“They’re not silly little stories,” Wren laughs sharply, resting a large hand over mine. “Robin just ranked number three in The Times best sellers. She’s also in the top ten charts for crime fiction, currently.” I’m momentarily stunned and I couldn’t tell you if it’s because of how his skin is literally humming where we touch, or the fact he knows this information about my work. My debut novel is my baby and I like that he’s on my side, protecting us both. He sits back comfortably, our skin still sparking magic. “I think it’s really fucking cool.”
My best friend looks at me with such pride and I see a warmth in Aya as she nods in agreement—a warmth that is too good for Corbin, who is grinding his back teeth in a silent war. Bothof their glares clash for a moment too long, Wren’s words from earlier appear in my mind.Play along.
Twisting my palm up and lightly tickling the inside of his palm, his head snaps down to watch me entwine our fingers. My hand is so tiny in his and I trace over the ink there, the moon and stars, the words on his knuckles. On the other hand he has the sun, his band’s name with clouds that stretch onto his wrist. He is such a work of art and I think—no, I know all my assumptions are wrong. I’m not the only one staring at our hands, so I squeeze it lightly, silently exchanging I’m ready to play.
Before I lose my nerve, I lean into him until my breath is hot on his ear. “My, my Wren. Stalking much?”
He chuckles low, almost nuzzling the side of my face when he replies. “My Wren? That has a nice ring to it.”
Heat pools low in my belly, which is hard to ignore. “You wish Hastings.”
“Practicing your future last name?”
“Thank you for sticking up for me.” I drop the teasing and he nods, his smile slightly shy.
“I asked around, about your book.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and there's so many things I want to ask, but even with conversation picking up around us once again, I can still feel unwanted gazes.
Maggie returns with the trolley for a third time and again, the guys on the opposite side of the table stand to help her distribute. The clink of ice being swirled in a whisky tumbler grates on me, but I do my best to ignore it. Everyone thanks Maggie and then digs into the plates of meats, veggies, vegetarian roasts and more dishes scattered around. Wren lifts a lid from a smaller plate and inhales, becoming giddy as his eyes flash to meet mine.
“Do you like mushrooms? Garlic?”
“Yes to both. Love them.” I reply, intrigued. He moves the plate of what looks like buttery garlic mushrooms towards himself, grabbing another with chips. Using tongs to place a heap onto the plate, he starts to mix the garlic mushrooms with them and my mouth instantly waters. “You’re a genius.”
“It’s my go to hack on tour. Sometimes in Europe, catering can be really weird. You have to make a meal out of some pretty random dishes.”
“Try being Vegan. I’m always going hungry.” Phin chimes in, nudging my shoulder lightly as he stabs at chips on his own plate. “The garlic butter smells so nice, but ugh—butter.”
Maggie floats by with a gravy boat and hovers, “You thought I wouldn’t use plant based? Shame on you, Mr Claythorne.”
He inwardly shivers, shaking his head sternly. “Please just call me Phin. Mr Claythorne is so…formal.” His brother tuts, and to my delight Maggie rolls her eyes. I bet she would happily smack him around the head with a plate.
Phin dives for the garlic mushrooms and chips, allowing Wren to add some for me before stealing it. We all eat for a few silent minutes before small conversations start again. Wren finally removes his arm from the back of my chair, but places it on my thigh as we eat. My cheeks tint pink a little and he throws me a wink—which definitely doesn’t leave my panties twisting.
I’m dying on this hill, remember? He has no effect on me.
FINISHING up dessert after the giant main course, I put the spoon down and shift slightly in my seat. Wren has found a way to keep physical contact the entire time we ate, whether it’s with his hand, his thigh or just remaining close enough to speak low in my ear. I’m so engrossed by his presence that I completely miss Aya’s question, and I have to blink a few times for my brain to grasp at straws. Knowing who’s watching, he walks twofingers down my bare arms, over my hip and down onto my thigh, too confidently.
Aya’s eyes narrow because I still haven’t replied, Lil’s rambles filling space in the background, but when a disdained scoff rumbles from the end of the table, her head snaps to the side. Immediately Aya stands, her chair scraping back against the hardwood floor and the noise makes a bunch of the guests jolt. Wren's hand tightens slightly on my leg and I find my own hand has found its way onto his bicep. Ice scatters across the table cloth, as the whisky seeps in from Corbin’s knocked over glass. Lily is already out of her seat, dabbing at the mess with a number of napkins. “Gosh I’m such a clutz sometimes, I’m so sorry. I was reaching for the bottle of champers.”
My eyes search the table and don’t see the bottle in question. “I think you’re all out, I’ll go grab another. Does anyone want a drink?”
“Don’t be silly, you're our guests. I’ll grab some.” Merle says, heading out of the room quickly like he’s been dying for the chance to grab some fresh air. Aya is still standing, watching the spilt drink seep into the table cloth. She chews at her lip, before apologising to no one in particular and finally sits down.
Merle returns with two freshly popped bottles for the table, to which Bran cheers and shakes his fist in the air. Before we all get settled with full bellies and morealcohol, Lil slams her hands down onto the table with a little too much momentum. “Let’s get this clue started shall we then Corb! We’ve not got all night.”
I think I imagine the room taking on another worldly quality; the air chillier whilst the lights from candles flicker. The warm glow dances across the sharp smile that slowly creeps onto his face. “As you wish, Sister.”
Producing a crimson envelope from his inside jacket pocket, tension pulsates as we all stare at it, a mixture of apprehension and fear gripping me. Completely oblivious to it all, Phoenixsnatches the envelope from his brother and tears into it like a Christmas present. Across from him, Merle looks weary.
Discarding the envelope onto the table, he holds up the piece of paper and I finally detach myself from Wren’s warmth to peer over at the card. The words are typed—printed I assume.
A small vessel, drifting with ease.
In waters embrace, where jets tease.
He reads the clue out loud, a deadly silence crawling along the table whilst each guest thinks over the clue. Corbin seems unamused at how his brother is practically bouncing, itching to get the game started, his forefinger rubs harshly at his temple. “You all have to find the secrets and clues in characters.”
