Page 15 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

SEAN

I wake to the sound of Wren swearing under her breath. Sunlight slices through the curtains, warming my face. Her foot gets tangled in the sheets as she stumbles toward the closet. I don’t even have time to ask what’s wrong before I hear it.

The unmistakable sound of Jen’s car pulling into the driveway.

No way.

“Jen’s here. I saw her text as I woke up.”

I bolt up. “Shit.”

Wren’s already halfway into a robe, hair a mess, eyes wild. “They’re early.”

I yank on my pants from the night before and scramble around for my shirt.

Wren grabs the brush from the dresser. “How do I look?”

“Like a woman who didn’t just have sex on every surface of this room.”

“That’s not helpful.”

I grin, grabbing the rest of my clothes. I kiss her and her eyes widen.

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“Sean!”

I slip out of her room then.

In my bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection. The events of the previous night rush back to me. Like I could even forget any of what happened. The feel of Wren’s body curled against mine, her breath soft and even against my chest.

I splash more water on my face. A small voice at the back of my mind protested.

What am I doing? Getting involved with a client is unprofessional enough. But Wren isn't just any client.

She's Jen’s best friend.

The complication I swore to avoid when starting this charade.

I should regret it. This complicates the arrangement we negotiated. But watching her sleep this morning, her usual guard down, her features peaceful, I can't bring myself to wish it hadn't happened.

After Rachel’s death, I threw myself into taking care of Jen and my demanding career. Nothing else mattered to me. Once, I’d been forced to choose between my growing career and our marriage and I'd chosen wrong too many times. By the time I realized it, she was already gone.

Since then, I've dated a few times. Nothing serious. Nothing that threatened the balance of work and my daughter. Nothing that required me to open up again.

I like my independence. My space.

But Wren…

The doorbell rings.

Wren’s voice drifts from outside my bedroom door. “Sean? Are you ready? I don't know why they didn't come in.”

I frown. “Almost. Maybe she isn't with her key?”

I finish dressing and emerge to find Wren looking fresh in jeans and a soft blue sweater, her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail.

“How do you look so put together?” I run a hand through my rumpled hair.

She shrugs.

“Years of rushing to set.”

The doorbell rings again.

“Helloooooo?” Jen’s voice carries through the house like a warning siren.

We look at each other, holding back laughter before rushing downstairs.

We reach the front door at the same time, our hands colliding on the knob. The brief contact sends an electric current up my arm.

“I got it.” She pulls away.

“No, I can?—”

“It's fine, I'll just?—”

We both reach again, bumping shoulders.

“Sorry,” we say in unison.

Wren takes a deep breath and opens the door.

“Morning!” Jen breezes in with Eric trailing behind her, shopping bags in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other. “We brought breakfast pastries! And your favorite latte, Wren.”

“You're a lifesaver.” Wren hugs her son and takes the coffee, her smile too bright.

Eric dumps his backpack by the door. “Mom, Jen took me to that trampoline park yesterday! I did a double backflip!”

“That's amazing, baby.” She ruffles his hair, shooting a grateful look at Jen.

Jen sets the pastry bag on the table. “What’s for breakfast? I’m starving.”

Wren and I speak at the same time.

“I’ll make eggs?—”

“Let me help with?—”

We both freeze.

Jen blinks. “Okay… that wasn’t weird at all.”

A loud laughter rolls out of Wren. “It’s just… gala brain. We’re still recovering.”

Jen sips her coffee, her eyes darting between us with undisguised curiosity. “It was that bad?”

“Bad? No. I mean, it was good. Very good. I mean, not too good. Just normal. Business normal.”

I nod, settling into a sofa.

“That’s right. We met… people,” I attempt, earning a bizarre look from Jen.

“Important people,” Wren adds.

Jen narrows her eyes. “Glad to know you met people there and not trees.”

“Wren read some man to filth last night. You should've seen his face by the time she was done,” I say, diverting her attention from our awkwardness.

“No way? Tell me about it.”

“It was that insufferable Ian Geller,” Wren says.

Jen giggles.

“That man had it coming.”

“Right? Now, I hope he leaves me alone. I can't stand him.”

“And we got some exciting news too. Maxwell Pierce is scheduling a meeting next week to discuss funding for Lemon.”

“Now, that’s wonderful news!” Jen claps her hands together. “Congratulations, Wren.”

