Chapter Three
Wren Brooks had been told not to make a spectacle of Daniel Hale’s arrival.
Caleb had been very specific.
“No signs,” he’d said.
Wren had nodded.
“No welcoming committee.”
She’d nodded again.
“No balloons.”
That one had hurt.
“Wren.”
“I hear you.”
“And absolutely no architectural puns.”
She had put a hand over her heart like he’d wounded her personally.
Now, standing outside Nora Mae’s Diner at nine-seventeen on a bright Wednesday morning with an iced coffee in one hand and a cardboard sign tucked under her arm, Wren considered herself a model of restraint.
The sign only said:
WELCOME, DANNY
In very tasteful lettering.
She’d even resisted glitter.
Mostly because Nora Mae had confiscated it.
“You’re thirty-six years old,” Nora Mae said from the open diner doorway.
Wren took a sip of coffee. “And yet my creativity remains youthful.”
“You’re gonna get us sued.”
“For what?”
“Harassment.”
“This is hospitality.”
“This is why people think our town is weird.”
Wren looked down Main Street.
Mrs. Pruitt was standing outside the pharmacy arguing with a planter.
Tanner Briggs was attempting to load three folding tables into the back of a pickup that already contained a lawn mower, a cooler, two bags of mulch, and what appeared to be half a canoe.
Across the street, Dale Garner had parked his tractor in front of the post office for reasons known only to God and Dale Garner.
Wren looked back at Nora Mae.
“I don’t think the sign is our problem.”
Nora Mae folded her arms.
“You gonna hold it up?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You made it.”
“That doesn’t mean I lack impulse control.”
Nora Mae stared.
Wren sighed. “Fine. It means I have limited impulse control.”
From inside the diner came the clatter of dishes and Maribel’s voice.
“Is he hot?”
Wren turned toward the door. “Who?”
Maribel appeared with a coffee mug in one hand and no shame whatsoever.
“The architect.”
“I haven’t met him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Nora Mae snorted.
Wren adjusted her sunglasses. “Caleb said he looks like an architect.”
Maribel made a face. “That could mean anything.”
“It means expensive shoes.”
“Ah.”
“Probably a watch that costs more than my car.”
“Possibly cheekbones.”
Wren pointed at her. “That feels like stereotyping.”
Maribel took a sip. “You’re holding a sign that says Danny.”
“That is unrelated.”
“Sure.”
Wren glanced at the time on her phone.
Nine-eighteen.
Daniel was supposed to arrive sometime between nine and ten, depending on traffic.
Caleb had asked Wren to meet him because the mayor had gotten pulled into what he’d described as a “minor municipal issue,” which usually meant someone had put something somewhere it absolutely did not belong.
Wren suspected Dale.
It was frequently Dale.
She looked toward the highway at the end of Main Street.
Nothing.
Maribel followed her gaze.
“So what’s the plan?”
“For what?”
“For meeting him.”
“I say hello.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Just hello?”
Wren frowned. “I’m capable of normal human interaction.”
Nora Mae and Maribel exchanged a look.
“Oh, come on.”
Maribel set her mug on an outside table.
“You’re going to take one look at him, decide he’s too serious, and make it your life’s mission to see how long it takes him to laugh.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“It’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
Wren opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Because, unfortunately, Maribel knew her.
A dark sedan turned onto Main Street.
Wren straightened.
Nora Mae leaned slightly forward.
Maribel whispered, “Cheekbones.”
“Stop.”
The car slowed.
Wren glanced at the sign under her arm.
She should put it away.
Definitely.
This was Caleb’s friend. A respected architect. A professional coming here to help Willow Creek.
She was a grown woman.
A community representative.
A future business owner.
She slid the sign behind her back.
The sedan passed without slowing and continued toward the county road.
Maribel clicked her tongue.
“Disappointing.”
Wren relaxed.
Then a second car turned the corner.
This one was black.
Sleek.
Clean enough to look offended by the dust on Main Street.
Wren’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, that’s him.”
Nora Mae looked at her. “How do you know?”
“That car has opinions.”
