Chapter Eleven
Wren Brooks had kissed Daniel Hale.
Twice.
Technically more than twice, depending on whether one counted the brief pauses required for oxygen as separate events.
Wren did.
Mostly because she had replayed every one of them since leaving Daniel’s house the night before.
This was unfortunate.
She was attempting to frost cupcakes.
“You’re murdering that one.”
Wren looked down.
The cupcake beneath her hand had approximately three inches of buttercream on it.
She glanced toward Nora Mae.
“It’s festive.”
“It’s suffocating.”
Wren scraped half the frosting back into the bowl.
Nora Mae stood on the other side of the diner kitchen slicing strawberries for Sunday brunch with the calm patience of someone who had known Wren long enough to identify emotional disturbance by baked-good abuse.
Wren reached for another cupcake.
Nora said, “So.”
“No.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“I was going to ask whether you wanted strawberries.”
“Liar.”
Nora smiled.
Wren squeezed the piping bag.
Too hard.
A blob of frosting landed on the counter.
Nora put down the knife.
“Was he good?”
Wren dropped the piping bag.
“NORA MAE.”
“What?”
“You cannot ask me that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re—”
Wren waved both hands.
“You.”
“Helpful?”
“That is not what I meant.”
Nora calmly picked up the piping bag.
“I asked whether he kissed well. I didn’t ask you to diagram anything.”
Wren stared.
“I’m leaving.”
“You promised twelve cupcakes.”
“I’ve made twelve.”
“You’ve made eleven and one burial mound.”
Wren counted.
Damn.
She picked up another cupcake.
Nora returned to her strawberries.
“So?”
Wren closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Nora nodded.
“Thought so.”
“What does that mean?”
“He looks like he’d pay attention.”
Wren stopped.
That was—
Accurate.
Painfully accurate.
Daniel kissed the way he did everything else.
Intentionally.
Except somewhere between intention and execution, he apparently had a hidden gear Wren hadn’t anticipated.
She squeezed frosting onto the cupcake.
Slower this time.
“I hate this town.”
“No, you don’t.”
Wren sighed.
“No.”
The bell over the diner door jingled.
Nora looked through the pass-through window.
“Oh.”
Wren froze.
“No.”
Nora smiled.
Wren set down the frosting.
“Is that—”
“Morning, Daniel.”
Wren closed her eyes.
Traitor.
His voice came from the dining room.
“Morning.”
Wren looked toward the kitchen door.
Nora looked at her.
“Go.”
“No.”
“You’re hiding.”
“I am working.”
“You are wearing frosting on your elbow.”
Wren looked down.
There was, indeed, buttercream on her elbow.
“How?”
“Talent.”
Nora took the piping bag.
“Go.”
Wren wiped her elbow with a towel.
Then checked her hair in the reflection of the stainless refrigerator door.
Nora made a sound.
Wren turned.
“Not one word.”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“Your eyebrows did.”
“Funny. Daniel says the same thing about you.”
Wren pointed.
“You’ve known him two weeks and you’re already choosing him.”
“He fixed my shelf.”
“That is disturbingly transactional.”
Wren pushed through the kitchen door.
Daniel sat at the counter.
He looked up.
And smiled.
There it was.
Everything she’d replayed since last night immediately arrived back in her bloodstream.
“Morning,” he said.
Wren leaned against the counter.
“Architect.”
His smile widened.
Interesting.
Last night apparently hadn’t broken anything.
Good.
Very good.
Daniel looked at the frosting on her forearm.
“Busy?”
“Cupcake emergency.”
“I see.”
“Don’t judge.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was evaluating.”
“Same thing with better shoes.”
He glanced down.
Not expensive shoes today.
Sneakers.
Wren blinked.
Daniel noticed.
“What?”
“You’re wearing sneakers.”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily.”
“Yes.”
“You feeling okay?”
“I own casual footwear.”
“Can anyone verify this?”
Daniel turned toward Nora Mae.
“She’s worse this morning.”
Nora called through the window, “You kissed her. You deal with it.”
Daniel went completely still.
Wren stopped breathing.
Nora disappeared.
Coward.
Daniel looked at Wren.
Wren stared toward the kitchen.
“I can have her killed.”
Daniel’s mouth twitched.
“That seems excessive.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I think I do.”
Wren sat on the stool beside him.
“So.”
“So.”
There it was.
The moment.
She hated moments.
Moments required sincerity.
Daniel turned his coffee cup slowly between his hands.
Wren watched.
Finally he said, “Are we going to make this strange?”
“Probably.”
He laughed.
Wren relaxed.
“But not bad strange,” she added.
Daniel looked at her.
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
She smiled.
He smiled.
Nora appeared with a plate of toast.
Neither had ordered it.
She set it between them.
“Eat.”
Then left again.
Daniel looked at the toast.
Wren said, “Romance in Willow Creek.”
“Apparently.”
He picked up a piece.
Wren did too.
They ate in companionable silence.
And somehow that felt more intimate than the kissing.
Which was deeply inconvenient.
The final grant-cost packet went out at eleven fifteen.
Daniel sent it from Caleb’s office while Wren stood behind him pretending she was not holding her breath.
Caleb absolutely was.
Daniel clicked SEND.
Nothing happened.
Of course nothing happened.
Emails rarely produced trumpets.
Still, the room seemed to exhale.
Caleb sat heavily in his chair.
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
Wren looked at Daniel.
“For now sounds ominous.”
“It means for now.”
“I hate grant language.”
“That wasn’t grant language.”
“Still.”
Caleb rubbed both hands over his face.
“When do we hear?”
“Could be tomorrow. Could be several days.”
Wren groaned.
Daniel closed the laptop.
