Page 5 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

HUDSON

The cool, dark atmosphere of Jack’s is a reprieve from the early summer sun, especially after I spent the morning sweating in my gear. I spot Cole and Jett at the bar top, shooting the shit with Grady as he pours some drinks for another table.

“Hope you didn’t start without me,” I say, giving Cole a friendly pat on the back as I slide myself onto the stool next to him. “Again,” I add.

“Nah, you’re paying for my beer, remember?

” Cole teases. He won the boot drive by a landslide, but only by default.

Had Alma Rose not taken up all my time and attention, I would have had it in the bag.

But I’m not a sore loser, and fair is fair.

Cole saw his opportunity and capitalized on it, I can’t fault him for that.

The idea of a cold beer after the day I had is enough to make me relax a little. I’ve been tense ever since I saw Wren in town, and spending the afternoon with her didn’t help. The way she looks at me makes my heart race and my palms sweat .

She never used to make me nervous, but seeing her today was a different experience. She had this burning intensity about her, and it was unnerving. I can’t help but shake the feeling that there’s something off about her.

Growing up, Wren never had the animosity behind her eyes that she did today.

Sure, I can admit we didn’t exactly leave things off on the best of terms, but there was something else there, too.

Something more than a decade-old heartbreak or lingering resentment.

It was a seriousness, a hardness about her.

Those dark brown eyes had no … spark. Not the way they used to. Not the way I once fell in love with.

“Alright, alright. You’re the official reigning boot drive champ,” I concede. Grady returns from dropping the drinks off and takes our order. We all get a pint of lager, and when he slides the glasses across the bar towards us, my mouth starts watering.

The bitter liquid hits my lips, and I realize how parched I am from standing outside in the heat all day. I must take a bigger gulp than normal because as I set the glass down, I realize the rest of them are staring at me.

“Tough day or …?” Grady asks, and they all wait expectantly for my answer. I guess I was a little tense, and the beer has already taken the edge off after my meeting.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I dismiss them.

It’s not worth discussing, and there’s nothing much to say—Wren and I decided we’d work together from afar, e-mailing only when necessary about this project. It’ll be easier that way, keeping things professional and saving us from being at each other’s throats.

She’ll forward me any plans or blueprints she signs off, and my team will get the work done. That’s it, that’s all. Any personal relationship I had with Wren is fixed firmly in the past. She’s no longer the fun-loving, carefree teenager I used to know, anyways. We took different paths, her and I.

“Did it have anything to do with that gorgeous brunette you couldn’t stop staring at?” Cole asks. “If you know her, give me her phone number. I need to thank her for helping me win the fundraiser.”

“If we’re gonna get technical about why you won today, it was because of Alma Rose, not Wren,” I correct him, before taking another swig of beer.

“Wait, Wren is in town?” Grady cuts back in, turning his full attention towards me now. “And you weren’t going to say anything about this? How are you feeling about it?”

“He’s probably feeling great,” Jett adds. “Now he has an excuse not to get laid like I told him to.” I do my best to ignore Jett’s comment, lingering irritation from our conversation this morning sizzling on the surface. Still, the piece of paper with a phone number on it burns in my pocket.

“Not great.” I say, ignoring Jett’s comment. “She showed up at the lot for the new arts centre in fucking heels and made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. She’s changed, and not for the better.” But God, she looked amazing in those heels .

Grady grimaces and makes a yikes face, as does Cole. Jett is still working this new information out in his mind.

“Back up a sec. She’s working on the arts centre? That’s your project,” he points out. “I thought you wanted to do that for Mom. ”

“Yeah, that’s the idea. She’s consulting as a structural engineer, so I’m in for a whole summer of this.”

Grady and Cole cringe again.

“Good luck with that,” Cole says, and I give him a nod.

“The only luck he’ll need is for not letting himself fall for her again,” Jett mutters. But he couldn’t be more wrong. I have no interest in Wren. Not anymore.

Ruby barely lifts her head off the couch when Jett and I get home from the bar. She’s always exhausted after a day at the ranch.

“Hey, girlfriend,” I say, giving her a pat on her soft belly. “Have a good day?”

“You should have seen her chasing after Beck’s horse while he rode. Huge dumb smile on her face, all freaking day.”

I walk back to the front door and grab her leash and collar, calling her over to go out for her last pee.

