When We Were Us (A Timber Forge Series Book 1), page 27
Will you please answer your phone?
You can’t avoid me forever.
Wren, please. I need to talk to you.
Things are a mess.
Please call me.
I miss you.
Fuuuck.
I click off the phone with my thumb and set it on the table, running a hand through my hair as I sit back.
“Do you want me to go so you can call him?” It kills me to say the words, but I need to know where her head is with this. I don’t want to add to her stress. And as much as I hate to admit it, my brain is screaming at me to leave. It’s like I can feel my walls going back up. I hate it, but it’s almost automatic.
She doesn’t hesitate. “No. I do not want you to go.” Her eyes are as decisive as her words. “That’s the exact opposite of what I want to happen.”
I nod and lift my chin toward the phone. “You said this was recent. How long were you together?”
“Three years.”
My stomach plummets. Three fucking years. That’s twice as long as any relationship I’ve ever been in. Even then, it was nothing beyond me coming home from the ranch to shower, then maybe meeting for a quick dinner at some out of the way place before heading back to her apartment for sex. She’d never even been to my place in those almost eighteen months. I rarely stayed at her place, preferring the solitude of my cabin to sharing my bed with her. That was my refuge.
“Don’t,” she says, laying a hand on my back, and that’s all it takes. I couldn’t leave if I tried.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…do this.” She flings a hand back and forth between us. “Don’t close off and stop talking to me, Hank.”
I take a deep steadying breath and nod. “Ok, Wren. Let’s talk.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
wrenley
I can feel him pulling away the second I tell him how long Derek and I were together. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I make Hank see— No, make him believe that it is absolutely over with Derek, and that the only thing I want right now is for him to stay. I want that more than anything.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
He huffs out a breath through his nose that may or may not be a laugh and sits back, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I’m trying really hard not to pick up that phone and call this asshole to give him a piece of my mind, for starters.”
I relax a little when I see that he’s not going to bolt. Yet.
“Done. Go ahead.” I pick up the phone and toss it in his lap. I don’t expect he’ll actually do it, but the sentiment gives me satisfaction, knowing he’d do that for me. “What else?”
His gray eyes meet mine and he’s quiet when he says, “I hope you know all that shit he said to you isn’t true.”
“I do.”
He cuts a glance my way. “Was he always this big of a jackass?”
“No,” I say nonchalantly. “Not overtly. I mean, now that I think back, maybe sometimes? He never called me names or anything like…like he did in those texts. Never hit me or anything.”
“That’s the bar? Jesus. He never hit you or called you names, so he’s not an asshole?”
He hits me with that signature scowl and, in this context, it’s sexy as hell.
“He just kind of expected me to do certain things, be a certain way, you know? I never really thought about it before, but he used to tell me not to wear my hair up because ‘it looked better down’. Or this one time, he told me I laugh too loud, and I should tone it down. Just a few things like that. He also hated my red shoes.”
He raises his eyebrows like that’s the most asinine thing in the world, but he doesn’t say anything. So, I continue.
“When he proposed, I just automatically agreed. I didn’t even think about it, didn’t question it. I don’t even think I said yes, come to think of it. I think I said ‘Ok,’ like I was saying yes to an invitation to grab a burger after work or drinks with friends. He didn’t make a big deal out of it or do anything romantic. He just asked me if I wanted to get married one night while I was taking off my makeup and he was brushing his teeth. It took me by surprise, actually, because we’d never talked about it before. I guess it just seemed like the logical next step.”
I laugh now, a humorless laugh with a too-dry throat. “He didn’t even kiss me after—no hug, nothing. He just said ‘Ok, we’ll set something up,’ like it was a business meeting. Then, he rinsed his mouth and left the bathroom. When I finished getting ready for bed, he was already asleep. It’s actually pretty sad now that I say it out loud. And to be completely honest, I don’t even know why he asked me. Six months later, and we didn’t even have a date.”
“Forget being an asshole, this guy is a fucking moron.”
I look at him and chuckle because he’s right; Derek is a moron.
He stares back at me with an intense gaze, his eyes never leaving mine. “I hate that he made you feel like you had to be anything other than exactly who you are, Wren. He’s a complete tool. If he can’t see how great you are, then it’s his loss.”
The intensity in his eyes and the tenderness in his voice is too much and I have to look away, but I nod. “Thank you, Hank.”
We sit in broken silence with nothing but Lieutenant Kaffee berating Colonel Jessup on the stand.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I take my phone from him when he hands it back to me. “I do know that we can’t possibly work together after all this. We have the condo together, but I don’t want that, either.”
“What about the two of you?” His expression is unreadable, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. “Sounds like he might want you to come home.”
“It’s not even a question. I could never trust him again. Wouldn’t even want to try.”