“Sean was very helpful.” Wren smiles, busying herself with the coffee cups.

She starts talking about seating arrangements at the gala, and I chime in about lighting, which makes no sense, and then she says something about deviled eggs that weren’t at the event at all.

I smile to myself.

Jen stands with her hands on her waist, eyeing us. “Why do I feel like there's something you two aren't telling me?”

“We're just tired,” Wren says.

“Late night.”

Jen's eyebrows shoot up at my comment. “I see.”

Wren’s face colors and she bursts into a mirthless laughter. “What? No, not like that. The gala ran late and then we had to?—”

I nod. “Discuss strategy for the upcoming?—”

“Right, the strategy for dealing with?—”

“Product launch,” I finish.

“The media,” Wren says at the same time.

We stare at each other in horror.

Jen looks like she's watching a tennis match. “Uh-huh.”

Eric, oblivious to the tension, pulls out a pastry. “Can we eat outside? It's nice today.”

“Great idea!” Wren rushes to say.

By the time breakfast is on the table, Jen’s looking between us like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. I avoid her gaze, but my knee keeps brushing Wren’s under the table. Every touch jolts something inside me.

This isn’t what I planned. I was supposed to keep it simple. Professional.

But then she looks at me and smiles, and I want to kiss her again.

I hate how easy it is to fall into her.

“Want to kick the ball around now?” I ask Eric, desperate for distraction.

His face lights up. “Yeah!”

Outside in the backyard, tossing a soccer ball with Eric proves to be what I need. The simple physical activity clears my head. Eric is skilled, his movements precise and confident for a kid his age. I tell him that.

“It’s a talent, right? I play better than all my friends. Maybe I’ll grow to be a soccer player like Messi,” he says when I compliment him.

I laugh. “Messi, huh? I say you’re even better than he was at your age.”

“Mom tries to play with me sometimes, but she says sports isn't her thing.”

I glance over at Wren, who's watching us from a patio chair with Jen, legs tucked underneath them, sipping coffee like everything’s normal. She smiles when our eyes meet, and my chest tightens again.

I should feel bad. But I don’t.

I just want more time with her.

And that’s dangerous territory. I know it very well.

“Sean! Watch out!”

I turn just in time to see the soccer ball flying toward my face. I duck, avoiding getting hit by an inch, and stumble backward into a bush.

Eric doubles over laughing while the women try to hide their amusement.

“Dad? You okay over there?” Jen calls, suppressed laughter in her voice.

“Just wounded pride,” I answer, extracting myself from the shrub.

“You weren't even looking!” Eric giggles.

“Got distracted,” I mutter, brushing leaves from my clothes.

Distracted by his mother. By thinking about what it would mean to pursue something real with her.

After I came to terms with the fact that the woman I loved was gone, I took jobs that promised more advancement than family time, I threw myself into raising Jen and making a name for myself.

The few relationships I attempted always fizzled out when women realized I couldn't give them the commitment and emotional presence they wanted.

“Work and Jen come first,” I told my last girlfriend when she pressed for more of my time, more of my heart. She left a week later.

It's better this way. Easier. Safer.

So why can't I stop thinking about Wren?

Nothing has ever made me consider giving up the quiet life I’ve carved out for myself.

Until now.

The ball rolls to where the women are seated. Wren smiles, kicking the ball to me. “You two are making me feel lazy.”

“We all deserve lazy days,” says Jen.

“Play with us, Mom and Aunt Jen!” Eric pleads.

Jen leans into the patio chair. “Goodness no. I’m soaking up the sun instead. I have an impossible day tomorrow. Wren should play though.”

“I'll embarrass myself,” she protests.

“I promise to go easy on you,” I tease.

She lifts her chin at the challenge. “Fine. But remember you asked for this.”

To my surprise, she's not half bad. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in enthusiasm, laughing every time she misses a shot. Jen makes fun of me and Wren every time we miss Eric’s ball.

I take this picture of us in mind. Jen on the patio chair, laughing. Wren holding her stomach as she laughs. Eric throwing a ball, his face red from excitement. Me with my hands behind, watching with a satisfied smile. It feels like the picture of a happy family.

My stomach clenches.

I can help Wren with her professional problems. That's what I'm good at. That's safe. Anything more risks everything.

Yet as Eric kicks the ball far past me and I turn to see Wren laughing in the sunlight, somehow, walking away feels like a bigger risk.