Page 34 of Strike Zone

Good luck.

Remember to smile.

But not your creepy one.

8

WREN

My creepy one? I don’t have a creepy smile. I had braces for two years and wore a retainer at night for years after that. My smile is perfect.

“Wren,” my dad says, pulling me into a hug.

“Daddy.” I wrap my arms around him and breathe in his familiar scent. It is calming and reassuring, and brings me back home.

“I’ve missed you.” He looks me over. “You’re happy?” he questions.

“Yes,” I answer, without hesitation. I am happy. I have good friends, albeit one annoying one at times. I’ve always kept my friend group small. Even back home, there were only a few girls that I spent time with outside of school on occasion.

While I love both my parents equally, I can admit I am my dad’s little girl. I chose to spend any free time I had with him. He understands me in a way no one else does because we are similar. He has the same social and mental struggles I do.

He’s taught me to use them to my advantage and be the best version of myself. I don’t know who I would be without him.

Wyatt calls me strange, but to me, it’s how I grew up. I’ve adopted all of my dad’s quirks. We both thrive on order and structure. Although lately it seems Wyatt has been testing my limits and my willingness to bend my rules.

I search the bar for Mr. Abbott and his son, Daniel.

“I sent them ahead to the table. I wanted a moment alone with you. Daniel is a nice guy. He will be an asset to the company once he graduates. But if he isn't the right fit for you or you aren’t interested in more, this marriage doesn't happen. Or if there is someone else in your life—”

“There’s no one else,” I cut him off before that idea can get planted and start to grow. There will never be anyone else. I’m not cut out for intimate relationships.

“Leave it to your mother to make an offhand comment years ago in front of Fred and have it escalate to this. She’s under the impression he would be a good match for you.”

When I was a teenager I overheard my mom talking on the phone talking to a friend about my dad. She said, “he’s hard to love, but I do it anyways.” It could have been in jest. The thought wormed itself into my head regardless of its validity. I’m so similar to my dad. I put two and two together and decided I must be hard to love too. The notion has stuck with me ever since.

My mom doesn’t think Daniel is a good match for me. She thinks he is the only option for me to find a husband. It’s a fair assumption. I’ve never shown much interest in dating. I know that has always bothered her.

She grew up in a world where a good marriage doubled as a status symbol. Me showing more interest in pursuing a career instead of marrying a man goes against everything she was groomed to do. I know she wants the best for me. However, wanting and knowing what’s best are two different things.

“Maybe he is. We already know we are like minded when it comes to work and business. We could match up on other things too.” I bet Daniel doesn’t have a closet full of costume horrors like Wyatt. His clothes aren’t likely to be left in piles on the floor to wrinkle. They are starched and as stiff as his personality.

“That would make things easier. The choice however is yours. This is your life. You get to decide what you want.”

“What do you mean it would make things easier?”

“If you had more things in common. It would be easier,” he says without looking me in the eye. Why do I get the impression he isn’t telling me everything? “Remember none of this is worth sacrificing your happiness, Wren.”

“It wouldn’t. I never planned on getting married. It makes sense to try with Daniel.”

“Let’s see how things go tonight before we make any decisions.”

My dad leads me to a table near the back of the restaurant. I had zero preparation time for this. It was a last minute invitation. Mr. Abbott, Daniel, and my dad were passing through Montgomery and got delayed overnight.

They felt it would be the ideal time for Daniel and me to mingle. It wasn’t. I had to cancel my plans with Wyatt. He seemed fine with it. Probably relieved actually.

I press my hands down the front of my dress. It is a simple black cocktail dress with a cinched waist. It’s conservative but accentuates my figure while still being classy.

Both men stand from the table as we approach. Daniel is handsome with his blond hair and boy-next-door appeal. He has filled out since the last time I saw him. Not quite the gangly teenager I remember. He looks refined and polished in his tailored suit and tie. Like a shiny new toy to play with.

---