The vehicle slowed.
Then stopped in front of the diner.
Wren had just enough time to think please don’t let him be smug before the driver’s door opened.
A man stepped out.
Wren forgot the sign.
Not permanently.
Just for a second.
Maybe two.
He was tall. Not absurdly tall, but enough that she had to tilt her head slightly once he straightened. Dark hair, neatly cut. White shirt with the sleeves rolled once at the forearms. Charcoal trousers. No tie. Good shoes.
Of course good shoes.
He closed the door, glanced up at the diner, then down Main Street.
And there were the cheekbones.
Maribel made a tiny triumphant sound behind Wren.
She ignored it.
Daniel Hale looked exactly like the kind of man who had never once lost a set of keys in his own purse.
Not that he carried a purse.
Probably a leather portfolio.
Hand-stitched.
Italian.
He spotted Wren.
His gaze moved to Nora Mae.
Then Maribel.
Then back to Wren.
Wren smiled.
His expression did not change.
Interesting.
He walked toward them.
Good Lord, even his walk had posture.
“Daniel Hale?” Wren asked.
“Yes.”
His voice fit him.
Low. Calm. Controlled.
Naturally.
She held out her hand.
“Wren Brooks.”
He took it.
His grip was warm, firm, brief.
“Caleb said you’d be meeting me.”
“He got called away.”
“Everything all right?”
“Depends how you feel about unsecured livestock.”
Daniel paused.
Wren saw it.
The smallest hesitation.
Score one.
“He said municipal issue.”
“Same thing, usually.”
Daniel glanced toward Main Street again.
Wren noticed that he didn’t look around dismissively.
He looked closely.
Storefronts.
Rooflines.
Trees.
Sidewalks.
Details.
That surprised her.
She liked being surprised.
Then his attention dropped to the cardboard peeking out from behind her hip.
“What’s that?”
Wren looked down.
Damn.
“Oh. Nothing.”
Daniel waited.
She had the immediate and overwhelming urge to make this worse.
So she did.
Wren brought the sign around and held it up.
WELCOME, DANNY
There was a beat of silence.
Nora Mae turned away.
Maribel covered her mouth.
Daniel read the sign.
Then he looked at Wren.
“It’s Daniel.”
Wren nodded seriously.
“Right. Of course.”
“Daniel.”
“Absolutely.”
His gaze narrowed slightly.
She lowered the sign.
“Welcome to Willow Creek, Dan.”
Maribel choked on coffee.
Daniel stared at Wren for one long second.
Then something almost happened at the corner of his mouth.
Almost.
Oh.
Oh, this was promising.
Wren smiled wider.
“Can I help you with your bags, Mr. Hale?”
“No, thank you.”
“Blueprint?”
“No.”
“Architect?”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Daniel.”
“Got it.”
She turned toward the diner.
“Come on, Danny. You drove all this way. Nora Mae’s going to feed you.”
Behind her came a soft exhale.
Possibly annoyance.
Possibly the beginning of a laugh.
Either way, Wren considered the morning a success.
Daniel did not, as it turned out, eat breakfast twice.
Wren found this unnecessarily rigid.
“You drove three hours.”
“Two hours and forty minutes.”
She looked across the booth at him.
“You timed it?”
“No.”
“You just know?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you do.”
Nora Mae slid a coffee toward Daniel.
“Drink.”
Daniel looked at the cup.
Then at Nora Mae.
“Thank you.”
Wren watched him take the first sip.
His expression barely shifted.
Barely.
But she saw it.
His eyes flicked down toward the cup.
Then back up.
Wren leaned forward.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Daniel placed the cup carefully on the table.
“The coffee is strong.”
Nora Mae called from behind the counter, “It’s coffee.”
Wren bit the inside of her cheek.
Daniel glanced toward the counter.
“I stand corrected.”
Nora Mae nodded once, satisfied.
Wren laughed.
Daniel looked back at her.
“What?”
“You handled that well.”
“I survived.”
“High praise.”
“I’m adaptable.”
Wren looked at his shirt.
Then his shoes.
