Page 46 of F*ckboys

I turn my attention to her as she watches our exchange with an air of bemusement. She's dressed in a simple yet elegant sundress, her golden curls tamed by a thin headband. There'san understated beauty about her, one that both intrigues and intimidates me.

"Sorry about that, Wren," I apologize, feeling a twinge of guilt for excluding her from our conversation. "Bronson and I have years of embarrassing stories to share."

"Hey, it's okay," she assures me, her smile genuine. "It's nice to see you two getting along so well."

"Anyway," I continue, "I've always been fascinated by art, but I'm not exactly talented in that department. Maybe you could give me some pointers sometime?"

"Of course!" Wren beams, her blue eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "I'd be happy to teach you a few techniques."

"Are you into photography too?" I ask, recalling Bronson mentioning her interest in capturing images.

"Absolutely," she nods with contagious enthusiasm. "I love experimenting with light and shadow, finding unique perspectives to showcase the beauty in everyday life."

"Wow, that sounds amazing," I comment genuinely. "I've always admired people who can see the world through a different lens. You'll have to show me some of your work sometime."

"Definitely," Wren agrees, her smile reaching her eyes. "I think you might enjoy some of the more abstract pieces I've been working on."

"Abstract photography?" I question, my interest piqued. "That sounds fascinating."

"Wait until you see it," she says, her excitement near bubbling over. "It's like nothing you've ever seen before. Actually, here are a couple of pieces I have on my phone…". She pulls her smartphone out of her purse and opens her photography app. "See, here are some of my favorites. They all have a meaning behind them. So for example, this one," she flashes up a photograph of a single drop of water suspended in mid-air,captured in crisp black and white. "It's meant to evoke a sense of isolation and reflection."

I nod. "It's really clever, and it does evoke those feelings."

"And this one…" she pulls up another black and white photo of a lone tree in a desolate, dry landscape, "is meant to reflect the emptiness and isolation of modern society. And," she turns a little pink, "before you think I'm all emo and that everything I do is in black and white, here are a couple of my colorful pieces—this blurred and distorted one is meant to represent a distant dream or memory, and this softer, more ethereal blur is meant to invoke a dreamlike haze."

I'm mesmerized by each of the pieces, all a combination of unabashed creativity and technical expertise. "Wow," I breathe, "Wren, you should be very proud of yourself. These are exceptional. I'd actually love to put some of these up in my office. I think clients and employees would love them."

Wren blushes. "Oh goodness, I'd be honored."

Bronson beams in the background. I can tell he's tickled the two of us are getting along so well.

As we settle into the conversation, I notice the way Bronson and Wren interact. He's attentive to her, his eyes never straying far from her face. She, in turn, leans towards him, her laughter bright and genuine. I can't help but feel a pang of envy. Their happiness is evident, and it's something I've always wanted for myself. I even thought I had it for a brief time, but it was ripped away, only an illusion.

But I push those thoughts aside as I focus on getting to know Wren. She's intelligent, witty, and kind—qualities that make it easy to see why Bronson was drawn to her. And as our time together progresses, her initial wariness rapidly fades, replaced by a more relaxed demeanor. She seems genuinely interested in my life and opinions, which is refreshing. And she has a greatenergy about her that I can't quite put into words, I can just feel it.

"Fallon," Wren says at one point, "I've heard you're quite the chef."

"Bronson told you that?" I ask, surprised.

"Of course," he chimes in, a proud grin spreading across his face. "My little sister's got mad skills."

"Stop," I laugh, swatting his arm playfully. "You're making me blush. And I can't even remember the last time I cooked for you, Brons!"

"Seriously, though," Wren interjects, her eyes shining with interest. "I'd love to cook with you sometime. I'm okay at the basics, but I'd love to be able to cook Brons something a little more exciting than my mom's spaghetti bolognese recipe…"

"Hey, I love that recipe!" Bronson smiles. "You're making me hungry just thinking about it! Especially when you do the garlic bread with it!"

"Absolutely, I'd love to cook with you," I agree, warmed by her enthusiasm. There's a connection forming between us, something that hints at the possibility of a deep friendship.

And as the afternoon sun begins to dip toward the horizon, I find myself hoping that Wren will become a permanent fixture in our lives. Not just for Bronson's sake, but for mine as well.

Wren stands up, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "This was really nice, guys. I need to get to work, but I hope we can do it again soon."

"Definitely," Bronson agrees, pulling her in for a quick hug and a kiss before turning to me. "You're always welcome to join us, Fallon."

"Thanks," I say, genuinely touched by the invitation.

Bronson turns to me, his expression serious as he leans in for a hug. "Thanks for giving Wren a chance, Fallon," he whispers into my ear. "It means a lot to me."

---