People enjoyed being around her because she was fun and funny, lively, and a good friend. And on top of that, she had an incredible singing voice. Wren was convinced Lark could make it big if she tried, but her sister was a small-town girl at heart. And Lark’s heart—like Wren’s—was one-hundred percent Gracemont.
Wren stood and grabbed the empty soda cans from the coffee table. “If Tommy keeps bothering you, you don’t have to deal with it alone. I’ve got your back.”
Lark smiled. “I know. And I love you for it. Wanna catch up on Below Deck Down Under with me?”
Wren groaned because reality TV was not her cup of tea. However, she plopped back down on the couch and grabbed the remote. She knew her sister preferred being here rather than hanging out at home. Mainly because Mom and Dad controlled the TV there, which meant they were probably lounging in their matching recliners, watching some National Geographic documentary with David Attenborough talking about the ocean.
Wren smiled to herself. It was obvious the wrong daughter had moved out. She freaking loved David Attenborough.
An hour later, Lark rose, yawning deeply. “I’m going to go home and fall face down on my bed and sleep until…” She paused, grimacing. “Until my alarm goes off at six-thirty.”
Wren shook her head, grinning. “Why the hell did you ask to be put on the schedule? I know they would have given you a couple of days off following the festival.”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Because I didn’t work the festival. You did. And I’m totally giving you the money for that.”
“Lark,” Wren said, “I told you, I don’t?—”
Lark held up her hand, cutting her off. “You did the work. You earned the money. Which means I need the hours because I’m,” Lark held her pointer finger and thumb close together, almost touching, “this close to earning enough for a security deposit on an apartment. I’ve been talking to Edith, and she has a place that will be opening up in the next month or two. It’s only two blocks from here.”
Knowing Edith, the kind, generous woman would cut the rent for Lark, just so that she could finally find some independence and move out.
“That’s awesome.”
Lark gave her a quick hug as they said their goodbyes, then Wren locked the door behind her. The apartment was silent the second Lark was gone.
Too silent.
Wren frowned, surprised when those words crossed her mind. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind quiet. Hell, she preferred it. But tonight, it felt almost oppressive.
She dismissed the thought, chalking it up to exhaustion. Because while Lark had spent her weekend partying, Wren worked the festival, returning late on Sunday, then getting up bright and early to do her real job at the library today.
She was running on fumes, so she changed into her nightgown—er, sleep shirt—brushed her teeth, flipped on the nightlight, and climbed into bed. Unlike Lark, she didn’t fall face down. Instead, she stared at the ceiling.
Because the second she lay down, Grayson filled every available space in her mind. Wren ran her fingers over her lips as the memory of that kiss returned.
She could still feel it. Still feel the warmth of his mouth, the firm grip of his hand on her waist, how wonderful it was.
For a brief time, it had been enough to make her forget she was pretending to be someone else. Someone who was capable of having a normal relationship without freezing or fleeing or trembling in fear.
Rolling onto her side, she yanked the blanket higher.
It had been wrong for her to pretend to be her sister. It felt innocent enough at the time, but it had still been a mistake.
Just like it had been a mistake to not tell Lark about the kiss.
Forewarned was forearmed.
Unfortunately, those mistakes were child’s play compared to the one she was making now. Because all she could think about was how much she wanted Grayson to kiss her again.
Wren had slept approximately twelve minutes.
Okay, maybe it had been closer to two hours, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.
Every time she closed her eyes, she’d seen Grayson, standing next to her with a bottle of wine in his hand. Then, she replayed the way he held her after that asshole manhandled her. And then she remembered the devastating heat of his mouth on hers.
That kiss had ruined her, scrambling her brain thoroughly.
By the time she unlocked the library doors on Tuesday morning, she was running on caffeine and pure denial. Not that the denial was proving effective.
