Page 25 of One Day

“Oh, you have it bad,” Flynn says, grabbing my arm when someone comes in behind us and tugging me towards her. Before I can think too hard about what she said, our attention is pulled to the other side of the room by the whole reason we’re here.

“Flynn! I’m so glad you came,” Devon greets her, wrapping her arms around my best friend tightly. For whatever reason, Flynn can’t see it, but I do. It’s clear as day on Devon’s pixie-like features, the absolute delight she has just by seeing Flynn. “And you brought Walker!”

“My favorite barista,” I say with a smile.

“I’m glad you both could come. Wren’s work is just over here.” She points towards the only section not taking up the walls.

Instead, five clean white podiums are scattered across the gallery floor at varying heights, each supporting a sculpture. An anatomically correct heart with wildflowers growing from the vessels, a sculpted torso with shards of glass sticking out the back, an upward palm with tree roots growing up, and the ignitor of an oversized matchstick carved into an ear. All breathtaking takes on heartbreak and hope, but it’s the one sitting in the center that stalls my heart in my chest.

Displayed on the tallest podium, I take in the bottom half of a head sculpted from clay and the wired chaos above it clawing its way out of the empty skull.

A visual representation of an overthinking mind in its most chaotic form.

“This is incredible,” I say, pointing to it without realizing I’ve drifted from Flynn’s side.

“Isn’t it? Wren’s so insanely talented,” Devon says, directing my attention to the dark-haired girl standing in the corner having a deep conversation with a blonde woman. She’s nodding along to everything she says, but when she turns her head, I can see the faraway look on her face, like she’s begging to be saved.

Devon must clock it, too, because she shoots me a small smile as she moves around me. “I’ll be right back,” she says, her eyes lingering on Flynn before going to rescue her friend.

“By my side all night, my ass,” Flynn says, letting out a breath when it’s just the two of us. “This is already going so bad. She’s going to hate me. I’ve never reacted to art that way. You were so insanely taken with it, Walker. That’s not me.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. She already likes you, Flynn. She basically lit up when she saw you were here. That’s not a reaction someone gives if there isn’t something there.”

She hums and dips her chin to the left. “Incoming.”

I turn my head in time to see Sonya on her way over, a little skip in her step. “Hey, you two! I didn’t know you were coming to this,” she says, sliding into my side. My arm comes around her, and instantly, the thin layer of anxiety that’s been sitting over my skin for the last forty-eight hours lifts. “How are you, Flynn?”

“Freaking out,” Flynn answers, staring at the piece that took me away from her.

Sonya lifts her head from my arm to look at me. “Do I ask?”

“Better if you don’t,” I say with a small laugh. “I didn’t know Everett was in this.”

“It was a last-minute switch in,” she says before looking at the sculpture that had won me over. “This is beautiful,” she says, taking a step towards it. “Who’s the artist?”

“Wren Abbott,” Wren answers her question, extending her hand out to Sonya.

Most people would miss it, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m so acutely attuned to Sonya that I see the slight tension in her shoulders at the name. “Your work is beautiful,” she says, a tight smile on her lips.

“It’s probably killing you to be over here, isn’t it?” Wren asks with a small laugh, her eyes moving from Sonya to the heavy glare from across the room belonging to Everett.

It’s then I realize that this Wren, must be the Wren. The one I’ve only heard about in passing and from Everett’s mouth. He’s not a very vocal guy. He usually holds his cards close to his chest, but his distaste for Wren is the only thing I’ve ever seen bring him to life. I’ve never seen someone so visibly shaken by their hatred for another person.

Sonya shakes her head. “Everett will get over it.”

Wren lets out another laugh, this one a little richer, and her vibrant green eyes shimmer with amusement. “Yeah, I’m sure he will. Let him know not everyone thinks I’m the worst human to exist. Some may even say I’m an angel.”

I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from laughing, but Flynn fails and brings her hand up to try and hide it. “He’s never—” Sonya starts.

“You don’t need to try and protect my feelings,” Wren says, her smile sugarcoating the venom in her tone. “He doesn’t like me, and that’s fine. I don’t need him to.”

“Right…” Sonya trails off, the hand on my back sliding down until she pressed tightly to my side. I can tell Wren’s bluntness is making her uncomfortable. It’s surprising just how much considering who her friends are and how honest they can be, but I guess it leaves a film of sorts on her mind when it comes to new people. It’s not as easy to swallow.

Scanning the room for something to change the subject, I spot the bar in the corner and slide my hand down her spine. The open back of her dress allows my skin to meet hers, and with it, I feel the goosebumps rise on her skin. “I could use a drink,” I say. “Sunny?”

“Yes, please.” Her hand slides down until her fingertips are dipping into the back pocket of my black jeans. I try not to flinch at the sudden touch. She’s always been a touchy kind of person, but she’s never been this bold with where she puts her hands.

“Flynn? Devon? Can we get you anything?” I extend the offer to them first, but when they both turn me down, it shifts to Wren. “Wren?”

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