Page 36 of Revelry
Wren’s eyes were wide and soft, without judgment—pure curiosity radiated from behind them. She wrapped a hand around the glass of wine she’d sat beside the sink and lifted it to her lips, waiting.
“I think I’d travel,” I answered honestly and for the first time out loud. “I’d like to see more of the world, more than just this tiny cabin town in the Pacific Northwest.”
She nodded, smiling. “I want to travel, too. I’ve done a little bit, but there’s still so much more to discover. I think traveling is like getting a tattoo. Hard not to get addicted after the first taste.”
I watched her, wondering where she came from, where she was going. I’d just opened my mouth to ask her when she cut me off with a chuckle, eyes skirting to my lower abdomen.
“You should let me fix your clothes.”
I looked down and cursed, shoving the broken button back under the band of my jeans. “My clothes are fine.”
“I know they are,” she said, and any embarrassment I’d had faded when I looked up at her again. “I’m just saying, when do you ever buy new clothes?”
“Why would I need new clothes to sweat in and cover with grease and dirt?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so argumentative.”
For a moment she just looked at me, debating her next words, like she was just as apprehensive about the idea as I was.
“I just... I’m kind of lost right now. Nothing is inspiring me and my sketches look worse than the ones I did in high school the year I broke my fingers and had to sketch with my left hand.” She laughed a little, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What if you just let me fix up a few things—replace buttons, patch up holes in your jeans—nothing crazy.”
I scowled. “My clothes are fine.”
She laughed out loud that time, kicking off the counter to take a big step toward me. The sweet scent of her perfume floated into my space, surrounding me, and I breathed her in with a long sigh.
“Come on, Grumpy. Just give me something to do before I go crazy. It’s the least you can do since you won’t let me pay you for the work you’re doing around here.”
I considered that—it would drive me insane if someone did anything for me without letting me pay them back in some way. And even though it felt stupid and unnecessary, I blew out a long breath and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Fine. But don’t add anything girly or weird.”
She held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. Only frills and pink plaid patches for you, tough guy.”
I frowned but cracked a smile when she threw her head back laughing. She had a beautiful laugh, one that made the ground beneath my feet feel unsteady.
“It’s still early,” she mused, checking the time on the clock. “What do you say we take a dip in the hot tub?”
I should go home. I should go take a cold shower and go to bed.“Sure. Just need to run down to grab trunks.”
“That’s fine,” she said with an excited smile. “I have to take all this stuff off anyway.” She gestured to all of her, her clothes and her face, and I hated how my hand twitched at the thought of being the one to get to unzip that dress.
“Meet you back here in ten.”
She brushed past me, smiling over her shoulder as she skipped toward the stairs. “Don’t be late.”
My head was heavy with thoughts of Dani the entire walk down to my cabin and back. It had been so long since I’d let myself think about her, really think about her, in a way where I remembered her instead of mourned her. Suddenly her smiling face was right in front of me, her laugh in my ears, her stupid puns that I pretended to hate fresh in my mind.
I paced in Wren’s living room, Rev watching me from where he lazily lounged on the couch. I was so anxious to get out of my head, I forfeited waiting and made my way upstairs to check on her. But when I hit the top stair and saw her in the bathroom, I paused.
Wren hummed to herself as she ran a thin white cloth over the right side of her face. It must have been damp with some sort of makeup remover, because with every swipe and scrub, the mask she’d worn all night slowly disappeared. But only on the right side. She was careful not to cross over into the left side of her forehead, her nose, or even her lips, leaving them half-nude, half-stained red. When the right side was completely bare, she lowered her hand and stared at her reflection, eyes bouncing as they assessed the differences.
“Why do you do that?”
She jumped, hand flying to her heart before her eyes found me in the mirror behind her reflection. She smiled in relief, shaking her head. “Jesus, you scared me! I’m sorry, am I taking too long?”
“No, you’re fine. But why do you do that?”
“Do what?” she asked, turning to face me.
