Page 65 of Off the Beaten Path

I think I’m melting into my chair.

“Anyone need anything?” I ask, my chair squeaking against the floorboards.

“Not Holden, from the sounds of it,” Grey says, grinning at me maniacally.

I flash him what I hope is my best glare, but he just smiles wider, laughing this time. Groaning, I grab my empty glass from the table and disappear into the kitchen. “I’m getting a refill.”

A moment later, Holden appears beside me, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. He looks remarkably unfazed, and I have to believe this family is very familiar with teasing. It makes me feel a little better, since mine is the same way, but embarrassment still burns hot in my belly.

“Are you okay?” Holden asks.

I let out a little sigh. “Yes, just embarrassed.”

“No need to be embarrassed.”

Glancing up at him, I say, “I just want them to like me.”

Holden’s brows raise on his forehead. “You’ve known them your entire life.”

“Not like this.”

Holden holds my gaze for a long moment, like he can see right to the depths of my soul, where his name is etched. “They love you, Wren.”

“How do you know that?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Because they know how I feel about you.”

There’s a sunrise inside of me, peeking over the horizon and lighting up all the dark spots until it’s all light everywhere.

“Hey,” Grey calls from the dining room. “Are you guysnappingin there too?”

Holden rolls his eyes, pushing off the counter and extending his hand toward mine. I place my palm in his rough, calloused one, and his fingers wrap around mine immediately. Leaning down, he presses a kiss just below my ear.

“C’mon, let’s give them something to talk about when we leave.”

“HowdidIendup doing all the work with two helpers here?” I grumble, my arms burning from painting, and turn to face Wren and June. They’re sitting on the floor of the cabin, beads and strings strewn all around them.

Wren sighs. “Holden, we’re busy.”

“Yeah, Dad, we’re busy,” June parrots, and a bright smile spreads across Wren’s face.

I wish I could stay annoyed with them. It’s proving harder and harder to be frustrated with Wren. I’ve even grown to love the way those damn Christmas lights look in the moonlight. And when she had a package of cabinet hardware for the cabin delivered to my house last week, I was just excited to have an excuse to see her.

I’m a sap.

“My arms are killing me,” I mutter under my breath. I hate painting. It always makes my arms and lower back hurt, and then I hate myself for turning into an old man overnight.

“But you look great doing it,” Wren says, flashing me a wink. I have to press my lips together to keep from smiling. If she knows her teasing makes me happy, she’ll never let me live it down.

“Wren, does your name start withR?” June asks. “I can’t remember what you told me before.”

“It actually starts withW,” Wren answers, and my heart squeezes at the sight of them together. Wren is good with June in a way that feels natural and easy.

June nods, pushing around the beads spread out on the floor before her, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. When she finds what she’s looking for, she strings it, then goes looking for another bead.

We work in silence, me painting, them making bracelets. Even though I complained, I like seeing them together, and I like having them here with me, even when we’re not talking or doing something together.

My girls.

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