Page 88 of When We Were Us
“That was before vomit entered the chat.”
“If a little vomit is enough to scare off Hank Hayes, honey, he ain’t worth it.” She nudges my calf with her foot. “Besides, nobody uses chat rooms anymore, Grandma.”
“Shut up.” I scoot up and yank the blanket off her. “You don’t get to share my blanket anymore.”
Shoulders shaking with laughter, she yanks it back. “Seriously, Wren, it’s not like you do this all the time. You had fun, and maybe a little too much to drink.” A snicker escapes her, and I lean my head back with a low chuckle. “But that man was on your doorstep at seven a.m. withginger ale, Wrenley. Do you think Hank would have done that if he was the least bit turned off by you blowing chunks on his boots?”
I shoot her a horrified look and slap my hand over my mouth. “I barfed on his boots?”
She waves a hand through the air, and I kick her again. “Figure of speech,” she says with a laugh.
I take another bite of toast. “You said you’ve all seen how he looks at me.” I swallow, not sure I want to know the answer. “How does he look at me?”
She snorts. “That man worships you, girl.” With a roll of her eyes, she sits up and folds her legs crisscross. “Even after the puking.”
I eye her while biting my thumbnail. “You really think so?”
“Here.” She unfolds her petite frame from the couch and leaves the room, then comes back a few seconds later with her phone. Sitting so our thighs are touching, she unlocks it, clicks a few times on the screen, and then turns it toward me.
Looking up at me from the screen is a picture of us sitting around the fire last night, minus Finn, since she’s the one taking the photo.
Hudson is making a stupid face with his tongue out. Hutch is laid back against the chair, one ankle crossed over a knee, and a beer raised in cheers. Nat and Norah are both roasting marshmallows, and Haley is taking a huge bite of a s’more. My eyes are drawn to the edge of the photo, where I sit next to Hank. A blanket is draped over my shoulders, and there’s a wide smile on my face.
But it’s the expression Hank wears that has my breath catching in my throat because Finnley is right. He is looking at my profile like I am the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.
She swipes a thumb across the screen and another picture comes up, this one of us playing cornhole. While I lean in to take my shot, Hank is standing off to the side with a look of longing on his handsome face.
Three, four, five times she swipes, and in every picture including Hank and me, he has some variation of that look on his face. It’s the same look he had with me in the kitchen as we did dishes, and then again when he’d pulled me against him.
The last picture is of just Hank and me. I’m leaning over the railing of the deck with my tongue sticking out, eyes crossed. Hank’s arm is slung over my shoulders, with his lips pressed to my temple and eyes closed. Heat pools in my core and I flick a glance at Finn. I don’t even remember her taking these. Regret tugs at my gut. I wish I could remember. I have a sudden urge to see him, and tears prick my eyes.
She shrugs and cocks an eyebrow at me. “See? Worship.”
Emotion swirls inside me, overwhelming me. My heart feels like it could burst with how hard it’s pounding. Admitting to Ginger my love for Hank had been a relief. I knew Ginger would understand. Although, I had been surprised she’d already known. And I had hoped that Hank would eventually see past everything that happened when we broke up, especially since we’d had such a rocky reunion.
I was glad we were on speaking terms again, and every time I am with him lately, I want more. But I never dreamed he would look at me like this again. I never dared to let myself see him as anything more than the boy from my hometown who cared enough to hold my hand when my life crumbled at ten years old and stole my heart at eighteen years old. We were kids back then. I never dared to dream that we could have more of that as adults.
Leaning back against the couch, I have photographic confirmation of something very real still between us. I mean, now that I’ve admitted my love for him, it’s obvious not just from the photos but from our interactions lately as well. I would have to be stupid not to feel it; not to see it. And the way he is looking at me in those pictures feels a whole lot like it used to feel with Hank.
“I’d like to thank him for the ginger ale and the, uh…the hair holding. Do you think—” I look over at her, butterflies erupting in my stomach with a grin. “Do you have his number?” It feels ridiculous but exhilarating at the same time, like I’m back in high school asking for a boy’s phone number.
Her face breaks into a wide grin. “He put his number in your phone last night.”
And despite the nausea and my pounding head, I am off the couch and up the stairs in less than thirty seconds. Finnley’s sweet laugh follows me the whole way.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
hank
I’ve beenin my office in the barn since seven-thirty this morning, but I can’t focus for shit. I wanted to see Wren this morning, but when I dropped off the ginger ale, Finn said Wren was still sleeping.
Last night was quite possibly one of the best nights of my life.
Wren had looked perfect when I turned and saw her on the deck. I had hoped she’d come, but I was surprised at the way seeing her made me feel. For years, I’ve dreamed about what life would look like if she’d never left.
I’ve tried everything to forget her, and we’d been kids back then. But in the years that followed her leaving, I hadn’t been able to shake my feelings for her. Hadn’t been able to forget how much bigger my world felt with her in it. So, to have her here again has me grasping at any and every opportunity to have her back for good.
But I’m also terrified of making a wrong move, or saying too much, as if admitting what I want could cause her to bolt. Especially when there’s still a very real possibility that she could walk away from me again.
