, she flipped a coin back and forth, weaving it in and out of her fingers as her hands dangled between her knees.

“Did you make a wish?”