Page 30

Wren

I should probably call in sick from life today.

There’s no way I can go through with this. When I woke up this morning, I was convinced it had to be a dream, and if it wasn’t, then clearly, I must be ill.

Right?

There’s no way that Carson— Carson , my brother’s best friend, the guy who has always kept me firmly in the friend zone—came to my house in the middle of the night and offered to help me with my sexual fantasies.

That would clearly only happen in one of two ways. One, in my wildest, most delusional dreams. Or, two, I’m hallucinating and in desperate need of medical attention.

But then I checked my phone.

His message was there in black and white, confirming everything I’d hoped wasn’t real and secretly wished was.

He’s coming over tonight .

And I need to have a list.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” I groan, flopping back on the couch and burying my face in my hands. What I really need to do is get up and get ready for work. But the idea of calling in sick today is starting to sound pretty appealing.

“Why, did you do this to yourself, Wren?” I grumble into my palms.

Deciding that hiding from my problems won’t solve anything, I drag myself up, start a pot of coffee, and head to the shower.

By the time I pull into the parking lot of Sunset Haven, my mindset has flipped. A double shift now sounds like a dream. Maybe I’ll offer to cover for someone tonight—stay here as long as possible and delay the inevitable.

“What’s the matter with you?”

The familiar voice startles me. I’ve been zoned out, staring at my computer screen like it’s got all the answers to my problems, for who knows how long, while I try to decide what I want to… do …tonight.

This list is stressing me out.

Donnie stands in the doorway, one brow raised.

“Hey!” I smile, closing out of the multiple windows on my screen. I spin in my chair toward Donnie. “What are you up to?”

He grunts and leans against the doorframe. “Meh.” He shrugs. “Just wanderin’ the halls. Hadn’t seen you today. Thought I’d see if you were still here.”

“I’m always here.” I laugh softly.

“That’s true.” He nods. “We gotta see about gettin’ you some time off. Bet the boyfriend would appreciate more time with you.”

I open my mouth to correct him, but I catch the twinkle in his eyes and the mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re a pest, you know that?” I grab a paper clip from my desk and toss it playfully toward him.

“I’m serious, kid. You gotta get out and enjoy life more.

The best way to do that is by doin’ it with the ones you love.

Usually that includes your boyfriend—or, friend, as you call him.

” He gives me a wry smile. “You only live once, kid. Trust me—it flies.” His aged hands tuck into his dark denim jeans—the bandage still in place from his trip to the hospital last week.

Donnie has always been someone I’ve had a connection with. He’s the closest thing I have to an older family member that I feel I can talk to and confide in since my dad moved thousands of miles away and never seems to be within cell service in the Alaskan wilderness.

Suddenly, I feel the urge to share more about my personal life with my friend. I usually don’t do that, but since I’ve been back here this past month, Donnie and I have developed a closer friendship.

“I’ve actually been tryin’ to do more things for myself lately,” I admit. “I’ve been testin’ out hobbies, different things I’ve never made time for before. I know that sounds kinda lame considering I’m over thirty years old,” I say with a laugh. “But I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“That so?” He steps into the room and eases into the plastic chair against the wall. “Whatcha been tryin’?”

“Well, the other day I attempted cross-stitch. It wasn’t exactly frame-worthy, but it was…peaceful.”

“I did one of them one time. It’s hangin’ in our room. You prolly saw it, it’s that little log cabin hanging on the wall over by Geri’s bed.”

“You made that?” I question with a raised brow.

“Sure did.” He nods. “When I was in the army. Sent it home to my Geri Poo,” he says, smiling at the mention of his wife. “Me bein’ gone was hard on our family, felt like I could send a little piece of me back that way.”

My chest tugs. “She kept it all these years?”

“Never took it down.”

We sit and talk for another twenty minutes—about hobbies, things I’ve tried, the things I still want to.

He shares some of the things he always enjoyed when he was younger and even offers his wife’s assistance when I mention wanting to try crocheting.

It’s the kind of easy, warm conversation that makes me feel like myself.

When I finally glance at the clock, I jump up. “Shoot, I’m late for rounds. I better get back to work before the boss finds me,” I joke.

“Alright. I better go find the Missus. She gets too much peace when I’m gone.” Donnie slowly stands from the chair, relying heavily on the arm for support. When he stumbles slightly, I instinctively reach out to help him.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he grumbles, waving me off. “Just sat too long. Bones forget how to work when you’re my age.”

“You sure you’re okay? Do you need me to help you back to your room? Maybe you should lie down for a bit.”

“Nah, I’m fine.” He pats my shoulder. “It was good talkin’ to you, kid. Remember what I said—life’s a lot more fun when you don’t go through it alone.”

If Carson Matthews has ever been nervous a day in his life, he’s never shown it.

When I swing my front door open, he stands before me, the picture of cool, calm, and collected.

Not me, though; I’m sweating bullets—a picture of a nervous wreck.

Am I really about to do this?

After a barely audible greeting, Carson brushes past me, the fresh, crisp scent of his aftershave lingering in the air behind him. I close the door slowly, my pulse racing.

Yes. Yes, I am about to do this.

Deep breath, Wren.

“We don’t have to do this if you changed your mind.” His voice is calm, but his eyes…they’re searching, waiting. One word from me, and this ends before it starts.

But I don’t want to end it.

His brows lift, waiting for a response, waiting for me to decide how both of our evenings are about to play out. If we do this, our entire friendship will change.

Sometimes, change is a good thing—a needed thing.

“I want to,” I answer, biting my lower lip.

He nods slowly while studying me, taking in the loose-fitting olive green T-shirt, the denim shorts, and probably the panic behind my eyes.

I spent a solid half hour deciding what to wear. Because…what do you wear for something like this?

Is there proper dress etiquette for being touched by your best friend?

How would I know?!

Butterflies dance in my stomach, and I worry I’ll pass out. “Just…don’t be disappointed if I can’t… you know .”

His dark, inky brows draw together as he smirks. “I’m afraid I don’t know. You’ll have to elaborate, Tink.”

God help me.

I let out an annoyed sigh, but I know I need to become more comfortable talking about this, especially with him. “Finish.”

The air in the room seems to vanish as he steps into my space.

“Wren, look at me.”

My heart couldn’t beat any quicker if I ran out this door, took a lap around the pond, and sprinted back. If he can’t hear it fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings, it would be a miracle.

My lungs cease functioning when his warm hand reaches out, lightly gripping my chin between his thumb and index finger.

“I don’t want you thinkin’ about that. Do you hear me?” His voice is low, grounding me, his eyes scanning my face.

I give the faintest nod that I’m not sure he could possibly see.

“I just want you to feel , Tink. Not rush, not chase some finish line—just feel everything. That’s the goal. You’re the goal.”

His voice dips lower as his finger glides down my chin, skimming the center of my throat like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

The weight of his words settles over my skin, warm and heavy, syncing with the trail of his finger like a promise he means to keep.

“I want to make you feel so damn good, you forget everything else.”

He pauses, his eyes searching mine like he needs to see the answer before he even asks.

“Tell me, do you feel good?”

Another tiny, involuntary lift of my chin slips away from me.

“Use your words, Wren.”

“Yes.”

It’s breathless, barely audible, but it’s enough. His smile softens—pleased, patient, and still that same self-assured Carson I’ve always known.

He leans in, his voice like velvet against my ear. “Good girl. Now tell me what you want me to do to you.”