But she pulls away quickly and flashes me a mischievous grin.
“What’s that look about?” I ask her, knowing she’s up to something. It’s her plotting face, like the one she makes when she’s thinking of rules to a game she’s just made up. And I’ll do anything she wants at this point, because this is the happiest I’ve seen her in weeks.
I glance around the pool table now that I can focus my thoughts on other things, now that I’m not so distracted by her ass in those high-waisted denim shorts, my name on her back. She’s out with the girls tonight—Spencer, Ally, Poppy, and even Emma are all standing around, watching Wren and I.
I nod towards Emma, surprised to see her out. She smiles back at me, a genuine smile telling me she’s happy for Wren and I. I silently hope it was Wren who invited her. I could see them both as friends, if Wren could find it in herself to stop comparing, to stop competing when there’s nothing to compete for.
“Well … we’re waiting for our turn to join the board game tournament, and we need a sixth to make an even-numbered team for Wavelength.”
“Hmm … I don’t know if it’s fair to the other teams to have us on the same one,” I say. “We’ve never played together, Wren. We might be unstoppable.” I wink at her, and her smile widens.
“Good,” she says, fire igniting behind her eyes.
As suspected, Wren and I destroy at board game night. We’ve cleaned up in the last two games, and the next one is Dutch Blitz. I fear someone might get physically injured dueto how competitive Wren and I are. And I was right, the two of us together are something else entirely.
We aren’t egging each other on in opposition anymore. We’ve channelled our energy into encouragement and support, and it’s fucking addictive. I can’t believe what we were missing all these years. We spent so many years at each other’s throats, we didn’t even realize how much more powerful we are together.
The girls are all giggling about our last win and strategizing for Dutch Blitz when Wren excuses herself to use the restroom. I’m left alone with the four of them, and I can sense they all have a million questions burning, eating them alive. As soon as Wren is out of earshot they come at me, firing questions about Wren and I, what we are to each other.
“Okay, okay, slow down.” I glance sidelong at Emma, still unsure about whether she even wants to hear about this. She smiles and nods, eagerly awaiting my explanation. In another life, I hope Emma and I could have worked out. Though I know deep down, in this and every lifetime, my heart will still belong to Wren. “Yes, Wren and I are back together.”
At that moment, Grady sidles up to our table, bringing refills all around. He places the glasses on the table and plants a kiss on the top of Spencer’s head, right on her auburn hair. The manworshipsSpencer.
“I’ll be damned,” he says, resting a tattooed hand on his hip. “Good for you, Hud. I don’t think any of us thought it would happen. But you held out hope.”
I nod, taking a sip of the fresh, cold beer in front of me.
“So romantic,” Poppy croons.
“Is she here to stay?” Ally inquires. The only question I’m not able to answer with certainty at this point. She quit her job, so she has nothing pulling her back to the city right now, but who’s to say she’ll be happy long term in Heartwood?
“Not likely,” Spencer supplies, earning herself a glare from Ally. “I’m just saying, with the amount of people hounding her to visit their galleries …” Spencer puts her hands up in adon’t shoot the messengerway.
“Right,” I say, not wanting to let on that bile is rising in the back of my throat, because Wren hasn’t told me anything about galleries, or people hounding her, or any of it. “The galleries.”
My cheeks heat, so I take a long, numbing gulp of my beer.
“I still can’t believe your post blew up like that,” Poppy says.
“Oh, I can. The painting was incredible. In front of the right audience, Wren would absolutely kill it,” Spencer explains, and I’m starting to put the pieces together.
The girls got together earlier at the apartment to get ready for their night out. In fact, Wren has had them over to the apartment a few times since she unofficially moved into my place. The painting she did at the swimming hole has been leaning up against the brick wall in the living room since she finished it, and Spencer must have posted it to her social media. She has a decent following, having been a successful travel influencer before she stopped in Heartwood and decided to settle down with Grady.
“Can I see the post?” I ask, trying to school my expression and keep my tone neutral. “I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Oh sure.” Spencer slides her phone towards me across the table. There’s a photo of Wren’s painting and the number of likes beneath it is staggering. I scroll through the comments, skimming over them, mindful that Wren will be back from the bathroom any second now. There are a few comments Spencer mentioned, asking if Wren would like to send some pieces for their galleries, and even more asking for commissions. “She’s had a lot of interest from people who’ve worked with VanTek before. Like interior designers, architects and stuff. It’s kind of wild.”
My mouth suddenly feels dry, even though I’ve almost downed half my beer already. This is amazing for Wren, I just can’t stop thinking about Spencer’s prediction that Wren will see this as her next ticket out of Heartwood. That my time with her is now limited again.
And there’s something nagging at the back of my mind. Wren hasn’t told me about this yet. Memories of our youth come flooding back—the day she told me she had been accepted to a prestigious university in Vancouver and she was going. I didn’t even know she had applied, and she was gone the following week.
I slide Spencer’s phone back towards her when Wren emerges from the hallway leading to the restrooms. I exhale a relieved breath when Spencer puts her phone back in her purse. Poppy has thankfully changed the topic to something else, and I have a moment to compose myself.
“Well, are we ready to wreak havoc at Dutch Blitz?” Wren says, sauntering over to our table.
“You bet,” I say, putting on a smile I hope looks genuine.
“Let’s fucking go!” she hollers, and we all stand to square up against the next team.
