Torch: The Wildwood Series Page 5

  “Who said I had the blues?”

  Harper met her gaze, her expression serious. “Are you really happy here, Wren? I feel like most of the time you’re just waiting for something to happen to you. Like you’re this close to running out of town and never looking back.”

  She’d never told anyone she wanted out of here. She was sort of ashamed for feeling that way. Look what happened when West bailed for all those years. They were all angry with him, including her. Her family would be so mad if she left, especially after everything that happened with their mom’s health. She was okay, but Wren was the one who helped her. Drove her to doctor’s appointments, made sure she picked up her meds, followed up to make sure she was actually taking those meds . . .

  There were responsibilities she couldn’t abandon, no matter how much she might secretly want to.

  “This is my home,” Wren said, her voice sincere. “I would never leave Wildwood.”

  “You’re allowed to leave if you want. I know you have ties here. Your family, your friends, your investment in the dance studio.” Harper reached out and touched her arm. “But you can do whatever you want. No one is stopping you. Heck, you’re also allowed to indulge in hot casual sex with a very hot man. You’re an adult, Wren. You can do whatever you want—even Tate.”

  Wren laughed and shook her head. “Thanks for giving me permission, but I think I’m going to pass. I’m perfectly content with my life, despite what you think.”

  But she couldn’t shake what Harper said. It stuck with her the rest of the night, reminding her that maybe she wasn’t content with her lot in life. She was in her mid-twenties, and she didn’t have a serious boyfriend. Didn’t even have a boy toy, and yeah, there was something incredibly wrong with that.

  Not that it was all about sex and finding her identity with a man. No, she’d proved she could be successful on her own. Could she leave though? Maybe she could find a job in a bigger city. A position with great benefits and the potential for advancement. She’d had big dreams as a kid, many of them involving leaving this small town for the bright lights of the big city. So cliché, but back when she was a teen it was also so true.

  She’d just never had the guts to do it. Knew what it felt like to be second choice—forgotten by both her boyfriend and her brothers. She didn’t want anyone to feel like they were unimportant, that she wouldn’t put them first, so she’d stayed.

  Even if it meant hurting herself.

  “You okay there, Woodpecker?”

  They’d just sat down to dinner—surprise, Tate was sitting next to her—and of course, he had to go and say something annoying.

  Wren offered him a polite smile that felt more like a bearing of teeth. “Shouldn’t you be the one called Woodpecker, considering I don’t have one?”

  He chuckled, the low, warm sound stirring something deep within her. “I’m surprised you didn’t call me a pecker.”

  “You’re the one who said it first,” she said sweetly as she reached for her water glass. The table was fully set, and Harper had used her grandma’s china and finest silverware. Even the good crystal was out, with water and wineglasses at every setting. Harper really outdid herself.

  Wren wondered at the formality of it. This dinner party was a serious affair compared with the barbecue and keg gatherings they normally had. Was something important happening? This had to be about more than just setting her up with Tate Warren, right?

  Harper brought out a salad course first, setting the plates in front of everyone as she moved quickly around the table, falling into her chair when she finished. “Dig in!”

  Tate stared at the array of silverware spread out on each side of his plate. “I’m afraid I’ll use the wrong fork,” he explained when he caught Wren watching him.

  “Outside in,” she told him, earning a frown for her efforts. “Start with the outside fork and keep working in.”

  “Ah, thanks.” He picked up the salad fork and smiled at her, the sight of it frazzling a few of her brain cells. He was too handsome for his own good, and that smile . . . “I’m not much for formal dining.”

  “Me either,” she said, leaning into him so her shoulder brushed his. He turned his head toward her, his smile soft, his green gaze roaming all over her face.

  “Better at it than I am,” he said. “Guess I’ll need to keep you by my side tonight.”

  For once, she had no snarky retort, no smartass reply. She just stared at him, wondering at her quiet reaction, at the way her heart raced when she saw the hungry glow in his eyes.

  Worried she might like it—like Tate—far too much.

  Chapter Six

  THERE WAS A salad course. A soup course came next—both the salad and soup were delicious, as were the homemade rolls prepared by Harper’s grandma—so when the main course finally rolled around, Tate was pretty full of food and beer.

  Oh, and Wren. Beautiful, nonsnarky, teaching-him-how-to-be-a-classy-dude Wren. She instructed him on which piece of silverware to use next, whether he should pass to the left or right, and how much butter he should slather on the warm roll he’d attempted to slice open with a knife.

  That was a no go, according to Wren. “Rip it open with your hands,” she instructed him, demonstrating with her own roll.

  He’d like to rip something open with his hands—like her dress. Or hey, her panties would be fun to rip open. Would she ever let him try something like that?

  Probably not, so he’d have to settle for the fantasy instead.

  There were little candles on the table and the overhead chandelier was dimmed low. The light was mellow, as was the mood. All Tate could hear was the clink of silverware on very thin, white plates with little pink roses dotting the edges.

  This fancy dinner had nothing to do with the potential pairing of him and Wren.

