Page 8 of Mended Fences
I just metmy future wife.
I was calling it. Didn’t matter that she was technically alreadymarried.
She wasn’t wearing a ring. And the look on her face when Tessa mentioned it?
That was not the reaction of a happily married woman.
Fuck me sideways…
She was perfect.
Dark waves of hair spilled over her shoulders, glossy and thick—hair you wanted to get your hands tangled in. Her skin—golden, warm, smooth—looked like it would taste like honey if I was privileged enough to press my lips to it. And her eyes—Christ, her eyes—big, dark, assessing. The kind of gaze that stripped a man bare, lefthim feeling like he’d just been diagnosed with something terminal.
She wasn’t just beautiful; she was a force. Smart, capable, untouchable. Except she wouldn’t be untouchable to me.
Because I’d decided—the moment I saw her sitting in that booth, with absolute certainty—that she wasmade for me.
She didn’t know it yet, but I’d make her see.
I’d kept one eye on her all night. I didn’t miss the way the vibe took a nosedive when Tessa sat down, but shit seemed to pick back up after Elena knocked back four shots of tequila.
Elena.
What a beautiful fucking name.
Elena Everton.
Sounded so damn good.
I shook off the daydream as I watched Tessa pull away from the curb, taking my future wife with her. It was cold as shit standing out on the sidewalk in the middle of December in front of Callaghan’s, and I wasn’t wearing a coat.
I’d run out here when I came back from the pisser and noticed they were no longer in their booth. Just in time to see Elena fall on her bony ass.
She looked too thin—not that it was right to judge any woman’s weight. But despite her beauty, her eyes had looked a bit sunken and sad.
Like she needed a big hug and a cheeseburger.
Instead, she had to settle for my daring rescue as I scooped her up from the sidewalk. She was light as a fucking feather and smelled like heaven.
Like trouble wrapped in vanilla and something dark—burnt sugar, maybe, like that time my mom left caramel melting onthe stove just a second too long. That scent stuck in your head, clung to the backs of your eyes, settled in your lungs like a promise you didn’t fully understand yet.
It was warm, but not overly sweet. Clean, but not sterile. It was the kind of scent that belonged to a woman who didn’t chase, didn’t beg—who just existed, effortlessly drawing you in like gravity with a pulse.
And now that I’d breathed her in, I knew one thing for certain.
I’d never be the same.
I wokeup feeling good for a change.
It was only nine in the morning, and I wasn’t hungover. Usually, I was passed out until about noon, waking up just in time to disappoint my entire family.
Again.
Last night, I’d been too busy watching Elena to tie one on.
And after Tessa drove away with her in the passenger seat, the night felt over.
So I went home and fucked my fist while thinking about the stunning, fierce woman who was too tiny to handle four shots of tequila and remain upright.