“We can’t control that.”
“Look at you being emotionally healthy.”
“I am frequently emotionally healthy.”
Caleb and Wren both looked at him.
Daniel frowned.
“What?”
Wren smiled sweetly.
“Nothing.”
He pointed at her.
“That word has become threatening.”
Caleb stood.
“I’m buying lunch.”
Wren brightened.
“Where?”
“Nora’s.”
Daniel looked toward her.
“We were there two hours ago.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Wren waited.
Daniel sighed.
“Fine.”
They walked.
No urgency.
No plans.
Just the three of them crossing Main Street beneath late-morning sun.
Wren found herself beside Daniel.
Their shoulders brushed.
Once.
Then again.
Neither moved away.
Caleb noticed.
Naturally.
He kept looking straight ahead with the exaggerated dignity of a man trying not to smile.
Wren kicked the back of his shoe.
He stumbled.
“What the hell?”
“Sidewalk.”
“That was your foot.”
“Unproven.”
Daniel laughed.
Caleb looked between them.
“I regret everything.”
“No, you don’t,” Wren and Daniel said together.
They stopped.
Caleb stared.
Then smiled.
“Oh, that’s disgusting.”
Wren laughed.
Daniel shook his head.
But the synchronized answer stayed with her.
Same destination.
Different roads.
Again.
By Tuesday, waiting had become its own full-time occupation.
Daniel worked.
Caleb pretended to work.
Wren did approximately forty-seven things to avoid thinking about the grant.
At two-thirteen, she was replacing handwritten notices on the community bulletin board outside The Nook when Daniel appeared.
“Those aren’t straight.”
Wren didn’t turn.
“Leave.”
“One is almost three degrees off.”
“Keep walking.”
“People will notice.”
“No people will notice.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re not people. You’re an architect.”
Daniel stepped beside her.
Wren held up the flyer.
FOUNDERS DAY PIE REGISTRATION
Daniel adjusted the lower corner.
Wren slapped his hand.
“Do not architect my bulletin board.”
“It is public-facing.”
“It is chaos by design.”
“That phrase is offensive.”
“You survived my refrigerator.”
“Barely.”
He shifted another notice.
Wren sighed.
“What are you doing here?”
Daniel looked at her.
“Looking for you.”
Her heart, the traitorous little idiot, reacted.
She pretended to read a flyer.
“Why?”
Daniel held up his phone.
Wren saw Caleb’s name.
Everything inside her tightened.
“And?”
“Approved.”
She stared.
Daniel smiled.
“Final cost review cleared.”
Wren’s mouth opened.
Nothing.
Daniel nodded.
“We have the grant.”
She screamed.
Again.
Apparently she screamed around Daniel now.
People turned.
Maribel came running out of The Nook.
“What?”
Wren grabbed her.
“WE GOT IT.”
Maribel screamed too.
Within thirty seconds, three store owners had emerged.
Someone clapped.
Someone called Nora Mae.
Tanner appeared from nowhere.
Wren had no idea how.
Daniel stood in the middle of the sidewalk watching Willow Creek react to bureaucratic confirmation like they’d won a championship.
Wren turned.
He was smiling.
Big.
No restraint.
She ran at him.
Daniel caught her.
Her feet left the ground.
Wren laughed into his shoulder.
Daniel laughed too.
Around them, the town cheered.
When he set her down, she didn’t move away.
Neither did he.
“Congratulations,” he said.
Wren looked up.
“You too.”
“This is your town.”
“Your building.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Our building.”
There it was.
Wren kissed him.
Right there.
On Main Street.
In front of everybody.
It wasn’t a huge kiss.
Just happy.
Quick.
Natural.
When she stepped back, the sidewalk was silent.
Wren slowly turned.
Everyone was staring.
Tanner’s mouth hung open.
Maribel looked vindicated.
Nora Mae stood across the street with both hands on her hips.
Lottie Pruitt had somehow materialized near the pharmacy.
Wren said, “Nobody.”
Tanner raised one finger.
“Not one word.”
He lowered it.
Daniel leaned toward her.
“Small town?”
She closed her eyes.
“Shut up.”
He kissed her again.
The cheering started immediately.
Wren laughed against his mouth.
There would be no keeping this quiet.
Possibly nothing in Willow Creek had ever been kept quiet.
She found, suddenly, she didn’t care.
That evening, they sat on the creek bench.
No celebration.
No crowd.
Just Wren and Daniel with two coffees watching evening settle over the water.
The grant was secure.
The project could move forward.
Actual engineering and construction documents were next.
Permits.
Bids.
Schedules.
All the boring things.
Wren sipped her coffee.
“So.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What?”
“You kissed me publicly.”
“You kissed me.”
“Technicality.”
“You initiated.”
“I was excited.”
Daniel smiled.
“Noted.”
Wren bumped his shoulder.
The creek moved below them.
After a while, she asked, “What happens when this is done?”
Daniel didn’t answer immediately.
Wren regretted asking.
Not because the question was heavy.
Because it was real.
Daniel had a life elsewhere.
A firm.
Projects.
An apartment with a refrigerator containing ingredients instead of food.
She knew that.
He knew that.
This hadn’t become complicated overnight.
Still.
Daniel said, “I don’t know.”
Wren appreciated that more than a fake promise.
“Okay.”
He looked at her.
“That bother you?”
“A little.”
“Me too.”
She smiled faintly.
“We don’t have to solve it tonight.”
“No.”
“Look at us. Healthy.”
Daniel laughed.
“Terrifying.”
She rested her head on his shoulder.
This time deliberately.
Daniel rested his cheek briefly against her hair.
They watched the creek.
And for once, neither tried to design what came next.