Page 15 of Making His Move

“It’s too early for monkey business, Mr. Shaw. You and your urges depleted my energy. My batteries need recharging.” Wren rolls over to face me and snuggles into my chest. My heart swells with love for a woman who doesn’t know I’ve completely fallen for her. She’ll think I’m crazy. One week is too soon to feel it, let alone say it.

But this is special. When you know, you know, and my weary soul recognized Wren from the start. Making love only solidified what I already knew was true.

“Would you rather I made breakfast for you? I can run to the store and grab ingredients, or we can shower and dress.” I trail lazy kisses down her shoulders and wait for her to consider the question.

She pretends to think, then nods off, reclining her forehead onto my chest, smashing her face like a sleeping cat.

I nudge her and kiss the top of her head. “We don’t have to go anywhere, sweetheart. If you’re still tired, we’ll sleep some more.”

Wren rouses, murmuring as she rolls over and gives me her back. “It’s Saturday morning in Manhattan. Did you make reservations?”

“I did.” I wiggle closer and wrap my arm around her waist, savoring the moment as long as possible. It’s not every day a man spends his first morning with his future wife. “We have reservations in precisely one hour at Sarabeth’s. Do you want to skip it?”

Wren’s eyes pop open, and she shoots up into a sitting position, exposing her naked breasts to my grateful view. “Sarabeth’s? How did you manage it at the last minute? Their bookings are always weeks out.”

“O ye of little faith. Do you doubt me?” I recline into the headboard and watch the exhaustion fade from her face. That’s a girl after my own heart, happy to trade rest for food.

“Seriously, Ford. I’ve had a craving for their hotcakes for weeks. Nana and I have a reservation for two weeks. It’s the earliest I could get.” Wren tosses the covers, scrambles out of bed, and heads into the bathroom.

“They had a last-minute cancellation, and I know one of the managers. He owed me a favor after we moved him with little notice last year,” I shout, unsure if she can hear me over the high-pitched hiss of the shower, but she doesn’t answer.

I guess she wants brunch after all.

* * *

It wasn’ta good idea to shower together when we have reservations in an hour, but Wren insisted I join her. How in the hell could I say no? Fortunately for our schedule, she didn’t respond to my attempts to seduce her. My little bird has hotcakes on the brain and needs time to prepare.

After dressing, I return to the bedroom and plug in my phone using Wren's charger. She needs more time and politely asks me to grab her phone from downstairs, confident it’s run out of charge. Of course, I oblige and sprint downstairs, finding it sitting pretty on the kitchen counter.

Wren has thirty-seven missed calls and fourteen messages. What in the fucking world?

“Baby, someone is trying to get a hold of you. They blew up your phone last night. You should check and find out what they want,” I holler as I climb the stairs, hoping it’s not an emergency involving her grandparents.

Wren appears on the third-floor landing, half-dressed, her brows furrowed with concern. “Who called?”

I shake my head and hand her the phone. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I just saw the notifications.”

She taps the screen and swipes on her notifications. She stares at the screen, her eyes shifting left to right, then narrowing as she quickly reads one message after the other. Her worried expression fades and transforms to rage.

“Is everything okay?” I follow her into the bedroom, curious but unwilling to ask too many questions about a private matter. I don’t want to be that kind of guy.

“It’s fine.” Wren tosses her phone on the bed and returns to the bathroom, quietly muttering profanities while she brushes her hair. “It was someone with an overinflated sense of self-worth and no understanding of boundaries. It’s not important.”

I nod, unsure what she means but guessing it’s her ex-boyfriend. No matter what that dick believed when he broke up with her, Wren can’t be an easy person to get over. Not that I care about his fucking feelings. His loss is my win, and unlike him, I’ll never be dumb enough to let this little bird go.

“We should go!” Wren fastens her watch and smiles, patting her stomach to indicate she’s starving. “I need hotcakes, sir. And no one is delivering them here.” She laughs and playfully trails her finger up my chest.

I catch her hand and bring it to my lips, smiling wide as I say, “If my girl wants hotcakes, then she gets hotcakes.”

Wren wraps her arms around my waist, tilts her head, and puckers her lips, demanding a kiss I’m more than willing to deliver. I lean forward, admiring the shape of her plump lips and ready to kiss off the thin layer of lip gloss she just applied.

While she waits patiently with eyes closed, our tender moment is violently interrupted by the raucous sound of a maniacally repeating doorbell.

“Are you expecting someone?” I ask, instantly on guard by her guest's hostile greeting.

“Jesus Christ!” Wren yells as she grabs her purse and charges downstairs. “I know who it is, and in typical fashion, he chooses the most inopportune time to crawl out of his hole.”

I follow her, hot on her heels, as she heads for the foyer.

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