"Right." Reed's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Because that's definitely all this is about. Your concern for her comfort."
I flip him off as he disappears down the hallway, calling after him, "You're a shitty friend, you know that?"
His laughter drifts back to me.
Banks finally levers himself off the couch, stretching his tall frame. "You know, for someone who claimed to hate this chick’s guts for the past two years, you're putting in an awful lot of effort."
I focus on straightening a stack of magazines that’re already straight. "I never said I hated her."
"No, you just called her—and I quote—'a pink-haired menace determined to destroy craft brewing as we know it.'"
"That was business," I mutter. "This is different."
Banks studies me for a long moment, his expression shifting from teasing to something more serious. "You like her."
"She's carrying my kid." Yeah, that conversation with my two best friends wasn’t fun. They gave me endless shit and I don’t see it stopping anytime soon.
"And?"
I meet his eyes, sighing. "I don't know what I feel. Everything's happening so fast."
He nods, his expression full of understanding. "For what it's worth, as someone who also started a relationship under less-than-ideal circumstances... sometimes the messy beginnings lead to the best endings."
The memory of his and Clover's rocky start—him moving in and them trying to keep their distance because she’s my sister, and then the storm—flashes through my mind. They managed to find their way through. Maybe Wren and I...
The doorbell rings, cutting off that dangerous train of thought. My heart slams against my ribs.
"Shit, she's early." I run a hand through my hair, tugging my beanie more securely into place. "You guys need to go. Now."
Banks grins. "But I was so looking forward to watching this train wreck."
"Out." I shove him toward the back door just as Reed emerges from the laundry room with his arms full of the sheets.
"The princess' bedding is ready," he says, then catches sight of my face. "What’s going on?"
"Back door. Both of you." I practically push them through the kitchen and out onto the back porch. "I'll call you later."
Reed hands me the sheets. "Remember, she needs to stay calm. Stress is bad for?—"
"I know." I cut him off, anxiety making me more of a dick than usual. "Go."
Banks claps me on the shoulder. "Good luck, man. You're gonna need it."
I close the door on their identical shit-eating grins and take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders like I'm heading into battle. In a way, I am. Living with Wren is going to be... challenging. In so very many ways.
I shove my hand into my pocket and touch the warm metal of my wedding ring. Yeah, that’s still a thing I’m doing. We’re not gonna talk about why.
The doorbell rings again, and I know I’m out of time.
"Coming!" I toss the sheets onto the kitchen counter and stride to the front door, my palms suddenly damp. For fuck's sake, it's just Wren.
Yeah,justWren. Nothing complicated about her at all.
I swing open the door, and my carefully prepared greeting dies on my lips. She's standing on my porch in a cropped band t-shirt and high-waisted jeans, her pink hair pulled into a messy ponytail, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a box balanced on her hip. The late afternoon sunlight catches the tiny silver hoop in her nose, making it glint.
She looks like a goddamn wet dream.
My mouth goes dry.