  And no one was asking what was up either. Delilah and Lane spent most of the meal making lovey eyes at each other. To the point where Tate did his damnedest not to look in their direction for fear of feeling like he was spying on an intimate moment. Harper was the harried hostess, and Tate could tell it was driving West crazy.

  Then there was Wren. Bluebird. Dove. She was fairly quiet, which he found unusual. There was a nervous edge to the air, one he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it was there. Hovering in the room, making everyone cast wary glances at each other.

  It was in between dinner and dessert, after the plates had been cleared and Harper was offering coffee to accompany the dessert, when West stood, grabbed hold of her hand, and demanded that she sit down.

  “But I need to get the dessert,” she protested, looking flustered.

  “Sit down, woman,” West commanded, and she did, her eyes wide as he knelt onto one knee in front of her.

  “Oh my God,” Wren whispered, glancing over her shoulder to look at Tate. “What is he doing?” she squeaked.

  Tate shrugged, though he had a feeling he knew exactly what was happening.

  “It’s like you knew I had this planned so you put together an extra special dinner just for the occasion.” West grabbed hold of Harper’s hand and held it loosely in his own. “Baby, I love you.”

  “I love you too.” She glanced around the room, her nervous gaze skipping over every one of them. “But you’re holding up dessert.”

  “Dessert can wait. I need to ask you a question first.” West reached into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out a ring with a giant, flashing diamond. “I know we’ve only been together for a short time, but I’ve known you all my life. I feel like I’ve loved you most of my life too. I don’t want to wait a proper amount of time—when I know, I know. And Harper, I know I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

  Tears sprang to Harper’s eyes as she murmured her answer just before she lunged for West, wrapping her arms around his neck as their mouths met in a sweet kiss.

  “Don’t leave us hanging! What did she say?” Delilah asked, breaking the silence in the room.

  West and Harper
pulled away from each other, Harper’s arms still around his neck. “She said yes,” he said.

  Everyone started talking at once, Delilah clapping as she practically bounced out of her chair. Lane went to his brother, who stood with Harper clutched close to his side, and enveloped them both into a hug. West mentioned champagne, and Delilah went to get it from the kitchen.

  Wren never said a word. She remained completely still in her chair, her hands clutching the edge of the table, her head bent, as if she was staring at something particularly fascinating. Tate wanted to say something to her, ask her if she was all right, but what if she wasn’t? What would he do then?

  Instead he stood and went to West and Harper, offering his friend a congratulatory handshake and embracing Harper until West told him to let go of his fiancée. Which made Harper dissolve into near hysterical giggles, and they hadn’t even popped open the champagne yet.

  The night had taken a weird but happy turn.

  Wren finally pushed her chair away from the table and approached the newly engaged happy couple, the tremulous smile curling her lips making Tate nervous. She hugged both West and Harper, quietly told them both she was so happy for them. She lingered in the room, her smile strained, her eyes sad. He wanted to go to her, wanted to say something, offer her comfort, whatever he could. But she’d probably just turn him away.

  “Champagne time!” Delilah burst out of the kitchen carrying a bottle in one hand and some glasses in the other. “Who’s ready to toast West and Harper?”

  As they all rushed toward Delilah to grab a glass, Tate glanced around the room in search of Wren, but she was nowhere to be found. Concerned, he took off down the hall and stopped in front of the bathroom, rapping on the closed door three times, but there was no response.

  He pressed his ear against the door, listening for a sign of life. Anything to indicate Wren was in there.

  But he heard nothing.

  “Wren.” He grabbed hold of the doorknob and gave it a shake, but it was locked. “You all right?”

  “Can’t a girl pee in peace?” she wailed from within the bathroom.

  He paused in his rattling the doorknob, feeling like a jackass. “Sorry. I’ll leave you al—”

  The door swung open, Wren standing before him, her eyes watery, tears streaking down her cheeks. She reached for him, taking his hand and yanking him into the bathroom before she slammed the door and turned the lock back into place.

  “Don’t leave,” she murmured, reminding him of the night in the bar, when she’d looked so sad and a little drunk, grabbing hold of him and basically begging him not to go.

  She was doing it again, only this time she was desperately trying to hold it together and having a hell of a time. He didn’t like it. At all. Helpless crying chicks weren’t his scene, and he glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, wondering how the hell he could get out of this and not piss her off or upset her more.

  “Don’t ask if I’m all right.” Her voice was shaky, and she ran her index fingers beneath her eyes at the same time, catching a few tears and smeared mascara. “I’m fine. I promise.”

  Wren didn’t look fine—emotionally fine, that was. Oh, she was fine as hell in that pretty dress with those bare shoulders and that cleavage, but otherwise, she seemed a little unstable.

  Not that he was going to point that out.

  Was she drunk? She’d had at least one glass of wine at dinner, but maybe she had more than he realized.

  “It just happened so fast, you know? They’ve only been seeing each other for a few months and now they’re getting married. I’m happy for them, I swear. It’s just . . . I . . . ” She pressed her lips together as if she needed to contain a sob and closed her eyes, shaking her head with a sniff.

  Tate felt the panic rising within him. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to comfort her. So he just remained quiet and let her talk, let her get it out.

