“It’s fine, Dane.” She forced herself to meet Alex’s eyes, waiting for the hit of longing, the bolt of hurt to spear through her. Nothing happened. And when he hauled her up into his arms, she felt … well,shit… not much. Not as much as she expected to.
She awkwardly patted his shoulder with one hand, thinking that he felt less substantial than Dane, and that he didn’t smell half as good. Pulling back as soon as she could, she pushed her hand through her hair and looked at him. “You should’ve told me you were coming, Alex,” she stated, pleased her voice didn’t sound shaky.
“I considered that, but I didn’t put it past you to leave when you heard I was on my way,” Alex said. Wren saw the hurt in his eyes. “I told you I needed to talk to you, so howcould you fucking ghost me? You’ve been doing it forweeksnow!”
“Dude, watch your mouth,” Dane warned. She thought about explaining to Dane that Alex used “fuck” the way writers used “said” but decided to let it slide. Wren looked at him, noticing that he hadn’t moved, and that his eyes were moving from Alex’s face to his hands still gripping her biceps. Then Dane nodded to Alex’s hands. “Off.”
Alex immediately dropped his hands. “Seriously, we’re old friends?—”
Dane finally looked at her, his winter-cold eyes connecting with hers. “Do you want to talk to this guy or not?” he quietly asked. “If not, we can leave.”
She was so tempted to let Dane walk her out of the tent. But because she could see the confusion in Alex’s eyes, and because she owed it to him to hear him out, she hesitated. They’d known each other for years; they’d been dance partners and collaborators. Best friends. She’d let him say his piece.
She folded her arms and rocked on her heels. “I think I need to talk to him,” she told Dane.
Dane nodded. His chilly eyes returned to Alex’s face, and he pointed to the seat on the opposite side of the table. “Sit over there,” he told Alex. “If you do anything to upset her, you will regret it.”
Dane squeezed her shoulder, gave her the smallest of smiles, and when Alex took his seat, he walked away. Wren fought the urge to call him back. Or to order another whiskey. She needed courage and didn’t know where to find it.
She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, conscious of the headache pounding behind her eyes. All she wanted to do was to go home, climb into bed, and sleep. Or go to Dane’s home, climb into bed with him, andnotsleep. But, instead, she was being forced to face her past, her feelings, and her humiliation in the face.
“Why are you here, Alex?” And where was his fiancée?
Alex folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on his fist. It was, as she knew, his thinking pose, hisI’ve got something on my mindpose.
“You look good, Wrennie.”
She couldn’t help the rush of warmth, the boost to her ego. This man had been the center of her world for a long time, and his opinion had been, rightly or wrongly, the one she listened to most. She’d once lived for compliments like that…
“Alex, you’re getting married in a few weeks, and you’re starting a new life, a new chapter. You’re in love.” Occasionally, she tortured herself by scrolling through his and Jess’s social media posts, where they looked like the poster couple for engaged happiness.
“I don’t think I am, Wren.”
She blinked. Had she heard him correctly? “What are you saying, Alex?”
“I asked Jess for some space, and we’ve postponed the wedding. I think I made a mistake, Wren. With you.” He pushed his hand into his hair and raked it back, a gesture she was so familiar with. He did it when he was feeling unsure, caught off-balance.
Not understanding, Wren forced herself to speak. “Again, what are you trying to say?”
His deep brown eyes, Latin-sexy, reflected his confusion and a healthy measure of regret. She wasn’t familiar with this version of Alex, humble and off-balance—she’d never thought he could be off-balance.
“Back then,” he said, “a year ago, you told me you loved me and asked me to choose you.”
She winced at the memory. Why was he here, in her town, bringing all of that back up?
“I think I chose wrong. Iwaswrong. I want you.”
Her heart bounced off her ribcage and plopped back down. Every atom in her body clenched, then froze. Her fingers on the beer bottle iced up, and her breath found itself stuck in her throat. She narrowed her eyes, hoping the action would make her see him more clearly, would make her seemore.
Because it was the last thing she expected to happen on this warm summer’s evening. She needed to understand. You need to think, Wren, don’t react.Think.She just needed to push the big, screaming, cartwheel emotions—he’s back, he wants me, he chooses me—aside and process what this could mean. Did mean.
Her dad taught her that permanence was a myth. Big feelings were always followed by bigger exits. The screech of tires at three a.m. would follow the gift of a giant stuffed teddy bear (two weeks after her birthday) and the fervent promise of a camping trip. Promises were elastic. So she’d deliberately become a woman who excelled at beginnings—the flirtation, the spark, the electric first look. She could choreograph attraction like a masterclass. But what came after? The staying? The choosing? That was foreign territory.
In hindsight—and why hadn’t she realized this before—Alex flowed in and out of her life as well. He’d disappear to do a gig without telling her, or he’d be out of touch because he was infatuated with a dancer or a singer who’d caught his eye.
Yet she’d still considered herself safe enough to test the rules. They were best friends. He knew her rhythms, her moods, her silences. Their first kiss had been brilliant, long and sexy, and she felt like their friendship had caught fire. The dance she’d created—it was more hers than his—had been her love letter to him. Then when he told her he was in love with Jess, she gathered what was left of her courage and went all in—she told him that she loved him and asked him to choose her.
And now he was back, saying he’d been wrong. That he’d chosen Jess when he should’ve chosen her. Up until earlier today, she’d thought—believed—she was over Alex. And she was, wasn’t she? Then why did she feel a little giddy? Was the rush of exhilaration just because she was happy he was back, or might it be because she’d beaten beautiful, blonde, perfect Jess?
