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And now, in that dress, with how it clings to her chest and then flares at her slender waist, with her flaming red hair… She’s stunning. The long, natural waves accentuate her high cheekbones and those cupid’s-bow lips.
Damn.
“Oliver?”
I look away, needing to break her spell. “Uh, yeah. Remember Wade?” I pause until she nods, recalling the school handyman. “Well, he didn’t know about the problem, and when he saw the door dismantled…”
I can’t help but smile and let out a long sigh. Wade Jeffers means well, always wants to help where he can.
“Let me guess. He put the door back together thinking he was fixing things.”
“Yeah. Coach figured it was still jammed and didn’t want to risk finding out with classes already underway. So he kept the doors wide open, only placing the cone there for me before he left.”
“Sorry.” Still chewing on her plump bottom lip, her gaze searches the gym. “Where’s your phone? You could call Dot to come get us out.”
I stiffen at the mention of my would-be wife, or at least that’s how Wren knows things to be.
As if sensing my apprehension, the ever-present rosy color in her cheeks fades. “Or maybe that isn’t a good idea.”
She isn’t wrong, and the implication hangs between us, awkward and thorny. My ex-fiancée would lose her shit if she found me alone with any woman, but most of all Wren.
Dot and I started dating early in the fall of the year Wren returned from college. I’d been waiting for Wren, missed her, and was determined, once we were both back in Winslow Grove, to find out if we could be more than friends.
But Wren came back with a boyfriend. I was upset, jealous even, and not long after that, Dot asked me out. Foolishly, I said yes, figuring it wouldn’t be anything serious. I’d wait Wren out.
In hindsight, I should’ve stayed single and steered clear of Dot. She wasn’t easy to shake, and though Wren broke up with the guy she was seeing, not even six months later she was with Lane. In my mind, there wasn’t any doubt—Lane was the one.
My chest tightens just thinking about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re engaged. If not now, soon, for sure. By then, Dot was pressuring me for more, her claws deep into me, and things unraveled from there.
Wren’s voice slices through the gnawing in my gut. “I could call Percy or Pop.”
Yes, her younger sister or father are much better choices to call for help.
“Sure.” I grab my jacket and fish out my phone from the inside pocket. “Shit. I’ve got less than ten percent battery.”
“That might be enough.” She takes the phone and punches in a number.
“I’m impressed you know the number. I’d be screwed without my phone.”
“Pop drilled it into our heads.” She smiles and taps her temple. “It’s ringing.” Her smile gets a little bigger, and I try not to think about the meaning.
Is she eager to get away from me? Was that our problem? I wanted something that was never there?
Nah, we had chemistry. Shit, we still have it, this much I know.
Timing was always at the heart of it, and even now, timing will screw us over. She’s with Lane, and of all the nights I could run into Wren Tyler, have a chance to really talk to her, tell her how I feel, it’s the night I’m leaving town.
This woman. She still sparkles. She’s lit from within and makes any room, along with those in it, glow. People are drawn to her much like when you gather around a fire to bask in the warmth. Happy and comforted.
When was the last time I felt this way? This strange and vibrant buzzing under my skin—I’ve only ever experienced it when Wren was near.
I suppose it was the last time I really talked to her. How long has it been since we’ve been alone like this? Five years? Maybe longer?
Winslow Grove is a small town, and most people know of or about you, but weeks can go by before you see the same person twice. While Wren and I run in similar circles and frequent the same places, we usually only see each other a few times a year. And never alone. Even then, it’s only a wave, a smile, or a head nod. No conversation.
Her brow furrows. “It’s not working. The phone rings, but only once and then the connection cuts out.” She glances at my phone. “Less than three percent battery now.”
“All right. Where’s your phone?” I shove mine into my jacket pocket again.
