Page 33 of Revelry
When I looked a little closer, I saw the slight bags under red eyes, and his lids were heavy. I smiled and nodded, happy with the compromise. “Tomorrow, then.”
He nodded, excusing himself without another word.
The moment he left the cabin, I realized what I’d asked, what I’d implied. He was coming over for dinner tomorrow night. I was going to have dinner with a man. A man who wasn’t my ex-husband.
My stomach dropped at the realization, nerves flittering to life.
I watched him walk down the front steps and kept my eyes on him until he’d cleared the drive, assuring myself everything would be fine. It was just dinner. Dinner with a friend. Dinner with a friend who’d been helping me out. It would be fun, and I needed a little bit of that in my life.
Something told me Anderson did, too.
AMELIORATE
ame·lio·rate
Verb
To make better or more tolerable
I looked stupid.
Huffing, I pulled at the cuff on my long-sleeved button up, rolling it up until it cuffed at my elbow before working on the other arm. My hair was combed, for the first time since I was eight probably, and I’d trimmed the short beard on my face, shaping it the best I could. There was a button missing on the bottom of my shirt, but it was the nicest thing I owned, so I tucked it into my jeans and fidgeted with it until I didn’t look like old man Ron. I stood straight, angling my head in the mirror before blowing out one long breath.
Stupid.
But that was as good as it was going to get. So I jogged downstairs and swiped my house keys off the counter. My hand froze on the front door knob. I felt Dani’s eyes looking up at me from the photo, and the weight of tomorrow swept in fast. Involuntarily, I winced, gripping the gold metal keys tighter.
But tomorrow could wait its turn.
Closing my eyes, I forced a shaky breath and opened the door, willing myself not to look at her picture as I slipped out and locked up behind me.
I took my time on the walk down to Wren’s, hands shoved deep in my pockets. It was chilly, even though we were well into June. That was how summer in Gold Bar was—pleasant days, cool nights. Tomorrow would be the first real “hot” day of the summer.
It always seemed to line up that way, as if the weather wanted to remind me of my mistakes as much as my memory.
The anniversary of Dani’s death had snuck up on me, especially after the distraction of spending my days at Wren’s cabin. It was easy to lose time with her. Most of the time we didn’t even talk—I’d work, and she’d do whatever it was that she felt like doing that day, but just being near her was enough to make the days fly.
I’d been working hard to look passably focused and determined while I fixed things around her place. The truth was my eyes skirted far too often to where she stretched out her long legs on the porch while she sketched in her book, especially when she decided to do so in a swimsuit to catch a few rays in the process. She asked me questions when we ate lunch and I pretended like I didn’t want to rip open my rib cage and show her everything inside me.
Sometimes I gave in, answering her questions or asking some of my own. I’d learned a little about her boutique, about her family, about her best friend in the city. I’d yet to ask what I wanted to most—who was she running from? I wondered if she’d answer, or if I was even ready to hear it if she did. A part of me knew I was playing with fire, but I told myself I could handle the burn. The truth of that statement was yet to be discovered.
It was kind of funny, how every day was the same again.
And yet everything was different.
Music spilled from Wren’s cabin, her front door wide open and letting in the evening breeze. I jogged up the first few stairs but slowed when I saw her, quieting my steps.
Her long, slender back was exposed in a dark green dress that clung wide on her shoulders, the fabric hugging her ribs and meeting again at the small of her back. It flowed from there, cut above her knees, the skirt of it swaying as she moved in time withNo Diggity. I stopped at the door and crossed my arms, watching as she stirred the pancake batter with the wooden spoon she’d serenaded me with the first day I’d worked at her cabin. She knew every single word, and I chuckled.
What is it with this girl and 90’s music?
She spun when the chorus hit, eyes pinched shut, one arm still hooked around the big metal mixing bowl while the other stirred, and she slowly wound her body down to the ground and back up again. When she hit the top, her big green eyes popped wide at me standing in the door, and my breath caught.
I’d seen Wren every single day for the past two weeks, and every day she’d had her makeup done. But tonight? Tonight was different. Her eyes were smokey, lips bright red, and I suddenly felt severely underdressed. She was stunning, a sophisticated woman straight from the pages of a magazine.
And I was a lumberjack.
“Hi,” she breathed, using her elbow to wipe a fallen strand of hair out of her eyes. “Sorry—I can’t help myself when Blackstreet comes on.”
