Bone fuckin’ dry.
"You planning to let me in, or should I just set up camp on your porch?" Her voice is a little snippy, but I catch the nervousness beneath it. She's as freaked out about this as I am.
"Sorry." I step back, holding the door wider. "Need help with that?"
"I've got it." She brushes past me, bringing with her the scent of something that makes my mouth water. Some girly shit I couldn’t hope to describe. My brain immediately flashes to Vegas, to how that scent lingered on my skin until I forced myself to shower it off.
I clear my throat. "Is that all you brought?"
She sets the box down on the entryway table. "Kieran's bringing the rest later. Most of my stuff is in storage now, anyway." Her eyes scan the living room, and I want to ask her who the fuckKieranis, but I bite my tongue.
She’s taking in the rustic-modern furniture, the vintage beer advertisements framed on the walls, the bookshelf filled with brewing texts and family photos. "It's... not what I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
She shrugs, dropping her duffel bag beside the box. "I don't know. Empty pizza boxes? Beer cans everywhere? A shrine to your ego?"
"That's in the basement," I deadpan. "Right next to my collection of voodoo dolls shaped like pink-haired tyrants."
A small smile flickers across her face before she suppresses it. "Knew it."
The moment stretches between us, and it’s awkward as hell. I've spent the past two days cleaning and prepping for this, but I realize now I have no idea what comes next. How do we do this? How do we live together when we can barely have a civil conversation?
"I'll show you your room." I grab the duffel bag before she can protest. "I was just about to put clean sheets on the bed. New ones, actually." I wince internally at how eager that sounds.
I’m gonna need to grab the sheets off the counter and give them to her, I guess? I doubt she’ll want me in there messing with her bed now that she’s here.
She follows me down the hallway, her footsteps light behind me. I'm hyperaware of her presence, my senses tracking her like she's a predator I need to keep an eye on.
Or what she really is, which is something much more dangerous.
"This is you." I push open the door to the guest room—formerly my home office, now hastily converted into a bedroom.The desk has been pushed against one wall to make room for the queen-sized bed I bought two days ago. "Bathroom's across the hall. There are fresh towels in the cabinet. And, uh, I cleared some space in the medicine cabinet for your stuff. I’ll bring the sheets up in a second."
Wren steps into the room, her gray eyes taking everything in. The neutral walls, the simple furniture, the bay window overlooking the backyard where vines climb a trellis beside the fire pit.
"You didn't have to do all this," she says quietly, running her fingers along the edge of the desk.
"It wasn't a big deal." It was. I spent hours deliberating over the perfect mattress, choosing sheets I thought she'd like, rearranging furniture to maximize the space. "The internet's good in here if you need to work from home. Password's on a sticky note on the desk."
She turns to face me, something unreadable in her expression. "Thank you. This is... really nice, Kasen."
The sound of my name on her lips reminds me of that night. "Like I said, no big deal." I set her bag down beside the bed. "You hungry? I thought I'd make dinner."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "You cook?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm a brewer. It's basically liquid cooking."
"That's not—" She cuts herself off, shaking her head. "Sorry. I just assumed..."
"That I'd be subsisting on takeout and beer?" I can't help the small smirk that tugs at my lips. "I'll have you know I make a mean risotto."
"Risotto?" Her lips curve into the first genuine smile I've seen from her today. "Now I'm definitely skeptical."
"Challenge accepted." I find myself smiling back, something warm and a whole lot unsettling taking root in my chest atmaking her even the tiniest bit happy. And where the fuck did that come from? "Get settled. Dinner’s in an hour."
Back in the kitchen, I pull ingredients from the fridge, trying to ignore the fact thatmy wifeis now officially living in my house. That this is real. That we're doing this.
I've started the rice, and falling into the recipe helps take my mind off everything else. When she emerges from the bedroom, she's changed into leggings and an oversized sweater, her face freshly washed. I’m surprised she feels comfortable enough to take off her armor around me, but apparently, she does. She looks softer and younger than I'm used to seeing her, and I want to say something about it, but I also like my balls attached to my body, so I keep my mouth shut.
