Page 58 of Off the Beaten Path

My thoughts screech to a halt. “Two weeks?”

A knowing smile tugs at his lips, something devious, and I decide I’m ordering a slew of supplies for the cabin and sending them to his house to get back at him for looking so smug.

“June has two birthday parties and a swim lesson next weekend. And weeknights are too hard,” he says, shoulders lifting in a shrug.

And really, this makes sense, but it doesn’t keep the disappointment from souring in my gut, because now that he’s brought up a date, I want it more than anything.

Leaning forward until his lips brush my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, he whispers, “I’ll make the wait worth your while.”

Then his lips drag across the slope of my jaw, not quite a kiss but full of intention that has my toes curling in my boots.

“Two weeks,” I say.

He nods, sounding a little less pleased and a little more desperate, mirroring the way I feel. “Two weeks.”

Twoweekshaveneverfelt so long. There’s almost nothing I hate more than a child’s birthday party, but especially when it’s the thing keeping me from spending time with Wren.

Wren. I don’t know how she came to take up so much space in my head, but she’s taken up residence and I don’t see her moving out any time soon. I’ve barely seen her except for the couple of hours every day that she manages to steal away to the cabin. She’s already busy planning the next event at Misty Grove—a spring fling the first weekend of May. Even then, we barely have time to quit working so we can make sure to hit her deadline, only a month away.

But today is Saturday, and I just dropped June off at Finley’s for the night. So I have Wren all to myself.

I steer my truck into her driveway, gravel kicking up beneath my tires, anticipation building beneath my skin. I want to touch her without feeling like we’re wasting our precious work time at the cabin, kiss her without listening for the pitter patter of June’s feet running down the hallway.

Wren has her Christmas lights on, the different colors winking at me as I climb out of the truck and up her porch steps. But instead of annoying me, they make my lips tip up in a smile. Earlier this week, a slew of packages arrived on my doorstep, and I wasn’t even angry. It gave me an excuse to go next door and press her up against the doorframe so I could steal a kiss.

The door swings open before I have a chance to knock and my heart stutters in my chest when I see Wren. Her hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun, curls falling out to frame her face. The grin she gives me is pure sunshine. She looks like a dream I don’t want to wake up from.

“You clean up nice, Red.”

Her smile widens, full to bursting. “You don’t look half bad yourself. I rarely ever see you in anything but flannels and T-shirts. Where are you taking me dressed like that?”

I look down at my outfit—black jeans and a charcoal gray button-down that always feels way too starched when compared to my usual perfectly worn flannels. The sleeves are rolled, though, and I like the way her gaze catches on the tattoos covering my forearms and lingers there when she thinks I’m not watching.

“Someplace that required a reservation.”

Her eyes widen, a little smirk kicking up her mouth. “Bet you hated having to call a restaurant and make a reservation.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling. “They even wanted to know how many people were coming. Like it’s any of their business.”

Her smile stretches further. “The nerve of some people.”

I let my eyes trail down her body, taking in the simple dress she’s wearing, a deep emerald-green corduroy that stands out starkly against her skin, her sheer black tights that make my palms itch, and her thick-soled boots.

“You look good, Red,” I say, wondering if she heard the way my voice dropped.

“You said that already.”

Leaning forward so my lips are against the shell of her ear, I say, “Deserves mentioning twice.”

She shivers, goose bumps pricking against her skin. I want to skim the pads of my fingers against them, get lost in the scent and feel of her. But I make myself pull back. If I press her against the doorframe and let my lips find hers, we’ll never make it out of this cottage. And that just won’t do, because I have plans for Wren Daniels.

“C’mon, Red. Let’s get out of here.”

On the drive out of town, Wren talks, and I’m content to listen. Mia used to get upset when I didn’t have much to say back to her, but Wren doesn’t pressure me to come up with small talk. She asks questions, ones that feel easy to answer, but she never asks for more than I give her. I don’t think she’ll ever know how good that feels, how it makes it less difficult to open up and speak my mind. I’ve never had a woman in my life do that for me, give me all the space and time I need to answer.

It’s the last weekend in February, and the first hints of spring are making an appearance. Tiny wildflowers sprouting up in the mountains, sunshine lasting longer and longer into the evening with every passing day, birds chirping in the mornings. It feels like a time for new beginnings, and as my eyes slide over to Wren, who’s laughing at one of her own jokes, I can’t help but think maybe this is one.

“Hey,” I say as we near Asheville. “Do you mind if we stop in on one of my projects to check out the progress? It should be about finished.”

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