Then the perfectly aligned salt and pepper shakers he’d unconsciously adjusted when he sat down.
“Sure.”
His eyes followed hers to the shakers.
He moved one slightly out of place.
Wren blinked.
Daniel picked up his coffee.
She stared at him.
“Did you just—”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
There.
Again.
That almost-smile.
Wren sat back.
Interesting.
Maribel walked past the booth carrying a to-go cup.
“Cheekbones,” she said quietly.
Wren kicked her from under the table as she passed.
Maribel kept walking.
Daniel looked between them.
“Should I ask?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Maribel called from the door.
“No,” Wren repeated.
The bell jingled as Maribel left.
Daniel regarded Wren for a moment.
“This town is very involved.”
“That is a polite way to say nosy.”
“I was trying to be diplomatic.”
“Don’t bother. We know what we are.”
Nora Mae slid a plate of toast onto the table in front of Daniel.
“I said I’m not hungry.”
Nora Mae kept walking.
Wren smiled.
Daniel looked at the toast.
Then at Wren.
“What happens if I don’t eat it?”
“She’ll remember.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
Daniel picked up a piece.
“Smart man.”
Outside, a truck horn sounded twice.
Wren glanced through the window.
Caleb’s pickup pulled into a space across the street.
“Ah. His Honor.”
Daniel turned.
Caleb climbed out and headed toward the diner, rubbing the back of his neck.
He looked tired.
And annoyed.
Which meant livestock.
Definitely livestock.
The bell over the door rang.
Caleb spotted them.
“You made it.”
Daniel stood.
The handshake turned into a brief one-armed hug, the kind men did when they genuinely liked one another but had agreed at some point in adolescence never to admit it.
Wren smiled.
Caleb looked at the sign propped beside her.
His expression changed.
“Wren.”
“What?”
“I specifically said no signs.”
“I didn’t hold it up for very long.”
Daniel sat back down.
“She held it long enough.”
Traitor.
Wren pointed at him.
“You’re new. Choose your alliances carefully.”
Caleb laughed.
“See? You met.”
“We did.”
“And?”
Wren looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked at Wren.
Caleb glanced between them.
“Oh, no.”
“What?” Wren asked.
“Nothing.”
Daniel reached for his coffee.
Wren narrowed her eyes.
Caleb pulled up a chair from the next table.
“Sorry I wasn’t here. Dale Garner’s alpacas got loose.”
Wren slapped the tabletop.
“I knew it.”
Daniel paused mid-sip.
“Alpacas.”
“Three,” Caleb said.
“Emotional support alpacas,” Wren added.
Caleb gave her a look.
“That is not legally established.”
“It is in Dale’s heart.”
Daniel lowered his cup.
“And this required the mayor?”
“No,” Caleb said. “But apparently my number is the one everyone has.”
Wren patted his arm.
“Leadership.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” Caleb admitted. “Unfortunately.”
Daniel watched them.
There was something in his expression Wren couldn’t quite read.
Not envy.
Not discomfort.
Observation.
He did a lot of that.
Caleb leaned back.
“So. I thought we’d go by the site first, then Town Hall. I’ve got the preliminary plans there.”
Daniel nodded.
“Works for me.”
Wren reached for her bag.
Caleb looked at her.
“Where are you going?”
“With you.”
“I didn’t say—”
“You told me yesterday I needed to help him understand the town.”
Daniel looked at Caleb.
“You did?”
Caleb sighed.
“Not in those exact words.”
“They were spiritually exact.”
Wren stood.
Daniel looked up at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing that architect thing again.”
“What architect thing?”
“Looking.”
His expression stayed neutral.
“I generally find vision useful.”
Wren blinked.
Caleb coughed.
Daniel stood.
“Shall we?”
Wren grabbed the sign.
Caleb pointed at it.
“No.”
She tucked it under her arm.
“Fine.”
Then she looked at Daniel.
“Let’s go, Designated Driver.”
He stopped.
“I’m not driving you.”
“I know. I just wanted to see if you’d correct me.”
Daniel stared at her.
