Grayson chuckled, glancing in Lark’s direction with something that looked like a cross between affection and confusion. Wren didn’t have a clue how he was pulling that off, but she could read it clear as day. Which was a strange experience for her. She’d spent so much of her life pulling away from people that she’d never learned how to read them.
Sad as it was to admit, with the exception of her family and library volunteers, she’d spent more time with Grayson than anyone else since her return to Gracemont. She was starting to get a sense of who he was and what made him tick.
“Lark is a powerful force,” he conceded. “But she can also be pretty calm and chill when she wants to be.”
Wren was ready to dispute that until her dying breath, but she realized he was referring to “festival” Lark, who’d actually been her. She bit her tongue, deciding it was best not to let him know how false that statement was.
“Yeah,” she said instead. “She can be.” Wren resisted the urge to peek heavenward, just to make sure she wasn’t in danger of an imminent lightning strike.
“You look pretty tonight,” he murmured.
She smiled, even as her hand lifted involuntarily, tugging at her shirt again. “Lark made me wear this. I don’t usually…”
God. Stop talking, Wren.
Every word out of her mouth made her sound like she was eighty and exactly zero fun. She knew she shouldn’t want Grayson to “like” like her, but she did. She really did.
“Thanks,” she finally murmured.
Mercifully, the waitress appeared with two more glasses and another pitcher. Grayson immediately grabbed the pitcher, filling a glass for her and Lark before refilling everyone else’s.
For the next hour, she and Grayson spoke very little. Mainly because Remi and Lark were holding court at the table, one-upping each other on funny stories. Every now and then, Everett hopped in with an amusing anecdote or hilarious tall tale of his own.
Wren hadn’t known any of the Storm brothers personally before her weekend with Grayson, so tonight was the first time she’d hung out with Everett. Regardless of her basically being the newcomer, they all had a way of pulling her into the conversation without effort. Everett was charming, Remi had a wicked sense of humor, and Nora had the kind of easy warmth that made Wren trust her instantly.
She could see now why her sister was so close to them.
Grayson topped up her drink twice, though he needn’t have bothered, considering she had yet to drink an entire beer. And Everett insisted that she take the last of the wings they’d ordered to share.
When some song Remi loved came on, she dragged Nora to the dance floor with her. She tried to convince Lark and Wren to come too, but the dance floor looked way too crowded for her comfort. And Lark—bless her sweet sister—held true to her word, not leaving her side.
She was midway through listening to Everett tell a horrifying story about trying to help Jace install a ceiling fan in one of the cabins—and discovering a hornet’s nest in the rafters—when Lark whispered that she needed to go to the bathroom.
Wren waved her sister off, not wanting to interrupt or miss the end of Everett’s story.
If she hadn’t been so entertained, maybe she would have taken a moment or two to realize what she’d done. Because right now, she was sitting alone at a table with two men—Grayson and Everett—and feeling absolutely no unease or fear.
Unfortunately, as entertained as she was, Wren remained painfully aware of Grayson’s presence beside her, and those same tingly sensations she’d experienced at the wine festival were back. Arousal like this was a new thing for her, so it made it difficult for her to focus on anything other than him. How good he smelled. How fucking sexy he looked in his button-down shirt. How thick his muscular arms were.
Concentrate, Wren.
She forced herself to keep her gaze strictly on Everett, shutting down all her wayward fantasies about Grayson and his lips and…
Jesus, she was starting to feel like Lark, who constantly struggled with focus.
Her comfort lasted approximately ten more minutes, which was when Everett’s story winded down and she realized Lark hadn’t returned.
As another couple of minutes ticked by, Wren’s anxiety elevated. Not because she thought something awful would happen, but because life had taught her that terrible things often happened during harmless moments.
Like when you were asleep in your own bedroom, with your twin sister softly snoring across the room.
She scanned the bar in search of Lark and spotted her standing about twenty feet away. It was obvious she’d been waylaid after emerging from the restrooms.
By Tommy.
A low growl from her left told her that Grayson had noticed the same thing.
They were too far away from Lark to be able to hear their conversation over the music, but the body language was telling enough that Wren didn’t need the words.
