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So why the earlier tears? Why the brief moment of crushing disappointment? It wasn’t directed at her brother and her friend. More like it was directed at . . . herself. Silly, she knew this. She had no boyfriend, not even a real serious prospect, and besides, she didn’t need a man to make her life complete.
But seeing all the love between West and Harper. Watching her friend try her best to make the dinner as special as possible and her brother busting out a gorgeous ring while on one knee. It was all so incredibly romantic that it made Wren’s heart swell . . .
And then bust wide open.
That Tate was the one who ran to her rescue wasn’t lost on her. That he didn’t give her shit or tell her to get it together helped tremendously. He said nothing, just watched her as she tried to compose herself and explain herself, all at once. But he never demanded an explanation.
He just wanted to be there for her. Period.
Even when he called her Dove, she couldn’t complain. It was sweet the way he said it, his voice soft, his gaze warm. He’d taken her hand and led her back out to the tiny dining room, tugging her toward her friends, who embraced her all at once, Delilah and Harper hugging her so hard they almost toppled over.
“Are you okay?” Harper asked close to her ear.
Nodding, Wren pulled away from them, offering up a shaky smile. Damn it, she really needed to get her emotions in check. “I’m happy for you. Seriously.”
“But—” Harper started to protest, and Wren cut her off.
“No buts. I can’t believe it happened this fast, but asking y
ou to marry him is the best thing West could’ve ever done for himself. For all of us. You two are perfect for each other.” Wren’s smile grew. “You’re going to be my sister now.”
“I know!” Harper squealed, pulling her in for a hug again. “I can’t wait.”
Wren couldn’t wait either.
West pushed a glass of champagne into her hand and made a toast, thanking all of them for being here tonight.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said solemnly as he lifted his glass into the air, his gaze only for Harper. “To my future bride, for making me the happiest man on earth tonight.”
Someone else said cheers, and then they were all clinking glasses and drinking, Wren swallowing every drop of her champagne in one giant gulp.
Liquid courage was definitely on the agenda again tonight.
Once the gushy toasts were out of the way—during which Wren might’ve drank three full glasses—music was turned on, so loud it drowned out her thoughts, her worries, her troubles. She helped clean the kitchen for a little bit before Harper shooed her away. She went outside to the backyard, another full glass of champagne dangling from her fingers, moving in time to the beat of the song that was playing.
Wren wasn’t much on dancing. That was more Delilah’s scene. Though with enough champagne in her, she found herself swaying to the beat, her eyes sliding closed. The bass throbbed, and the alcohol flowing through her veins was just enough to make her feel loose.
Free.
Her eyes popped open to find Tate standing a few feet away, clutching a bottle of water and watching her with an amused expression on his face.
“Am I entertaining you?” she asked, raising a brow. “Want me to put on a little show?”
“You’re always entertaining, Dove.” He smirked. “And please, don’t stop dancing on my part.”
There was no one else around them, so she felt bold. Like she could say anything. “I could do a striptease.” Wren executed a little drunken twirl, her glass slipping from her fingers as she nearly fell, tripping over the too-long skirt of her dress. Tate lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground, gathering her in his arms and holding her close to his chest.
His very firm, very warm chest.
Breathless, she gazed up at him, noting how his arm squeezed around her waist. She rested her hands on his chest, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of his T-shirt. Oh, she could get used to this. Being held by Tate, his arm clamped firmly around her, his fingers perilously close to her backside . . .
“You dropped your drink,” he said.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his lips. They were full, the lower lip bigger than the top, and she had the sudden urge to touch them.
But she didn’t.
“Did I break the glass?” she asked, twisting around to see if she could spot it.