He stares at me for a long minute, his normally light eyes dark and searching.
“Do you still love him?”
“No.”
“No?” His gaze is doubtful, his brows pulling down.
I swallow. “I don’t think I really ever did. I know it sounds unlikely—the fact that I would get engaged to someone I didn’t love—but it’s the truth. Even when we went to pick out rings, I wasn’t excited. I didn’t swoon over carat size or princess cut versus oval.”
I’d had such a horrible example in my parents, seeing how badly someone who claimed to love the other could inflict so much pain. And once I understood it, I didn’t want that for myself. It was one of the major reasons Hank and I had been in a different place back then.
In my mind, it was better to hurt him by leaving before we got too close. Before we were tied to one another legally. It had hurt me then, and it hurts me now, thinking about it. It’s why I want so badly to tell Hank how I feel now—how I truly feel about him. But I won’t taint that moment by doing it when we’re talking about Derek.
He nods and pulls at the back of his neck with his big palm, then looks over at me. His eyes drop to my lap, and he reaches out to take one of my hands in his. Bringing my knuckles to his lips, he brushes them softly with a kiss. A shiver runs through me at the contact.
“You deserve so much more than a shitty bathroom proposal, Wren. So much more than this guy could ever hope to give you.”
I want to crawl into his lap and wrap my arms around him. I want to kiss him and tell him how safe I feel with him, and how grateful I am to him for listening and being here for me. Instead, I settle for squeezing his hand in mine. Things are so good with him right now, and slow seems best. At least until we’ve defined what we are to each other, and now doesn’t feel like the time.
“I know. And I appreciate you saying that. Truly.”
“I think it would be entirely appropriate to block that asshole until you figure out what you’re going to do.”
“You sound like Ginger.” I laugh softly.
“She sounds like a smart woman.”
“She’s the best.”
“Tell me about her.”
I can’t stop the wide grin that splits my face when I think about my best friend. And it’s not just because I’m glad the topic has moved away from Derek.
“Ginger is amazing. She’s hilarious and so generous. And she’s a great mom. Her twins, Tate and Jordan, are three, and they’re the busiest little dudes I’ve ever met.”
I smile at the memory of them tearing around the house the night before I flew out here. Ginger let them stay up later than usual because it was my last night.
“We watched movies and ate popcorn while snuggled up on the couch, their tiny, sweaty bodies pressed between us when they finally crashed out. They’re a handful, but I love them.”
“Sounds like you miss them.”
I glance up at him and nod, a small smile on my face. “I do.” A sudden yawn hits me, and I cover my mouth to stifle it.
Concern crosses Hank’s face and he checks his watch. The clock on the wall tells me it’s just after nine. I’m sleepy, but I don’t want him to go.
“I should go. Let you get some sleep.”
The thought of watching him drive away has me shaking my head and meeting his eyes. “Will you stay?” I ask, still holding his hand. “For a little while longer?”
His eyes search my face for a few seconds, and then his lips tip up in a playfully sexy smirk before he gives my hand a light tug. “Sure, but I’m gonna need you to get closer. If that’s ok?”
I look down at the space between us and then slide closer to him. He wraps his arm around my back, pulling me in. We stay like that for a few minutes, pretending to laugh at stupid reruns on TV. I don’t think either of us are really paying attention though, because I can feel the tension, the anticipation.
I’ve been trying to keep my arms folded against my chest like some sort of praying pretzel, but the longer we sit here, the more uncomfortable it is. When I can’t take it anymore, I bite the bullet and stretch my arm across his abdomen, resting my hand on his left hip. His body immediately goes rigid.
“Is this ok?” I ask, tipping my head up to look at him.
“Sure,” he says with a jerk of his head, and he smiles down at me.
I don’t miss the slight bulge to the front of his pants, but I say nothing, and I settle my head back down against where his shoulder meets his chest. I feel the light dust of a kiss on the hair at the top of my head.
A few minutes of silence pass and he takes a deep breath. I feel the vibration of his voice when he speaks. It’s sort of breathless, all rasp and rough edges. “I missed you so fucking much, Wrenley.”
I tip my head back to look up at him. His eyes search mine, his gaze dropping to my mouth, and then back up again. “Me too.”
A beat or two passes where only the laugh track of the TV show can be heard.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.
“Should friends do that?” My voice is just barely above a whisper and my eyes shift back and forth between his. I don’t know why I didn’t just say yes, but here we are.
“Probably not.”
He closes the distance anyway.
The kiss is featherlight, lighter even than the first one at the bar. But it’s beautiful in its simplicity and has my heart rate spiking probably even more than before. That kiss was unexpected, impulsive. But this…this kiss is intentional, tender, and incredibly intimate.
