I blink. “You’re wearing overalls.”
Wren shrugs. “A fairy godmother with range.”
She does my eyeliner with surgical precision and tells me a story about a British bartender who tried to flirt with her by quotingPride and Prejudiceand how she had to pretend she was impressed when she’d never read it.
“You’re a menace,” I tell her.
“I’m a delight,” she corrects.
When she’s done, she steps back and studies me like she’s taking in a painting.
“Okay,” she says softly, and something shifts in her expression. “You look fucking fantastic, babes.”
My chest tightens. “Do I?”
Wren nods once. “Uh, hell yeah.”
I look away because being seen is still a thing my body doesn’t fully trust.
“Okay,” I say, my voice sounding small.
Wren grabs my hands. “Also, if this Grayson guy ever hurts you again, all bets are off, and I will?—”
“I know,” I cut in. “You’ll commit crimes.”
Wren grins. “Exactly. I’ll need you to put up the bail money.”
There’s a knock at my door before I have a chance to reply, and my heart trips over itself.
Wren’s eyes sparkle. “Speak of the devil.”
I glare. “Stop.”
Wren bounces to the door before I can stop her and swings it open. Grayson stands there in dark jeans and a black sweater that makes him look unfairly good. Hair is actually dry for once, like he took the time. Jaw clean-shaven. Eyes tired but bright. He holds a small bouquet of daisies in one hand and a bag in the other. When he sees Wren, he pauses. Wren grins like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.
“You must be Grayson,” she says brightly.
Grayson blinks, then recovers, because he’s Grayson. “Yeah.”
Wren steps forward and holds out her hand. “Wren.”
Grayson shakes it cautiously. “Nice to meet you.”
Wren’s gaze skims over him, assessing with the precision of a girl who has protected me through too many dark seasons. Then her smile softens.
“Nice to meet you too,” she says. “Be nice to her. I’m too pretty for jail.”
Grayson’s eyes flick past Wren to me, standing behind her with my heart in my throat. His gaze changes when it finds mine. Soft. Steady. Like he’s not here to take anything. He’s here to show up.
“I will,” he says simply.
Wren beams, satisfied. “Great. Okay. I’m leaving before I get emotionally invested in this.”
“Wren—” I start.
She grabs her bag and points at me. “Text me later. Details.Allof them.”
I choke. “Wren!”