  “Everyone’s paired off, you know? They’re doing something with their lives, they have someone they love, and they’re moving forward. While I’m still here, stuck. Though I shouldn’t make this about me.” She leaned against the counter and tilted her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m acting incredibly selfish, running off to cry like a baby in the bathroom. I should be out there toasting them and talking bridesmaid dresses with Delilah.”

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He moved toward her, nearly stepping on the hem of her dress. The bathroom was tiny, and he felt like he could hardly move without accidentally touching her. Not that touching Wren was ever an accident. “They’ll understand.”

  “No, they won’t.” She looked at him, her smile weak, her entire demeanor so incredibly vulnerable he was tempted to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go. “Let me wash my face and then we’ll go back out.”

  Tate frowned. “You want me to go first?” The others might think they were up to no good, alone in the bathroom.

  She shook her head. “Hold my hand when we walk out there. Let’s give them the show they want, okay?”

  No way was he going to protest. “Whatever you want, Dove.” Whatever made her happy.

  For once, she didn’t protest or give him shit about the bird name. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because I like you.” Reaching out, he touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her eyes slid closed, and she sighed, the sound so full of longing it touched something deep within him. Something he wanted to explore further.

  With Wren.

  She said nothing in reply. Just turned on the sink and splashed water on her cheeks, before wiping them with a hand towel. When she faced him, she squared her shoulders, trying her best to put on a brave front. “Let’s go.”

  He unlocked the door, took her hand, and they exited the bathroom.

  Together.

  WREN WAS A bitch, a terrible friend and sister who couldn’t support the people she loved during a time when they needed her the most. She’d run and hid in the bathroom like a jealous woman, crying into her hands, letting the guilt eat at her as she tried her best to fight against her confused emotions.

  She really hoped her face wasn’t too red from the pitiful crying. She’d mentally told herself to get over it. But get over . . . what exactly? She was thrilled West just asked Harper to marry him. One of her best friends would now be a member of her family. Life couldn’t get any better than that.

  So why the earlier tears? Why the brief moment of crushing disappointment? It wasn’t directed at her brother and her friend. More like it was directed at . . . herself. Silly, she knew this. She had no boyfriend, not even a real serious prospect, and besides, she didn’t need a man to make her life complete.

  But seeing all the love between West and Harper. Watching her friend try her best to make the dinner as special as possible and her brother busting out a gorgeous ring while on one knee. It was all so incredibly romantic that it made Wren’s heart swell . . .

  And then bust wide open.

  That Tate was the one who ran to her rescue wasn’t lost on her. That he didn’t give her shit or tell her to get it together helped tremendously. He said nothing, just watched her as she tried to compose herself and explain herself, all at once. But he never demanded an explanation.

  He just wanted to be there for her. Period.

  Even when he called her Dove, she couldn’t complain. It was sweet the way he said it, his voice soft, his gaze warm. He’d taken her hand and led her back out to the tiny dining room, tugging her toward her friends, who embraced her all at once, Delilah and Harper hugging her so hard they almost toppled over.

  “Are you okay?” Harper asked close to her ear.

  Nodding, Wren pulled away from them, offering up a shaky smile. Damn it, she really needed to get her emotions in check. “I’m happy for you. Seriously.”

  “But—” Harper started to protest, and Wren cut her off.

  “No buts. I can’t believe it happened this fast, but asking y
ou to marry him is the best thing West could’ve ever done for himself. For all of us. You two are perfect for each other.” Wren’s smile grew. “You’re going to be my sister now.”

  “I know!” Harper squealed, pulling her in for a hug again. “I can’t wait.”

  Wren couldn’t wait either.

  West pushed a glass of champagne into her hand and made a toast, thanking all of them for being here tonight.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said solemnly as he lifted his glass into the air, his gaze only for Harper. “To my future bride, for making me the happiest man on earth tonight.”

  Someone else said cheers, and then they were all clinking glasses and drinking, Wren swallowing every drop of her champagne in one giant gulp.

  Liquid courage was definitely on the agenda again tonight.

  Once the gushy toasts were out of the way—during which Wren might’ve drank three full glasses—music was turned on, so loud it drowned out her thoughts, her worries, her troubles. She helped clean the kitchen for a little bit before Harper shooed her away. She went outside to the backyard, another full glass of champagne dangling from her fingers, moving in time to the beat of the song that was playing.

  Wren wasn’t much on dancing. That was more Delilah’s scene. Though with enough champagne in her, she found herself swaying to the beat, her eyes sliding closed. The bass throbbed, and the alcohol flowing through her veins was just enough to make her feel loose.

  Free.

  Her eyes popped open to find Tate standing a few feet away, clutching a bottle of water and watching her with an amused expression on his face.

  “Am I entertaining you?” she asked, raising a brow. “Want me to put on a little show?”

  “You’re always entertaining, Dove.” He smirked. “And please, don’t stop dancing on my part.”

  There was no one else around them, so she felt bold. Like she could say anything. “I could do a striptease.” Wren executed a little drunken twirl, her glass slipping from her fingers as she nearly fell, tripping over the too-long skirt of her dress. Tate lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground, gathering her in his arms and holding her close to his chest.