Wren smiled.
Caleb muttered, “This was a mistake.”
Wren heard Daniel say, very quietly, “Probably.”
And there it was again.
That dry little thread of humor.
She liked it.
She liked it more than she intended to.
The empty lot looked different with Daniel standing in it.
Wren couldn’t explain why.
Maybe because he looked like someone who saw what wasn’t there yet.
She’d always thought of the space emotionally.
Possibility.
Coffee.
People.
Tables.
Laughter.
Daniel seemed to take it apart.
He stood near the edge of the grass with his hands on his hips and looked toward Main Street, then toward the road behind them, then up at the sun.
Wren watched his eyes move.
“Okay,” she said.
Daniel didn’t look at her.
“Okay what?”
“What are you doing?”
“Looking.”
“We’ve established that.”
He turned slightly.
“Orientation. Light. Access. Traffic. Grade.”
Wren looked at the grass.
“It’s a field.”
“It’s a site.”
“See, that right there is why people are going to think you’re fancy.”
“I called grass a site.”
“Exactly.”
Caleb laughed from near the truck.
Daniel walked several yards farther in.
Wren followed.
The grass brushed against her ankles.
Daniel glanced down at her shoes.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You wore sandals.”
“It’s August.”
“This lot has uneven ground.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“I’m sure.”
Wren narrowed her eyes.
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No.”
“It sounded like sarcasm.”
“I was expressing confidence in your durability.”
She stared at him.
Daniel kept walking.
Wren looked toward Caleb.
Caleb shrugged.
“Oh, he’s fun,” she murmured.
Daniel turned his head slightly.
“I heard that.”
“I know.”
They reached the center of the lot.
Daniel stopped.
“Where’s the street entrance supposed to be?”
Caleb pointed.
“Roughly there.”
Daniel looked.
“And the café?”
“Southwest corner in the preliminary concept.”
Wren moved beside him.
“Street-facing?”
Daniel looked at her.
“If it makes sense.”
“It makes sense.”
“You sound certain.”
“People aren’t going to walk through an office building every time they want coffee.”
“They might if the office building is the destination.”
“They won’t.”
“You know this?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I know these people.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“That’s not data.”
Wren smiled.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“Spreadsheet Man.”
“I don’t use spreadsheets for design.”
“Of course not. Too pedestrian.”
Daniel looked away.
But she saw it.
That tiny shift in his cheek.
He was fighting a smile.
Wren stepped closer to the southwest corner and pointed toward Main Street.
“If the door faces that way, people walking from downtown can come straight in. Moms can stop after school pickup. Nora Mae can come complain about my espresso. People using the workspaces can still enter from inside.”
Daniel looked along the line she’d indicated.
Then toward the road.
Then back.
“That could work.”
Wren blinked.
“That easy?”
“What?”
“You agreed with me.”
“You made a reasonable point.”
“I thought we were supposed to argue first.”
“Were we?”
“That’s usually how men with expensive shoes respond to me.”
Daniel looked down at his shoes.
Then at hers.
“I’m beginning to understand why.”
Wren gasped.
Caleb laughed so hard he had to turn away.
Daniel finally smiled.
Not much.
But enough.
Wren stared.
Oh, that was dangerous.
He looked better when he smiled.
Annoyingly better.
It softened the precision of his face without taking away any of the sharpness.
Unfair.
Completely unfair.
Daniel caught her looking.
The smile faded into something quieter.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyebrows lifted.
She nodded.
“See? I can do it too.”
He looked unconvinced.
Good.
Wren turned toward the old row of buildings across Main Street.
“You know what everybody’s going to hate?”
“I assume you’re going to tell me.”
“The first design.”
Daniel glanced at Caleb.
Caleb suddenly became very interested in his phone.
Daniel looked back at Wren.
“You haven’t seen it.”
“I’ve seen enough concept sketches Caleb left lying around.”
“Those weren’t final.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“It’s beautiful.”
Daniel waited.
Wren could tell he knew there was more.
She kicked lightly at a tuft of grass.
“It just doesn’t look like us.”
