Page 41 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

TWENTY-NINE

SHEPHERD

Of all the ways Wren and I could spend the hours while our bread dough rises, she wants to hear my bike trails presentation. I might have chosen an activity with a lot less talking, but it’s exactly like I said—she does her own thing unapologetically.

I get out my laptop so I can show her the slideshow Lila and I worked up while I talk.

It’s mostly pictures of the fire roads and graphs and stats about other similar projects, but it will give her an idea of the result I’m going for.

Wren sits next to me at the dining table, her bright eyes betraying nothing of the big emotions she processed earlier.

I had no idea she’d given Rose a second thought, let alone that she’d felt inferior to her in some way.

Rose and I were never serious—she asked me out one day at Perk Me Up, and in an effort at being open to trying something new, I’d agreed.

We had just enough time together to discover we were incompatible before I realized my feisty new business neighbor had already worked her way deep beneath my skin.

I wish Rose nothing but the best, but I don’t regret my decisions for a second .

Except maybe the one where I agreed to let Wren help me prepare for the town hall meeting.

Putting the final touches on the presentation hasn’t eased my anxiety.

If anything, it’s cranked it up another notch.

Having the speech ready just adds to the looming dread hanging over my mental calendar, like two storm clouds colliding to create a tornado.

The date creeps closer, destruction imminent.

I’ve got my notes on a tablet I can refer to during the presentation, and I call those up. My fingers shake on the touch screen, my heart already beating against my ribs like it wants to escape. In a frustrating twist of fate, Wren is perfectly calm while I have a mild crisis right before her eyes.

If my palms are sweating from the prospect of giving this talk in front of her, how am I going to handle standing in front of a hundred people?

Or more—Lila’s drummed up enough interest in the meeting that there’s talk of needing overflow space.

I’d hoped scheduling it the same night as Moonlight Lodge’s gala would cut down on the audience, but apparently the two interest groups don’t overlap.

I told her I don’t want to hear any more details from her end.

It’s going to take all my imagination to pretend the people in the room with me are somewhere else.

I don’t need to know about anyone listening in from a second location.

Wren runs a hand over my knee, bringing my spiraling thoughts into focus.

I exhale, debating chickening out, but her soothing method works.

I launch into my speech, clicking through the slides where appropriate.

I try to use the same voice of authority Lila coached me on for when I do this for real.

I need to be convincing. Affable. Someone Sunshine can trust. Logically, I’m the best person to give the presentation.

But anxiety doesn’t like to listen to logic. Anxiety tells me I’m going to say the wrong words. Lose my train of thought. Throw up. And that’s before anxiety really gets cooking .

Twenty-five minutes about bike paths and community impact is a lot to put Wren through.

But she listens attentively, examining each new picture that comes up as if the details matter to her.

She keeps her hand on my knee, squeezing lightly when I do lose my place and fumble over words.

Not a good sign when I can’t get all the way through it in my own kitchen.

But she’s comforting to have here with me, even if I wish I didn’t need the extra help.

When I finish, she applauds. “That was great, Shepherd.”

I try for a smile, but this trial run didn’t reassure me.

“Expanding those trails could really make a difference for Sunshine, huh?” she asks.

“It’s hard to quantify community quality of life indicators about something so specific, but tourism numbers in other areas are pretty straightforward.

So yes, it should benefit Sunshine on several fronts.

” I sound like a short-circuiting robot.

I don’t want her to see how I’m flexing my hands beneath the table like one, too.

She catches it anyway. The softness in her eyes when she recognizes my discomfort is like a tiny little knife to my heart.

She takes my hand and stands. “Come here.”

I seem to have no self-control when she touches me, and I follow her without a second thought. She leads me to the couch and indicates I should sit. When I do, she tucks up against my side, tugging my arm around her shoulder.

Thankfully, I can take it from here. I wrap both arms around her, holding her close. The tension coiling through me fades away on each slow breath. Snuggling Wren is a completely impractical method for dealing with my anxiety, but it’s now my all-time favorite.

Somewhere by the door, her phone buzzes. She sighs against me, kicking both her feet over my legs.

Our book group friends haven’t let up with their eager hints about Wren and me. They’ll probably want to take full credit when they find out we’re actually together.

“Did you finish the book?” she asks.

“Yes.” Everybody dropped their walls and declared their love. It took almost four hundred pages, but they got there.

“I haven’t yet. I’ve been too busy.” She lightly presses her fingers against my chest.

“You don’t regret a minute of it.”

She just laughs. “I heard once that some people with anxiety like reading romances because you always know things are going to turn out okay in the end. Is that true for you?”

“I don’t know. Some of those third act breakups can be pretty brutal.”

“Is that a hint for the book?”

“No. It’s a comment on love stories having heart-wrenching moments right before they end happily.”

“A tale as old as time.” She draws small circles over my chest. “Would your presentation be any easier for you if people you know are in the front row?”

I snake my arms tighter around her. “Probably depends on which people I know.”

