Page 61 of Off the Beaten Path

“You absolutely are, you Neanderthal.”

Holden pounds his chest with his fist. “Wren, mine.”

He’s joking, but I can’t help but like the sound of that.

I drop my empty takeout container onto the porch by our feet and lean onto his shoulder, looking up at him. He looks good like this, his hair tied back in a messy bun, eyes focused on the darkness above and beyond, his body soft and relaxed in a way it rarely is.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Holden glances down at me, hazel eyes deep and warm in the glow of the porch light. “Should I be worried?”

“Why didn’t you delete it? The app. You said Finley signed you up for it without asking, but you could have just deleted it.”

He returns his focus to the darkness in front of him, but I don’t feel him tense, so I don’t think the question bothered him. I wonder if he knows how expressive his body language is, even when his words aren’t.

It’s quiet for a few moments, only the sounds of the trees rustling in the wind. I’ve noticed that Holden has a lot to say when given the opportunity, that he’s not as reserved as he seems. Finally, he answers, “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to see what would happen.”

“Did you expect…this?”

His arm comes around me then, wrapping me in his now familiar scent—sawdust and woodsy soap, like he doesn’t bother with cologne—and his chin rests on the top of my head, his beard catching in my hair. “No, I couldn’t have imagined something like this, Red.”

“I wish we had some strawberry wine,” I say into his chest, my words muffled.

His body tenses. “I forgot. I have some in the truck.”

I sit back, staring up at him. “You keep strawberry wine in your truck?”

“Not until recently,” he says, pushing up out of the chair and disappearing into the cabin. Something in my chest warms and spreads watching his shoulders fade from view, going to his truck to get my favorite beverage, something he would never drink if he had another option. I wonder where he was when he saw it and thought to buy it, if he was shaking his head as he did it, calling it bitch juice as his lips twitched beneath his beard, a smile fighting to take shape.

I wish the rest of the world could see the ooey gooey center beneath his tough exterior, but I also like that I’m one of the select few who knows it’s there, buried beneath a gruff attitude and a thick beard that hides his smiles.

Holden’s boots clomp on the wooden porch boards as he returns, bottle of pinkish wine in hand. Instead of sitting back beside me, though, he picks me up.

I squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck as he lowers us into the camp chair, settling my legs across his lap. “You could have just asked, you know,” I say into his neck.

I feel more than hear the rumble of his laugh. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You hate fun.”

He flashes me a look that makes my skin heat. He’s so close I can see the different shades of greens and golds in his irises. “I like fun with you, Red.”

After peeling the plastic from the cap, he jimmies his truck key into the cork, wedging it firmly before slowly pulling it out.

“I see you got the fancy stuff.”

“Ten dollars at the market.”

A smile curves my mouth. “You shouldn’t have splurged on me like that.”

The cork gets stuck, and he drops the keys. “Anything for my girl.” And then he bites the cork, pulling it the rest of the way out before spitting it on the porch.

It’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

He takes a long swig, his throat working with the movement, and I stare open-mouthed. His face scrunches as he pulls it back, handing it to me.

“Way too sweet.”

I blink at him. “Do you practice that in the mirror?”

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