Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
How could I help falling in love with him?
I stop in front of him, looking up at him with what I’m sure is a sappy smile.
He reaches out, taking both my hands in his. “Ready?”
I nod. I am ready. I’m ready to finish falling in love with him all over again, and this time, I’m never letting go.
Chapter Seventeen
BARRETT
The road leading down to the address I was given is narrow and so decimated by potholes, I have to keep my focus on the headlights to keep from shaking Wren’s teeth loose. I don’t have a chance to glance her way to gage her reaction until I’ve parked in front of the small field filled with glamping tents, fairy lights, and a central lodge building glowing brightly from the inside.
Thankfully, she looks intrigued, not horrified. “Wow, this is beautiful.” She cuts a narrow gaze my way. “But I can’t see you camping, even fancy camping. Am I wrong? Do you have a secret ‘loves to sleep in nature’ side I don’t know about?”
I smile. “No, I don’t. I spent enough time getting eaten alive by mosquitos as a kid to know I prefer a day in nature and a night inside an air-conditioned motel room. We’re not here for the camping. We’re here for a class.”
Her brows lift. “A class?”
“The family who runs the campground is from the Ojibwe tribe. The grandmother teaches native crafts and jewelry-making. She usually holds workshops on Sundays, but since we’re headed home on Sunday, she agreed to give us a lesson tonight.”
“No way.” Wren’s hands fly to cover her mouth as her eyes go wide. She drops her hands, asking, “So we’re going to learn real, authentic, native beading techniques? Please tell me it’s beading. If it’s not, I’m still so excited, but I’ve been dying to learn more about the beading.”
I nod, trying not to puff up too much as I say, “I know. You posted about it while you were at the farmers’ market last summer. You were at a booth selling tribal art and jewelry.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she says, “I could learn to like your creepy stalker side.”
“It’s not creepy. I’m a benevolent stalker.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I nod toward the central lodge. “She said to meet her in the lodge. Her name is Emmy.”
“Emmy,” Wren echoes, and slips out the passenger’s side. She joins me at the front of the truck, taking my hand as easily as if we’ve done it a hundred times before as we start across the grass. “I love that name. My grandmother’s name was Emma. I always thought that would be a nice name for a little girl. If I had one.”
“I like it,” I agree. “Classic. I also like Claire. And Mildred.”
Wren’s focus jerks my way. “Mildred?”
“I like it,” I say, with a smile. “It means gentle strength.” I shrug. “Reminds me of you.”
Wren trips. I turn to steady her, and she grips my forearms tight and lifts her face to mine.
“Shit,” I mutter, my heart lurching as I see her stricken expression. “Did I say the wrong thing again?”
She gives a small, swift shake of her head. “No, you said the right thing again. But it’s too right, Barrett. It makes me nervous.”
“Why?” I ask.
“You don’t talk to me like that. You’ve never said anything that made me think you thought of me that way. Or that you thought of me much at all when I wasn’t directly in your line of sight. It makes it hard to believe this is real.” She pulls in a breath, pushing on before I can respond, “Don’t get me wrong, I want it to be real. I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve years old, for God’s sake, so it’s not like I haven’t dreamed of—”
Her words end in a soft yip of surprise as I bend low, driving my hands into her hair as I kiss her. I kiss her without hesitation or fear, I kiss her the way I wish I’d been kissing her for years. I try to tell her with my lips, teeth, and tongue that she doesn’t have to be afraid, that this thing between us is as real as anything I’ve ever known.
But when we pull apart, both of us breathing faster, I know I can’t leave it at that.
I have to find the words, no matter how often words let me down.
“I could tell you I love you,” I whisper, my hands still in her hair and my lips inches from hers. “I could tell you that falling for you is like discovering buried treasure in my backyard, something that’s always been there, just waiting for me to have the sense to look for it. I could tell you that the thought of you with another man makes me so angry I can’t fucking see straight and that I’m probably going to punch Christian if he has the balls to show up to take you to that ball. I want to be a man who always knows what to say and isn’t afraid to speak up, but I told Lane I loved her every night. I told her she was it for me and it didn’t matter. She still lied and she still left, and words became…hollow. I don’t want to give you words. I want to give you something more. Something real.”