Page 17 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“They’re doing fine, living in a warmer climate, and forgetting they have any children or a grandchild,” he said.

Wren frowned. “I’m sorry, that sucks.”

“It is what it is. Life can’t be perfect, right? If it was, nothing bad would ever happen, and we’d never grow and learn.”

“What did you learn from having distant parents?”

“How to not be like them?” Sam shook his head. “Life can still be great. My brother and I had each other, and with Jace and Merry . . . we built our own family.”

Wren’s heart squeezed. That is what she wanted. To have a child and to create a life for the two of them. To be the kind of mother she wished she’d had.

“I’m glad we talked,” Sam said, his expression somber. “When I heard you were back, I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to talk to me.”

“I figured the same. We didn’t exactly end on the best of terms.”

“Maybe we can start over on better ones?” Sam said.

“I’d like that,” she said.

Sam chuckled. “Although, if you’re ever looking for someone to do a lot less talking with, I’m here for that, too.”

Wren smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I better let you go protect the masses.” He gave her a little salute. “Enjoy the rest of your day. Nice to meet you, Duke.”

“You, too, Sam.”

Chapter Seven

Wren stepped into Brews and Chews with her shoulders back, ignoring the nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze searched the modest crowd of patrons inhabiting the rustic bar and grill, pausing on a smiling man in the corner booth. A trophy moose with large antlers hung on the wall above the secluded table, and as she approached, he stood up and she got a look at him. His picture online was accurate, give or take a few years, and Wren appreciated the honesty. While they’d exchanged pics, she hadn’t gotten a full body look.

Handsome, check. Takes care of himself, check.

“Hi, Steve,” she said, holding out a hand to him. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he murmured.

Wren could feel his appraising gaze drifting over her as she removed her jacket, revealing her black cowl-neck sweater and jeans. She hadn’t had a lot of time to primp between getting off work and their meet-up time, so her only makeup was a coat of mascara and a touch of lipstick. She’d released her bun and let her long blond hair fall around her shoulders in loose waves she’d tried to fluff up.

“Sorry about being a little late.”

“Not an issue. I ordered us drinks and a basket of Idaho nachos.”

“Thanks,” Wren said, sliding into the booth across from him. She set her bag and coat on the bench next to her and folded her hands, leaning onto her forearms as she turned her brightest smile on him. “I appreciate you coming to meet me here. I can give you gas money.”

Steve chuckled. “That’s not necessary. I’m a grown man who makes money; I can pay for my own gas.”

“I’m sure. I was just saying I appreciate you making the drive. I couldn’t find a place where we could meet halfway, and by the time I got out of work and drove to you, it would have been almost eight thirty . . .” She trailed off, realizing that she was rambling. “Anyway, we’re here.”

“Yes, we are.” His eyes sparkled, and Wren could admit that if she was looking for someone to date, he wouldn’t be a bad candidate. He seemed sweet, and his background check came back with all green flags.

“Before we get started, I have something I need you to sign.” Wren opened her satchel and pulled out a short stack of papers.

“What’s that?” he asked, his green eyes following her motions with interest.

“It’s an NDA.”

“A what?”