It is seriously a gut punch when she smiles at me like I didn’t just spend the night in her boyfriend’s arms.
Then, after a few more words, she kisses Wren on the cheek, but there’s a brief hesitation before she pulls away. “Maybe keep a permanent set of museum keys with you from now on.”
I’ve stayed silent throughout all of it, and I have no words when Tate tugs on my sleeve. “I could use some help in the back room.”
I turn to follow him, but not before catching Wren’s eyes over Eryn’s shoulder.
He almost looks sorry.
And I can’t decide for what.
Twenty-Two
Wren
As soon as Tate and Lili slip into the back room, a heavy silence settles over Eryn and me. It feels palpable, like an invisible wall between us. The hum of the museum’s air conditioner fills the space, but it only amplifies the tension.
“Did you have to call out at the café?” I ask, my voice low, not wanting to disturb the fragile stillness.
Eryn adjusts the strap of her bag, glancing briefly at the clock on the wall. “I asked Elliot to cover for me. He didn’t mind.”
Right, the new guy she’s been talking about. “That was nice of him.”
A small smile touches her lips, and I can’t be sure if it’s for me or him. “I told him I’d help him perfect his bear claw recipe on Wednesday.” There’s a brief pause before she adds, “I figured you wouldn’t mind since you and Lili were going to be here working.”
So on our only mutual day off, Eryn and I will each be with other people. And for some reason we’re both pretending that’s fine.
I start trying to flip the scenario in my head. What if it werethe other way around? What if Eryn had spent the night with Elliot, had fallen asleep with his arms around her?
Would I be angry? Hurt?
I honestly don’t know.
“Eryn?” I say her name softly. She hesitates before meeting my gaze. “Are we okay?”
Her brows knit together. “Why wouldn’t we be?” But it feels forced, as though she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.
I sigh, my shoulders tensing. “I don’t know. Doesn’t something feel... off?”
She smiles, but it’s shallow, not reaching her eyes. “I think we’ve just been busy. We’re fine.”
The words fall flat between us. I shake my head slowly. “I’m going to tell Lili I can’t help her anymore.” My throat tightens around what feels like a confession. I haven’t been much help to her anyway, and last night only proved how much more drawn to her I’ve become—too much for comfort.
Eryn’s smile falters for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face, before she straightens. “I think you’re overreacting. Don’t you enjoy having someone to geek out over history with?”
I do. More than I should. “Yes, but—”
“Then don’t quit.” Her voice is firmer now. “We’ll figure it out, we always do.”
But we won’t talk about it.
That used to feel like a relief, a reprieve from the constant probing questions everyone else threw my way after the accident. Being with Eryn meant I didn’t have to explain, didn’t have to relive every painful moment.
She never asked about physical therapy or what it was like to wake up in a body that no longer felt like mine. She didn’t push me to talk to my dad when our visions for the museum clashed—she probably didn’t even know. She’s aware that my mom left when I was little, but nothing like what I told Lili last night.
And I’m no better when it comes to her life. I don’t know why I sometimes see her waiting tables at the café instead of being full-time in the kitchen, or if she’s upset about that. I don’t know if her parents still fight the way they did when we were in high school. We’ve gotten so used to existing in a space where deep questions are off-limits that we don’t even think about them anymore.
That used to feel right, or at least easier. Right now it just feels like an excuse.
