Page 60 of Revelry
The woman’s eyes dropped to my bare chest, just for a second, almost so quick I wondered if I’d imagined it. Then she pushed past me, hanging her purse on the coat rack before shimmying off her white pea coat to do the same with it. “I’m Wren’s mother.”
Shit.
I cleared my throat. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ballard. I’m Anderson. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“It’s Mrs. Prieston,” she clarified. “And I’d like you to fetch my daughter.”
She eyed me like a snake—a dangerous, slimy snake. It probably should have made me cower, but instead my guard locked into place like metal bars in a prison.
My face hardened, brows and lips flat as I set my own cup down on the counter and headed for the stairs. I knew enough about Wren’s mom to know she was a huge reason why Wren felt ashamed of who she was instead of proud, and if that hadn’t been enough to form my judgement of her, this first impression had finished the job.
Wren looked so peaceful as she slept, light cotton sheet only covering half of her, lips parted and eyes softly closed. Her hair had dried naturally from the river, so it rested in messy curls on her pillow. All I wanted to do was run my fingers through that hair, pull her onto my chest, drink my coffee, and hold her close. I didn’t want to wake her at all—and definitely not like this—but there was no other choice.
I sat on the edge of the bed, and as soon as it dipped under my weight, Wren’s eyes fluttered open. She smiled, the morning sun peeking through the shades we’d closed the night before in little stripes across her face.
“Mornin’,” she murmured, stretching her arms up high over her head as she pointed her toes. It didn’t take her long to note that I wasn’t smiling back at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Your mom’s here.”
“What?!” She sprang forward, clutching for the sheets and hiding her body as if I’d said her mom was in theroom.“What do you mean? Where is she?”
“Downstairs. She just got here.”
“Did she see you?!”
I nodded. “I’m the one who let her in.”
“Did she see you likethat?” She motioned to my abs and I grimaced, adjusting the towel on my waist.
“Unfortunately.”
She groaned, smacking her palm on her forehead. For a minute she just sat there, murmuring to herself, shaking her head. Finally she bolted up, tugging on clothes and throwing mine toward me. We’d hung them on her bedroom balcony to dry, and she continued to curse under her breath as we both dressed in otherwise silence.
“Are you okay?” I asked as I pulled on my stiff sweater. It was dry, but it definitely wasn’t clean.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, but frustration rolled off her. She threw her hair up in a tight bun, just like the one her mother wore. It was the first time I’d seen it that way. “You should go. Before I walk down there. It’ll just be bad if we go down together.”
I nodded, not wanting to upset her more than her surprise guest already had. I reached for her as she fussed with her hair again, pulling her into me and wrapping my arms around her. She was tense, but sighed, relaxing a little and resting her head there. I kissed her forehead.
“Areweokay?”
She looked up at me, green eyes wide and soft, and though they were under bent brows, she nodded, too. “Of course. I’ll call you later, okay?”
I took her chin between my knuckle and thumb, tilting her up until our lips touched. “Okay. I’ll be here.”
I meant it in the sense that I’d be waiting for her call, but also that she wasn’t alone. I didn’t know the entire history with her and her family, but she was uneasy—that was enough to set me on edge, too.
When I walked downstairs, I let myself out her back door, offering a polite goodbye to her mother that went unacknowledged.
And the whole walk home, I told myself everything was fine.
I heard Anderson’s farewell to my mother, and of course there was no response on her end. Not that I would have heard it if she did because my heart was beating so loud in my ears I already had a headache. I smoothed my hands over my hair, over and over, tucking it as tightly as I could into a low bun. Flying into the bathroom, I quickly applied tinted moisturizer and flung on two coats of mascara, all the while willing myself to breathe.
Just ten minutes before, I’d been existing in complete and total bliss. I’d fallen asleep with a throat sore from laughter, feet sore from dancing, and a heart sore from healing—because that’s exactly what was happening the more time I spent with Anderson.
He was healing me, in more ways than I even knew, and I knew I was healing him, too.
It wasn’t that we needed each other, or that we couldn’t find footing on our own. It was that our pieces together made a larger whole. We were stronger when we leaned on each other. We felt more, faced more, laughed more. We didn’t have anything figured out. We didn’t know what even the very next day would bring, but it didn’t matter, because we were making the most of every minute we had.
