“Not them, Wren. Us.”
She looks at me.
I know Wren well. Know her better than anyone maybe. But I can’t gauge what she’s thinking at all in this moment.
She pulls a gloved hand out of her pocket, running a finger down the tip of my nose. “Weird way to propose. But yes.”
I scoff. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I. If you asked, I’d say yes. And, yeah, maybe I have this fantasy in my head where I’m walking down the aisle, an absolute vision in white, and you say something super romantic when I reach you, like,Nice dress, about my custom couture gown with a five-foot train?—”
“I would come up with something better thanthat,” I interject.
She smiles. “But it doesn’t need to happen soon. Or ever, honestly. I love our life exactly like it is now. Would a wedding be fun? Yeah. But after, I think it would feel the same. I’d be as much yours then as I am now.”
I brave the frigid air to brush away a strand of blonde hair that the wind blew across her cheek. “I love you a lot, Wren Kensington—youknow that?”
“No, you’ve never mentioned it. Also, I woke up alone in a cold, empty bed.”
I hide a smile. “How could I possibly make that up to you?”
“Build a time machine, Mr. Engineer.”
“That would require me working on the trip, which I thought wasn’t allowed.”
“We both know you’ll check your email again. I guess I’ll have to start writing letters or something to communicate with you.”
I stand, still holding her, then walk over to the sliding door that leads into our bedroom. Manage to open it with my elbow, which Wren looks mildly impressed by. Shutting it is harder, but I complete that too. Curse after dropping Wren on the bed and immediately unzip my jacket. I rip my beanie off next, running a hasty hand through my hair.
“Why is it a million degrees in here?”
“I told you, I was cold.”
I walk over to the thermostat, turn it ten degrees down, and then survey the pile of clothes that has somehow grown since I was last in our room. “And what happened here?”
“I couldn’t find any socks.” Wren’s unwinding the scarf from around her neck, tossing it unceremoniously on the heap.
“Can’t imagine why I’m having trouble finding shit,” I mutter.
“FYI, complaining about my cute outfits is notmaking it up to me.” She glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Shit. We’re going to miss breakfast. I’ll organize later.”
If I want to avoid frostbite, I will be the one organizing before this afternoon’s kayak trip. But I don’t say that.
I tell her, “We have twenty minutes until breakfast ends.”
“I’m aslow eater.”
“We have twenty minutes to get food, not twenty minutes to eat. And you’ll come in five, max.”
“That’s rather arrogant of you,” Wren drawls, pulling off her hat. Her gloves and jacket get added to the pile next.
“Wanna bet you won’t?” I ask, approaching the bed.
“Not really,” she allows.
I smirk, reaching for the waistband of the stretchy pants she’s wearing. I yank them down, toss them on the mattress, then slip her underwear off next. “So, we have plenty of time.”
I lean over, kiss a line up the inside of her thigh. Wren’s fingers weave into my hair, tugging before I reach my destination.