He brushes his lips against mine again, but he doesn’t deepen it. Breaking away, he swipes the hair back from my face and gives me a small smile. Then, he pulls me back against him, tucking my head under a cheek he presses to the top of my head.
My skin is flushed, and I work to focus on the TV, my eyes prickling. It’s overwhelming—the flood of emotions. Longing, desire, relief. Safety.
We snuggle up on the couch, him with his arm around me, and me with my head on his chest. We make it through two more episodes of some old show I can’t remember the name of, and soon, we’re both yawning.
He rubs my arm and I sit up as the show ends.
“I should probably head out.”
“Yeah, ok,” I say with a nod and a glance at the clock. I’m surprised to see it’s after eleven.
“I have to be up early to start work on this chick’s house,” he says, and a teasing note changes his voice. “She’s a real ballbuster.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. “Yeah? She sounds fantastic.”
His expression turns serious as he takes me by the shoulders. His eyes are soft as he nods. “She is.”
“In that case, you better get going. Get your rest so you’re not late on your first day.”
He pushes to stand, and I follow him.
“You ok?” He runs both his palms down my arms, stopping just above my elbows.
“Yes.” No. Stay. Kiss me again.
“Promise?” He holds up his pinky like we used to when we were younger. I laugh, raising my hand and hooking my pinky around his.
I drop my eyes to where our fingers are joined. “I promise.”
We walk to the door, and he puts on his boots, then his hat. Opening the screen, he steps out onto the porch. When he turns back, he’s wearing a small smirk.
“Lock that door.”
I hit him with a playful eye roll. “I will.”
He takes two steps and then turns back. Bringing his hand up, he cups my cheek in his palm. He eyes my mouth again, and then brushes his lips lightly against my cheek.
“Goodnight, Wren.”
Then, he’s gone.
I should be disappointed, and I guess I am somewhat. But I’m more hopeful than I’ve been in a really long time, and the anticipation of what’s to come is sweet.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
wrenley
Hank
Morning. Did you sleep?
Wren
Eh, a bit. You?
Hank
So-so. Couldn’t get this chick out of my head.
Wren
The ballbuster?
Hank
That’s the one.
Wren
I gotta meet this girl. She sounds great.
Hank
She is. She’s got this thing for red Chuck Taylors… Wears ‘em with everything. It’s kind of my favorite.
Wren
She’s got amazing taste.
Hank
She’s got this really great laugh too. Sexy as hell.
Wren
Is it?
Hank
Yep.
Wren
Thanks, Hank.
Hank
Anytime, gorgeous. See you at seven.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
wrenley
Finn greets me with a huge grin when she opens the back door into the kitchen at Timber’s Treats. I glance at my watch, making sure I’m good on time. It’s a quarter to six, and I didn’t get much sleep last night, but I don’t feel tired. Quite the opposite, actually. I feel alive in a way I can’t describe.
After Hank left, I shot off a text to Finnley, asking if she could meet me here early. I want to grab coffee and donut holes, and Nat’s are Hank’s favorites. When she questioned me, I told her I would explain everything in the morning, and since she’s working the opening shift, she was able to bake up a fresh batch.
She eyes me now from across the silver, metal workbench separating us as she stirs the icing for the still-warm pastries. The coffee she had ready for me is warming my hands through the paper cup, and I’m grateful for something to do with my hands.
“Sooo,” she says with another grin. “Tell me how last night went and why you’re up so early on a Monday morning.”
“It was nice. He brought soup.”
“Just nice?”
“Very nice?” My cheeks heat.
She gives me a look. “Care to elaborate?”
“Considering how it could have gone, very nice is actually perfect.”
At this, she arches a brow as she runs the rubber spatula along the edge of the bowl.
“Derek kept texting. I tried to ignore it, but Hank saw the messages come through. I let him read them all.”
She makes a face. “What did he say?”
“Basically, that Derek is a dick, and that if he can’t see what he gave up, then he’s an idiot, too.”
“I knew under all that grumpy bullshit that he was a smart man,” she says with a wry smile and starts drizzling icing over each round ball of dough.
I bite down on my thumbnail and nod when she glances up at me. When I don’t say anything more, she sets her spoon down and wipes her hands on a towel, narrowing her eyes at me. “Something happened.”
I nod.
“Spill it.”
“We had a really good time last night. Even with all the texts from my asshole ex. It was really kind of sweet how Hank handled the whole thing.”
“We are talking about the same Hank, right?” she jokes, and I laugh, because I am just as surprised as she is.
“I didn’t expect anything to happen between us, not really.” I fiddle with the lid of the coffee cup.
“Buut,” she prompts, rolling her hand in front of her as if to tell me to get on with it, her tone of voice raised an octave.
