Page 91 of When We Were Us
Her reply is immediate.
Wrennie Girl
It’s a date.
I fist pump the air and Tuck jumps when I exclaim, “Hell yeah, it is!”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
hank
After texting with Wren,and with the reality of seeing her tonight, I’m strangely settled and able to get most of my work done. If I had known a simple text from her would calm me, I would have gotten her number weeks ago instead of dicking around like a fifteen-year-old.
I finish up in my office, clean a few stalls, and sit with Apollo for a few minutes.
I leave early, which is something I rarely do. The anticipation of seeing her after last night is too much. So, after checking in with Jack and the farrier who is there to reshoe one of the horses, I head home and grab a shower.
Once I’m dressed in a pair of my least-worn cargo pants and a T-shirt, I head into town to pick up some soup for Wren. I’m not sure she’ll feel like eating, but I want to show up with something, but a bouquet of flowers just seems too cliché and really fucking pretentious when I think about it.
We’d had some pretty intimate moments recently, and I didn’t want to put too much pressure on her. We had agreed to be friends, but nothing that had happened between us since felt like friends. And maybe that whole, ‘it’s a date’ thing was just her way of trying to make things less awkward. Still, I don’t know where things stand with her business or her ex, or where she is going to land on going back to California. As far as she told me, after the house sells, she will be leaving.
Of course, I want her to stay. Every time I think about her leaving, I can’t breathe. But I’m not an idiot. This whole damn thing could blow up in my face, and I’ll have to go through losing her all over again. Admittedly, that scares the living shit out of me. But not enough that I’m not willing to try. I’ve spent half my life in love with this woman, and I’m not letting a second chance go by without taking it.
So, at half past seven, I pull my truck into her driveway and kill the engine. My feet feel like bricks of concrete and my stomach roils with nerves as I climb out of the truck. I cross the gravel drive, then take the four steps up to the porch to stand outside her door. Knocking softly, I wait, with soup in hand and another six-pack of ginger ale under one arm. Just in case she needs it. My heart thunders in my chest like a sixteen-year-old on a first date.
She opens the door, looking more beautiful than ever in a long, denim blue cardigan sweater that’s open in the front, revealing an oversized, white V-neck T-shirt and those incredible ass-hugging leggings underneath. Her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders and her feet are bare, with those perfectly painted pink toenails making my mouth go dry as I take her in. How is it that even this woman’s feet are sexy?
“Hey.” The soft smile she gives me just about stops my heart and I swallow hard before I can greet her.
“Hey.”
This is our thing, right? That tentative greeting before the awkwardness of the situation is dispersed and we can function like normal human beings. It reminds me of us as kids.
When I speak again, my voice doesn’t sound like my own, and I find it hard to even meet her gaze. “I brought—” My voice cracks like a kid going through puberty, and my throat is tight with emotion at being here together for no other reason than we want to be. So, I clear my throat and try again. “I brought you some soup. I didn’t know if you’d feel like eating.” I raise the takeout container and look down at the soda I’m holding. “And, uh, some more of this, too.”
“Sounds perfect.” Her smile and eyes are warm. She steps back, with one arm holding open the screen door for me to step inside.
She takes the container from me, watching while I unlace and take off my boots. I set them next to her Chucks and a pair of flip-flops, and then follow her into the kitchen.
She sets the soup on the counter and tips her head toward the soda I’m still holding. “I still have a can or two of that left, but you can put it in the fridge if you want.”
I nod and cross to the fridge, setting the soda on the shelf next to a gallon of milk. When I straighten up and close the fridge, she’s smiling at me from where she stands at the stove. My hands itch to touch her, hug her…something. Instead, I’m awkward as fuck right now, tucking my hands into my pockets and then pulling them back out.
Why the hell am I so nervous all of a sudden?
Finally settling on crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the opposite counter. I watch as she cracks the lid on the soup, inhaling the rich broth as she does. “This smells amazing.”
“It’s chicken and rice.” Her eyes meet mine across the space and it relaxes me a little. “I know how you hate slimy noodles, so I thought this would be better.” I clear my throat. “You know, for your stomach.”
“You remember that?” The soft look she gives me is a mix of surprise and disbelief. It nearly knocks the breath from me.
I remember everything.
“I thought it might be better because of, you know…with all the…” I trail off and make a showwith my fingers of something coming back up, then stick my tongue out.
She laughs out loud, a grin splitting her beautiful face. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Little bit.” I chuckle with a small shrug. “Just call it an icebreaker.”