She comes reluctantly, does her business quickly when we get outside, and retreats to my bed as soon as we’re back through the door.

I follow her. Jett’s already closed the door to his room, and he’s talking low on the phone.

Ruby sighs as she flops down on the soft mattress, and I do the same. Holy shit it was a long day.

I cross my arms over my stomach, stare up at the ceiling, and allow my mind to decompress.

I close my eyes, but when I do, the image seared into my eyelids is Wren’s face.

The gentle slope of her nose, her dark lashes framing those cold eyes, the dip of her cupid’s bow.

The feeling of her breath in my ear, on my neck.

The soft, round globe of her ass in my hands as I carried her.

That fucking toe ring.

Maybe Jett is right. As much as I hate this version of Wren, the possibility that the old her might be in there somewhere is enough to keep me intrigued. I have to nip this in the bud. I have to accept the reality that it has been ten years since Wren and I were two kids in love.

Ten years changes people, sometimes fundamentally. I know it has with Wren—she’s no longer the girl I fell in love with. She’s a she-devil in stilettos and it’s time for me to move on.

I remember the slip of paper in the back pocket of my jeans, and I reach around until I find it.

Unfolding it, I find the phone number in scratchy, shaky printing.

Alma’s granddaughter. Emma , the note says.

This could be alright. It could be more than alright.

I have to put myself out there eventually.

Fuck it. I type and retype a message, overthinking it beyond a reasonable degree before finally hitting send.

Hi, is this Emma? It’s Hudson Landry. Your grandmother told me you’ll be in town for the summer and might like a tour guide?

Keep it casual and friendly, good. I set the phone down on the bed, my foot twitching impatiently. I haven’t done this in a very long time, and waiting for Emma’s response makes me feel slightly nauseated. Five minutes later, my phone pings.

EMMA

Hi Hudson! Yes, this is Emma. Nan told me you might text. I appreciate it, although I hope she didn’t hype me up the way she did with you. I keep telling her she needs to mind her business.

My mouth turns up into a soft smile, and I laugh through my nose. Emma seems sweet.

She did tell me you have a “bangin’ bod”.

I send it nervously, hoping I didn’t overstep. She quickly sends back a response, and I let out a sigh of relief.

We text back and forth for a while, sharing facts about ourselves, making casual, tentative plans for when she arrives in Heartwood. She sends me a picture of her dog, a curly-haired, cream-coloured spaniel-poodle cross named Murphy. He looks like a teddy bear.

I send her back a picture of Ruby, and we agree to take our dogs for walks together. The conversation is nice. Emma seems nice.

I eventually say goodnight and go to set my phone down on my nightstand when an e-mail notification comes in. It’s from Shelley to me and Wren .

Hi Hudson & Wren,

Unfortunately, some unforeseen circumstances have come up with my mom in Calgary, and I will have to go there for a while to be with her.

I am unsure how long I will be, so I’ve decided to hand over my role to one of you and leave it in your capable hands.

I trust you both, so decide amongst yourselves who will take the lead on the project.

Regards,

Shelley

My immediate thought is that I hope Shelley’s mom is okay. The mention of the hospital earlier sent me right back to my childhood and spending weeks on end with my own mom as she fought through round after round of chemo.

I send Shelley a quick response letting her know we’ll take care of it, and to let me know if there’s anything I can do. And then the thought that follows is that I need to take the lead role.

Normally, I wouldn’t care too much as long as the job gets done.

But this project is different. When Joe McCall told me we got the bid, I pleaded with him to let me take it on.

This arts centre is the first thing in a long time that has allowed me to feel connected to my mom.

She was a real creative at heart. She was the one person who got me, who saw my softer side, the side I toughened up in front of my brothers.

When she died, I was alone. No one saw me, until I met Wren. She had the same free spirit my mother had, and she never made me feel like I had to be something I wasn’t. Until she decided to go away to university.

Whatever Wren’s motivation for taking on this project is, I am hellbent on making sure I turn this arts centre into something my mother would have loved. It’s my chance to honour her.

Now that Wren is involved, and she’s shown me her true colours, she can’t have free rein here.

She’s acting in the best interest of her fancy firm, and no doubt she’ll want the arts centre to align with their company’s image.

It will have none of the whimsy, the warmth, the creative soul that my mother had.

I need to convince Wren to give this up.