“Define us.”
She waved one hand toward town.
“That.”
“That isn’t a definition.”
“You really do like definitions.”
“I like clarity.”
“I like vibes.”
Daniel stared at her.
Wren grinned.
“I’m kidding.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“That’s the fun part.”
He looked back toward Main Street.
“What doesn’t fit?”
Wren followed his gaze.
The brick.
The weathered awnings.
Flower boxes.
Hand-painted signs.
Trees that had been there longer than most residents.
“It feels like a place somebody would build to impress people.”
Daniel’s face remained unreadable.
Wren continued before she could decide not to.
“And Willow Creek doesn’t care about impressive.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“No?”
“You called me because I’m award-winning.”
“Caleb called you.”
“You were enthusiastic about it.”
“I was curious.”
“About the work?”
Wren looked at him.
There it was.
Dry.
Very dry.
She smiled slowly.
“Careful, Danny. That almost sounded like flirting.”
Daniel blinked.
Caleb made a strangled noise.
Wren burst out laughing.
Daniel looked at Caleb.
“Is she always like this?”
Caleb nodded.
“Worse, usually.”
Wren pressed a hand to her chest.
“Betrayal.”
Daniel looked at her again.
This time, there was no mistaking the amusement.
“I’ll adjust.”
Something about the way he said it sent a small, unexpected spark straight through her.
Not dramatic.
Not life-changing.
Just enough to make her suddenly aware of the heat, the breeze, and the fact that Daniel Hale was standing closer than he had been a second ago.
Wren stepped away first.
“Come on,” she said. “You’ve seen the dirt. Let’s show you the actual town.”
Caleb drove.
Wren objected immediately.
“You drive like an old man.”
“I drive like the mayor.”
“That means nothing.”
“It means I have insurance.”
Daniel sat in the passenger seat.
Wren had been relegated to the back after declaring that she knew the town better and should therefore navigate.
Caleb had pointed out that the town had six main streets.
Wren had called that irrelevant.
Now she leaned forward between the seats and pointed.
“Turn here.”
“I know.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Because the turn is twenty feet away.”
Daniel looked out the window.
Wren watched him watching.
They passed the elementary school, its brick front shaded by huge oak trees.
“That’s where everybody learns everything important,” Wren said.
Daniel glanced back.
“Math?”
“No. Who can’t be trusted with secrets.”
Caleb snorted.
They drove past the old train depot, now used for farmers markets and holiday events.
“That stays,” Wren said.
Daniel looked at her.
“I didn’t suggest removing it.”
“I’m establishing boundaries.”
“Useful.”
Past the library.
“The library is sacred.”
“Noted.”
Past the pharmacy.
“Lottie runs half her intelligence network from that bench.”
Daniel looked toward the bench.
Lottie was sitting there.
She lifted one hand as they passed.
He nodded automatically.
Wren grinned.
“See?”
They turned toward the park.
Children ran through the splash pad while two mothers sat under a pavilion talking over iced drinks.
An older man walked a beagle along the path.
A teenager sat beneath a tree with a laptop open across his knees.
Daniel noticed him.
Wren noticed Daniel noticing.
“That’s why,” she said.
He turned.
“What?”
“The kid.”
Daniel looked back through the window.
“What about him?”
“He’s probably stealing Wi-Fi from the library.”
Caleb nodded.
“Signal reaches part of the park.”
Wren leaned back.
“That’s why this building matters.”
Daniel’s attention stayed on the park.
She could see the thought moving across his face.
Not resistance.
Calculation.
“He shouldn’t have to sit under a tree to get decent connectivity,” Daniel said.
“No.”
“And if he leaves town because somewhere else gives him what he needs—”
“He may not come back.”
Daniel nodded once.
There.
That was it.
Wren felt the strange little satisfaction of being understood.
Caleb turned toward the residential side of town.
Daniel looked at the houses.
Older homes.
Porches.
Gardens.
Nothing perfect.
Everything cared for.
“Stop here,” Wren said.
Caleb glanced in the mirror.
“Why?”
