Page 93 of When It's Us
But I don’t tell her that. Instead, I groan, “God, Wren, I don’t know. Am I stupid for feeling this way?”
She lets out a long breath. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Ginger. But I think you do need to be careful.”
I huff out a breath. “I know.”
“Look,” she says after a couple of beats. “Hutch is a great guy. He’s funny, successful. But he’s…”
“Emotionally unavailable?”
Wren chuckles, but there’s sympathy in her eyes. “I was going to say he’s been hurt before, and he doesn’t let people in easily, but yes.”
“So what do I do?”
“Well, I’d tell you to talk to him, but I think you already know that. It’s what you told me with Hank.”
“And if I don’t want to talk?”
“Then don’t. But…be careful, okay? I don’t know what happened with him, but it’s clear he’s got some walls. He’s not a bad guy, but you’re the only one who can decide if it’s something you want to take on knowing he might never feel the same way.” She shrugs, though empathy still lingers.
“How about this?” she says when I don’t answer. “The boys won’t be here for a while. Have a little fun with Hutch,” she says, her voice turning soft. “And if things get too serious, you can cool it off.”
“So, you’re saying I need to let my walls down and keep screwing your brother-in-law? Because although I love the idea, it could very well blow up in my face.”
Wren shrugs. “You’re right. It could.”
As the conversation moves on to other topics, we chat for over an hour before saying goodnight. I wish I could say I feel better having talked it out with Wren, but I don’t. And even after another glass of wine, the only thing I’m sure of is I want to spend more time with Hutch. I just hope I don’t end up regretting it.
Ginger
It’sFridaynight,andRoxy’s, the only bar in Timber Forge, is packed to the gills. Wren’s been hyped all week about 80s night, swearing it’s the most fun you can have without breaking the law.
I hung back to FaceTime the boys for a bit, but now I’m here and ready for a girls’ night. The music’s loud when I step inside, a pulsing wave of nostalgia and synth.
I scan the crowd, searching for the girls, and spot them near the back, past the crowd on the dance floor, whilePour Some Sugar on Meblares from the speakers.
Having themed nights a couple times a month—mostly Fridays and Saturdays—had actually been my idea. Hudson was skeptical when I pitched it.
But I’d been handling social media for Roxy’s and Finn’s B&B, Timber Haven Inn, for months now, and judging by the crowd tonight, it paid off.
The table they’re huddled around is a mess of empty appetizer plates and half-drunk cocktails. Judging by the noise level and their wide smiles, Wren, Natalie, Norah, Hayley, and Josie are all well on their way to tipsy.
Some girls have mixed drinks—daiquiris and margaritas—and others sip icy cold beers in frosty glasses. Finn’s the only one notdrinking, our pregnant and prearranged designated driver, though she doesn’t seem to mind.
As I slide into the empty seat next to Hayley, Finn raises a hand, trying to flag down a server weaving between tables, but they’re moving fast and clearly overwhelmed.
“It’s slammed tonight,” she says, dropping her arm with a shrug.
“I’ll go up to the bar in a few,” I tell her. “I’ll grab something for you if you want, even if it’s just water.”
“Appreciate it,” she says with a smile.
To my right, Hayley exclaims, “Ooooh, let’s do shots!” She gulps down the rest of her margarita and slams the glass down with a grin, slurring out, “Who’s dancing with me?”
Concerned glances go around the table.
“Maybe you should slow down a bit, Hales,” Norah mumbles under her breath and Hayley rolls her eyes.
“You,” she points a finger in her sister's direction, elbow braced on the table, “need to lighten up.”