She releases a little growl of frustration. Ah, yes. One of my favorite sounds.

“I mean me, obviously. If I was there, would that help? Or just make you stress more?”

I love that she’s trying to accommodate my anxiety even as she’s looking for ways to soothe it.

“It would mean a lot to have you there.” It won’t magically cure my anxiety over being on stage, but having a comforting face to focus on could help.

“What if you had a big support group with you? Like Leo and Charlie and your parents? ”

“That might help, but it doesn’t matter. They’re busy that night.”

She tips her head back to look up at me. “What do you mean?”

“The town hall meeting is the same night as the gala at Moonlight Lodge.”

She stares. “What?”

Then, she shifts so she’s sitting up and straddles me, gazing hard into my eyes. “They scheduled their event for the same night as your big presentation?”

“To be fair, my presentation wasn’t on the town hall calendar yet when they set up the gala.”

“Can they reschedule?”

I smile over how hard she’s trying to find a solution for me. “It’s pretty late for that.”

“Do they at least feel bad about missing out?” A little line forms between her eyebrows as if she needs to convince my family of their transgressions.

“I didn’t tell them.”

She takes me by the shoulders. “Why not?”

“What’s the point? They can’t reschedule, and neither can I. It’s not their fault it sometimes feels like…”

I search for the right words but don’t like any of the options.

“It sometimes feels like…?” she says.

“They encouraged me to venture out on my own, and I appreciate that. I know they’re here for me if I need them. But sometimes it feels like I’m not what they want me to be.”

My parents would never say that, of course. They love and support me to an absurd degree. That doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t lived up to their hopes for me. I left the family business behind and forged my own path. There’s got to be some amount of disappointment tied up in that .

She runs her hands from my shoulders down to my elbows. “Because you don’t work at the lodge anymore?”

“It was the same when I worked there. Maybe worse.” I slide my hands over her hips and up to her waist. “It was like being the last piece of a puzzle, but I didn’t fit where I was supposed to go. Leo meshes better with them than I do.”

“That’s not true.”

She’s so worked up in my defense, it’s adorable.

And somehow both soothes and presses on an old bruise.

“Leo’s been working at the lodge for a couple of months and has not only helped plan the biggest event they’ve ever seen out there, but he’s going to emcee the whole thing.

Stuff like that is second nature to him. I could never.”

I’m envious of my famous friend—what a cliché. I don’t want what he has or wish my life was different. But I’m well aware I was never much of a benefit to my family’s business. He’s become central without even trying.

“Who cares about Leo? Snore.” She runs her hands up the sides of my neck to cup my jaw. “The guy who built his bike shop from the ground up? Who’s going to give a big speech and sell this town on a cool new project even though it’s not second nature to him? That’s the good stuff.”

She leans in close, running her fingers through my hair. “Plus, black sheep are kinda hot.”

The warmth of her lips makes all thoughts of Leo and the lodge fade into the background. Her soft kiss grounds me in the here and now. The feel of her in my lap. Her nails on my scalp. Her mouth, nipping at mine.

After a minute, she pulls back, still petting and soothing me with her hands. “I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t be what your parents wanted.”

I run my hands to the small of her back, pulling her closer. “Your mom? ”

She shakes her head. “My dad. Things were bad before he left. They fought a lot. He threatened to leave a bunch of times before he finally did. As an adult, I can see that he was just testing whether Mom would beg him to stay. As a little girl…”

She smooths the front of my shirt, not meeting my gaze.

“I thought I could get my daddy to stay. If I did the right things, if I was sweet and good and kind all the time. If I was the best girl, he wouldn’t follow through on his threats.

But he did, and…ugh, it’s so stupid. It’s been so long, but I think there’s a part of me that feels it’s safer to be the worst girl instead of trying to be the best girl and have people leave anyway. ”

“Wren.” I pull her in close, locking her to me. My heart breaks, imagining her as a little girl thinking she could save her parents’ marriage if she only stayed on her best behavior. And then despairing that it wasn’t enough.

She pushes back, finally looking me in the eyes. “To be clear, I am the worst girl. This isn’t an act or anything. I really am full of snark and rage and bitterness.”

I glide my hands up her back. “I know. I like that about you.”

She rolls her eyes, and her mouth takes on that skeptical slant I know so well.

I’m reminded of something Rosetta texted us weeks ago. That people read enemies to lovers because they like the idea of someone seeing us at our worst and loving us anyway. Just because Wren doesn’t believe it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want it.

“You’re also full of love and loyalty and a fierce protectiveness. I like all your parts, Wren. I like you .”

I want to say so much more. I love you. I inked you on my skin so I’d always have a piece of you with me. There is nothing you could do that would make me give you up now.

But this day has already witnessed a host of emotional revelations. I don’t need to add to the weight of that. So I do what I do best. I needle her. Just a little.

“For the record, I like you when you’re bad.”

She snorts, falling against me to nuzzle her nose along my neck. “You are such a cheeseball.”

When it comes to her, I one hundred percent am.