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Chapter1
Wren
An embarrassed shudder rushes down my spine and knocks my stomach into my knees. “Goodness gracious, what on earth was I wearing?”
Nose nearly mashed against the glass of the display cabinet, I try to get a better look at the cringe-worthy photo. Among team trophies and other club pictures, the offending image hangs on the far right. As one of eight students in my high school’s yearbook club, I’m in the middle of the back row, flanked by the only boys in the group.
For as long as I can remember, I was always one of the taller girls in school. Come to think of it, at five feet ten, inches, I still stand out among the women in town.
I stare at the picture a little longer. My long, red pigtails, a white button-down shirt stuffed into overalls, and my red Chucks. I suppose I was going for cute back then, though truth be told, I had no fashion sense. It was high school after all.
Thank goodness, the same can’t be said today, and I should hope I’ve learned a thing or two by the age of twenty-five.
A contented smile pulls at the corners of my mouth as I glance down at my flowy plaid dress and comfy, yet stylish, lace-up black booties.
A thumping sound causes me to look to my left, then right. I thought I was alone. Principal Crandall let me in on her way out and said as much.
In either direction, the hallways are desolate. Of course I’m alone. It’s almost seven on a weeknight. Winslow Grove High School is a ghost town. All the teachers and students are gone, even the custodians.
Besides, most people in our little Montana town should be home by now, seeing as a storm is headed our way. I should get home too. I don’t want to be caught out when the bad weather hits. And as if I need any more reasons to get home, I have homemade pot pie and the latest Mhairi McFarlane novel waiting for me.
Thud, thud, thud.
Warily, I trek in the direction of the persistent sound that grows louder the closer I get to the gymnasium. Outside the double doors, a mini orange pylon—the cones Coach uses for training drills—props open one of them open. In addition to the thumping, the squeaky scrub of rubber along the wooden floor hits my ears. I pop my head through the open door.
My pulse quickens.
Oliver Winslow.
The one person in this small town of ours that I go out of my way to avoid. He’s the only one in the gym, dribbling a basketball, and he hasn’t noticed me. I should leave, sneak away before I’m spotted, but the temptation is too great. I take this rare moment to study him. My teenage crush.
Crush? It doesn’t seem fitting when he’s the only man I’ve ever loved.
At six-three, he’s the perfect mash-up of superhero—hello, Thor—and NFL star athlete JJ Watt. Oliver’s always had that all-American, boy-next-door vibe, and this hasn’t diminished with the years.
With his back to me, in a slate-gray Henley and faded blue jeans, he lopes toward the net on the far side of the gym.
Posture relaxed, his broad back muscles ripple and flex as he gracefully guides the ball over the court. I’d forgotten just how wide and defined his shoulders are. Well, one thing is for sure, he’s no longer a boy.
He’s all man now.
Chiseled arms, narrow waist, and what a great ass, so firm…
He spins around, maybe sensing my presence, and stops short. Shoot, did he catch me ogling him?
I force my eyes all the way up to his handsome face, and my cheeks grow hot at his big smile.
“Wren.” He grips the ball to his hip and wrinkles a brow. “What are you doing here?”
I try to ignore the little lurch in my stomach at the warm rasp of my name. He runs a hand through his light-brown hair, short on the sides, a little longer and wavy on top.
“Is that anyway to say hello?” I smile and, on shaky legs, step over the pylon.
I can only hope my teasing tone and confident strides belie the butterflies unleashing chaos on my insides.
“Sorry, that came out all wrong.” He hangs his head for a beat. “It’s nice to see you.”
“You too. I was just dropping off some books from the library. We’re donating them to the high school. We do it every few years when we need to make space for new books.”
