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“It’s all good,” Delilah said as she glanced over the shoe order form. The list for new jazz shoes and ballet slippers was impossibly long. “I’ll order the shoes, so take that off your plate.”
“Thank you,” Wren said, crossing that task off her list.
“So how’s it going with . . . everything after the fire?”
Wren shrugged. She really didn’t want to talk about it, but how could she explain that to one of her best friends? She was only asking out of pure concern and love for her. Wren would sound like a snippy bitch if she brushed off Delilah’s question. “I went back to the house a few days ago. Holden and my mom took me there.”
“Oh.” Delilah seemed like she didn’t know what to say either. “How was it?”
Fucking awful. That’s what Wren really wanted to say. Her every possession was ruined. Thankfully she’d left all her childhood keepsakes and photos at her parents’ house. But everything else? It was gone.
Burned to a crisp.
“Everything’s gone,” she said instead. “It’s all been reduced to nothing but ashes and burnt-out hunks of junk. I have nothing.”
“You still have your car,” Delilah pointed out.
“That’s one good thing.”
“And you have us.” Delilah stood and walked around the desks, kneeling beside Wren so she could wrap her arm around her shoulders. “We’ll take care of you.”
Wren leaned her head against Delilah’s. “I appreciate that. I really do.” What would she have done without them? Dee and Harper had already given so much, and she was so thankful for their generosity.
“How is it staying at Tate’s place? You two getting along okay?” Delilah asked once she settled back into her desk chair.
“He hasn’t been around for us to not get along, so everything’s fine.” He’d worked pretty much the entire time she’d been there, but he would be home tomorrow.
And she was sort of nervous about it.
“He’s such a good guy to step up and help you out like that. I fully planned on having you stay with me, but he insisted,” Delilah said.
“Really? He insisted?”
“Oh, yeah. Like, he wouldn’t even let me talk about it. You were staying with him, end of story.”
“Huh.” He was rather demanding when it came to watching over her. The feminist within her didn’t like it. She could take care of herself, thank you very much. She didn’t need a macho man to tell her what to do or where to stay.
But the girly girl buried even deeper liked that he wanted to take care of her. Appreciated his insistence that she would stay with him, that he was so incredibly protective. His behavior was so very . . . archaic yet sexy too. What woman didn’t want a man to take care of her sometimes?
Hmm, strong women who believed in themselves and didn’t need a man to validate their existence, that’s who. Though she liked that he wanted to help her. Protect her. He made her feel safe.
And she really needed that right now.
“Maybe staying with him will bring the two of you closer together.” Delilah had the nerve to actually wiggle her eyebrows at her.
Wren shook her head. “It’s not like that.” But it so was. He said so himself. He was interested in her. The only woman he wanted was living in his house—direct quote. At the time, she’d not given it much thought, her brain too consumed with all the other bullshit she had to deal with.
But late at night, when she was alone in Tate’s house, lying in the tiny bed in his guest room, she thought about that moment in the restaurant. The heat she’d seen in his eyes, the deep timbre of his voice when he said he wanted her at his place.
“Whatever you say,” Delilah teased, her voice breaking through Wren’s Tate-filled thoughts. “But just . . . be careful.”
The teasing tone was gone, replaced by caution. Wren frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just . . . Tate. He’s a really nice guy. He’s funny, he’s hot, and he’s easy to talk to. Very charming. I also think he really loves the ladies.”
“I’m not stupid, Dee. I know he’s a player.”
“Yeah well, it’s easy to fall under the player’s spell if you let yourself. You’re going to be spending a lot of time with him,” Delilah said. “I don’t want you to get hurt by him.”