“Just stop.”
He pulled to the curb.
Wren opened her door.
Daniel turned.
“Where are we going?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’ve noticed you dislike answering them.”
“I answer them creatively.”
She climbed out.
Daniel followed.
Caleb stayed behind.
“I’m going to Town Hall.”
Wren leaned toward his window.
“Abandoning us?”
“I have an actual job.”
“So do I.”
“No, you have fourteen jobs, none of which technically employ you.”
“Details.”
Caleb looked at Daniel.
“Good luck.”
Daniel sighed.
“You keep saying that.”
“There’s a reason.”
The truck pulled away.
Wren started walking.
Daniel fell into step beside her.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“You said that already.”
“And yet here you are.”
They walked beneath tall trees that cast moving shadows over the sidewalk.
This part of town was quieter.
Porches with swings.
Wind chimes.
Flower beds that had escaped their borders.
A little free library shaped like a red barn.
Daniel slowed near it.
“You’re stopping for that?”
“I’m looking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“So I’m told.”
Wren smiled.
They continued.
A dog barked from behind a fence.
Someone called Wren’s name from a porch.
She waved.
A pickup slowed so the driver could ask whether she was still bringing the extension cords to the library.
“Yes!”
“Thursday?”
“Yes!”
“Morning?”
“Yes, Frank!”
The truck moved on.
Daniel looked at her.
“You really do know everyone.”
“Not everyone.”
“Name someone you don’t.”
Wren thought.
“New baby at the Hensleys. She’s four days old.”
Daniel nodded.
“Finally.”
“I know her name.”
He looked at her.
“Of course you do.”
Wren laughed.
They reached a small overlook at the edge of town where the road dipped toward a creek bordered by sycamores.
A wooden bench sat beneath one of them.
Wren stopped.
“This.”
Daniel looked around.
“The creek?”
“The view.”
Across the water, Willow Creek rose gently on the other side.
Church steeple.
Roofs.
Trees.
Main Street barely visible beyond them.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing grand.
Just home.
Wren sat on the bench.
Daniel remained standing for a moment.
Then he sat beside her.
Not too close.
Not far.
They stayed quiet.
Wren liked that he didn’t rush to fill it.
A breeze moved through the leaves.
Somewhere downstream, water slipped over stone.
A bird called from the branches above them.
Daniel looked up.
Wren noticed.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I’m not responsible for your projections.”
“Architect language.”
“Regular language.”
She smiled.
For a while they just sat.
No project.
No grant.
No town meeting.
No Caleb.
Wren watched sunlight move across the creek.
“This is what people are afraid of losing,” she said eventually.
Daniel didn’t answer immediately.
She glanced at him.
He was looking across the water.
“They won’t lose the creek.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
His voice was quieter now.
Wren tucked one leg beneath her.
“They don’t hate the idea of new people coming here.”
“I know.”
“They hate the idea that new people might come here and decide everything needs fixing.”
Daniel turned toward her.
“That happens.”
“Yep.”
“And sometimes things do need fixing.”
“Yep.”
His mouth moved faintly.
“You’re very agreeable suddenly.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He looked back at town.
“What do you think needs fixing?”
Wren considered.
“Internet.”
“Obviously.”
“Jobs.”
“Agreed.”
“Empty storefronts.”
“Yes.”
“People thinking their kids have to leave to have a future.”
Daniel nodded.
Wren continued.
“But not that.”
She pointed toward town.
“Not the porches. Not the diner. Not the bookstore. Not people knowing when someone’s sick and showing up with casseroles whether they want them or not.”
Daniel looked at her.
“That sounds intrusive.”
“It is.”
“Yet you like it.”
“Most days.”
He leaned back against the bench.
“So the goal is controlled intrusion.”
Wren laughed.
“Maybe.”
Another bird called.
Daniel looked up again.
This time Wren narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Daniel.”
He looked at her.
It was the first time she had said his name without playing with it.
She hadn’t meant to.
Something shifted.
Small.
Quiet.
Wren felt it anyway.
Daniel’s expression changed by half a degree.
