Page 25 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

Sam bounded out of the station with a hop in his step he’d never experienced before. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He remembered this feeling when he was just a kid any time he got to see Wren.

He couldn’t wait to see if the feelings stuck.

Chapter Nine

Am I overdressed?” Wren asked her brother Pete as he lounged on her couch, eating a bag of Dynamites and watching Law and Order. Duke was curled up on top of her brother’s feet, watching her with interest.

Pete glanced away from the TV, his face covered in red dust from the chips, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Wren saw the semi-chewed chips lingering inside.

“Nah, you look good,” he said, smacking and chewing.

“And you’re disgusting.” She stepped into a pair of simple black boots, shooting him a dry look. “Seriously, how are we related?”

“You want me to explain the birds and the bees to you, little sis?” Pete grinned, holding up his hands, pressing his red fingertips together. “You see, our mom and dad decided to—”

“Nope, stop.” Wren shook her head. “If you do not learn some manners right quick, I’m going to boot you out of my place.”

“Nah, you love me. Warts and all.”

Wren laughed because he was right. Of all her brothers, Pete was her favorite. He was a year older than her, and her constant playmate when they were kids. Although Pete had his own place, he had two roommates and had taken to hanging out at her house on Friday nights when his roommates had company over. She had an extra bedroom but hadn’t furnished it yet, so he’d taken over her plush gray couch as his bed.

When Wren had sold her house in Sacramento, she’d also sold all the furnishings inside except for some of the more sentimental items because she didn’t want to pay the exorbitant fee to move her entire house. It was how she’d handled every move over the last nineteen years. Everything went except for what she could fit in a small U-Haul, which was usually just her mattress and bed frame. She always bought her furniture used from thrift stores or online marketplaces because she hadn’t planned on staying in any place too long.

Here, it was different. This was home, so she’d gone to Boise and splurged on a new living room set, but it was going to take her a while to refurnish her home if she bought all new furniture.

“Don’t get any of that red stuff on my new couch,” she called, heading to her room where she slipped her coat off a hanger in her closet. Combined with the knee-length simple black dress and waves in her hair, she turned in front of her closet mirror and smiled.

“Oh, I look good.”

While Wren wasn’t the same hard body she’d been before her injury, she didn’t hate the fuller, softer figure she presented in the mirror. If getting hurt had taught her anything, it was that being in shape didn’t stop a bullet.

Besides the humiliation, the events that led to her leaving Sacramento could have been worse. They’d saved the girl, caught the bad guy, and Wren had gotten a brand-new scar.

Her recovery had been longer than expected, and although they would have welcomed her back on the force with open arms, the time on the sidelines had given Wren a chance to think about what she wanted.

Turned out, being pushed into high-stress situations didn’t do it for her the way it had in her twenties.

The thought of elevated stress reminded her of the explosive results the changeup to her online profile had brought about. While there had been a few responses that seemed genuinely interested in meeting her and taking next steps, most of them had fallen into two categories: obnoxious jerks treating her desire to be a mom as a joke, or a slew of nasty messages she’d deleted after reading the first lines. Neither camp had left her feeling hopeful, and she had decided to give it until Monday, but if the pattern continued, she was going to delete the profile. While it would mean reconsidering online sperm donors, Wren was willing to take the chance of her kid dating their half-sib in the future if it meant getting this over with.

Instead of staying home and weeding out the weirdos, Wren was about to have dinner with her high school boyfriend after having a chill day shopping Black Friday sales online. Working in the city, she’d rarely had a Friday or Saturday off, let alone a holiday. And while she’d been looking forward to this dinner, a tiny voice in the back of her mind kept asking why she was bothering if she had no plans to date. Taking a trip down memory lane with her first love seemed like a fruitless venture.

It’s just dinner and an excuse to dress up, something you haven’t done in a long while. Don’t be so serious.

Wren walked out of the bedroom, her trench coat swinging around her legs. “What do you think of this?”

Pete lifted his head to give her a once-over and flopped back, eyes fixed on the TV. “You look like you’re ready to slay him.”

“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Pete snorted. “Don’t make it weird.”

Wren paused near the doorway, purse in hand, then suddenly sat on the coffee table next to Pete, panic gripping her chest. “Am I making a huge mistake?”

Pete stared at the TV as he said, “You mean having dinner with the guy that Dad hated and the rest of us wanted to pound in the tripe many years ago?”

“Yes, and just . . . moving back here.”

Pete paused the show and licked his fingertips as he wrestled his limbs out from under Duke, who didn’t budge or get down to check on his mistress. Once he was free of the dog’s weight, Pete swung his legs off the couch to sit up across from her. He reached for her hands, and she wrinkled her nose, holding them away from him. “You were just licking them like a toddler.”