Then he looked toward the branches.
“Wrens are louder than you’d expect.”
There it was.
Wren stared.
“Did you just make a bird joke?”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I stated a fact.”
“You know facts about wrens?”
“I know facts about many things.”
Wren’s grin spread.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Daniel stood.
“That phrase worries me.”
“It should.”
He offered her a hand.
Wren looked at it.
Then up at him.
“You think I need help standing?”
“I think the bench is lower than you expected.”
She hated that he was right.
Wren took his hand.
His fingers closed around hers.
Warm.
Steady.
For one tiny second neither of them moved.
Then Daniel pulled her up.
Wren stepped closer than she intended.
Daniel looked down at her.
She looked up.
There it was again.
That spark.
Not huge.
Not dramatic.
Just unmistakable.
Wren let go first.
“Thanks, Dave.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Wren laughed and headed back toward the road.
Behind her came his voice.
“Wren.”
She turned.
Daniel stood beside the bench, hands in his pockets, looking far too composed for someone she was already determined to ruin.
“It’s Daniel.”
She smiled.
“I know.”
And that was the problem.
She was beginning to.
By five-thirty, the Town Hall meeting room was already too warm.
Wren stood on a chair taping the agenda to the wall while Caleb moved folding chairs into rows.
“You took him to the creek.”
Wren looked down.
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
Caleb looked at her.
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“About what Daniel thinks?”
Wren tore another strip of tape.
“About whether he understands.”
Caleb smiled.
She pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“Actually, I was going to say thank you.”
That stopped her.
Wren climbed down.
“For what?”
“For doing what I asked.”
“You mean antagonizing him?”
“I specifically asked you not to do that.”
“Then I have bad news.”
Caleb laughed.
Wren straightened the agenda.
“He’s not what I expected.”
Caleb’s expression softened.
“No.”
“He listens.”
“I told you.”
“He also corrects my grammar with his face.”
“That’s just his face.”
Wren smiled.
“Does he ever relax?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
“Helpful.”
Caleb unfolded another chair.
“You like him.”
Wren nearly dropped the tape.
“I met him this morning.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
“It wasn’t a yes either.”
Caleb grinned.
Wren pointed the tape dispenser at him like a weapon.
“You have grant funding to worry about.”
“I can multitask.”
“Go mayor.”
He laughed and moved away.
Wren turned back toward the room.
Through the front windows she could see Main Street beginning to fill.
People heading toward Town Hall.
Lottie.
Tanner.
Maribel.
Nora Mae carrying something covered with foil because no civic meeting in Willow Creek could apparently occur without food.
Then Wren spotted Daniel crossing the street.
He had changed.
Not much.
Dark trousers.
White shirt.
Sleeves rolled.
No jacket.
Still very Daniel.
He paused near the curb and looked toward the building.
Then toward the people approaching it.
He didn’t look nervous.
Of course he didn’t.
But Wren had spent enough time around people to recognize concentration when she saw it.
He was preparing.
Not to win.
To listen.
That mattered more than she wanted it to.
Daniel looked through the window.
Found her.
Wren lifted one hand.
He nodded.
Very formal.
Very composed.
Very annoying.
Wren smiled.
Then held up a sheet of paper.
Across the top, in thick black marker, she had written:
GOOD LUCK, DAN
Daniel stared at it.
Even through the glass, she saw the slow narrowing of his eyes.
Wren laughed.
Caleb looked over.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
The front door opened.
Daniel stepped inside.
His gaze went immediately to Wren.
“It’s Daniel.”
She lowered the paper.
“Right.”
He stopped beside her.
“You do know my name.”
“Of course I do.”
“And yet.”
“And yet.”
For one second he simply looked at her.
Then that almost-smile appeared.
“Persistent little thing, aren’t you?”
Wren blinked.
Daniel walked past her toward the front of the room.
She turned slowly.
“Was that—”
Caleb started laughing.
Wren stared at Daniel’s back.
“Oh,” she whispered.
The architect had made his first bird joke.
And suddenly the evening looked a whole lot more interesting.