Chapter Five
Wren arrived at Nora Mae’s at eight twenty-seven because arriving at eight-thirty would have implied that Daniel Hale controlled her schedule.
She had standards.
Admittedly, those standards were highly flexible and occasionally petty.
Still.
Standards.
She pushed through the diner door with her tote over one shoulder and found Daniel already sitting in a booth by the window.
Of course he was.
White shirt.
Sleeves rolled.
Coffee.
Notebook.
Phone placed precisely beside his right hand.
And a plate containing two eggs, toast, and fruit because apparently even his breakfast knew how to behave.
Wren stopped beside the booth.
“You’re early.”
Daniel looked at his watch.
“Three minutes.”
“That’s early.”
“It’s before the agreed time.”
“Exactly.”
He looked at her.
“You arrived before the agreed time.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I have a whimsical relationship with time.”
“I don’t think whimsical means what you think it means.”
Wren slid into the booth.
“It means you bought breakfast.”
Daniel pushed a menu toward her.
“I said I would.”
She glanced at his plate.
“You’ve already ordered.”
“Yes.”
“Without me.”
“I ordered my breakfast without you.”
“Feels exclusionary.”
Daniel drank his coffee.
“Would you like me to apologize?”
“Not if you don’t mean it.”
“I don’t.”
“See? We’re communicating.”
Nora Mae appeared with Wren’s usual coffee.
Wren took one sip.
Daniel watched her.
“What?”
“You criticized this yesterday.”
“I criticize Nora Mae’s coffee with love.”
“Does love change the flavor?”
“No. That’s what sugar is for.”
Nora Mae set down a plate of biscuits and gravy.
Wren blinked.
“I didn’t order yet.”
“You were going to.”
“I might’ve wanted pancakes.”
“You didn’t.”
Wren considered.
Nora Mae walked away.
Daniel looked toward the plate.
“You people appear to have very little autonomy around food.”
“It’s one of our more charming qualities.”
“I’m beginning to understand why everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“Calories create intimacy.”
Daniel’s mouth twitched.
Wren pointed.
“There.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He knew exactly what she meant.
Good.
She ate a bite.
“So. What are we doing?”
Daniel opened his notebook.
Wren groaned.
“You made an agenda.”
“I made notes.”
“You absolutely made an agenda.”
He turned the page so she could see.
There was, in fact, a numbered list.
Wren stared.
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“You made an agenda for walking around town.”
“I have limited time.”
“You’re here for weeks.”
“Limited time.”
She leaned closer.
“Site context. Local materials. pedestrian patterns. public gathering. existing architectural vocabulary.”
“Yes.”
“Architectural vocabulary.”
“Yes.”
“We have brick.”
Daniel looked at her.
Wren smiled.
“And wood.”
He closed the notebook.
“This is why I need you.”
Something unpleasantly warm happened beneath Wren’s ribs.
She covered it with coffee.
“Because I’m profound?”
“Because you know where the brick came from.”
“Oh.”
“And because yesterday you told me the old depot matters without explaining why.”
“That too.”
“And because Mrs. Pruitt said ‘less airport,’ and somehow I suspect you can translate that.”
Wren laughed.
“I actually can.”
Daniel reopened the notebook.
“Excellent.”
“Wait. You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel.”
“Wren.”
“You want me to explain Lottie.”
“I want you to explain all of them.”
Wren sat back.
The diner moved around them.
Forks against plates.
Coffee pouring.
Conversation rising and falling.
Nora Mae calling somebody honey while simultaneously telling them they were wrong.
Wren looked across at Daniel.
He wasn’t teasing.
He genuinely wanted her help.
That was unsettling.
She was accustomed to helping.
People asked her to carry boxes, organize festivals, make calls, pick things up, calm people down, remember things they forgot.
They didn’t often ask her what she saw.
Daniel did.
Wren poked a biscuit with her fork.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll translate.”
“Good.”
“But I reserve the right to mock you.”
“I assumed that was unavoidable.”
“It is.”
“And I reserve the right to reject bad ideas.”
Wren narrowed her eyes.
“You think I have bad ideas?”
“I haven’t heard all your ideas.”
“Diplomatic.”
“Accurate.”
She smiled.
This might actually be fun.
Which was probably a problem.
By nine-fifteen, Wren had learned that walking through Willow Creek with an architect was completely different from walking through Willow Creek with anyone else.
Daniel stopped constantly.
At first she thought he was distracted.
Then she realized he was studying things most people stopped seeing after they’d lived around them long enough.
The brickwork over The Nook’s windows.
The depth of Nora Mae’s awning.
The shade pattern beneath the sycamores.
The width of the sidewalks.
The height of storefront windows.
The old train depot’s timber brackets.
Daniel photographed everything.
Wren watched him crouch near the side of the depot to inspect stonework.
“You know people are going to think you’re casing the place.”
Daniel didn’t look up.
“People already know who I am.”
“You say that like it matters.”
“It generally does.”
“Mrs. Partridge thinks you work for the state.”
Daniel straightened.
“Why?”
“You have a clipboard.”
“I have a notebook.”
“To Mrs. Partridge, that’s government.”
Daniel looked down the street.
A woman watering hanging plants outside the florist waved suspiciously.
Daniel waved back.
She seemed surprised.
Wren grinned.
“You’re adapting.”
“To waving?”
“Small-town waving has levels.”
“Of course it does.”
“That’s Marcy. Shop-owner wave. Friendly, but cautious.”
Daniel looked toward the florist.
“What are the other levels?”
“Passing-car finger lift.”
“Finger lift.”
“Two fingers if you actually know them.”
“Right.”
“Full hand if somebody has died, gotten married, had a baby, or been arrested.”
Daniel paused.
“Those events share a gesture?”
“Context matters.”
He resumed walking.
“I assume there are supporting documents.”
“Nope.”
“Terrifying.”
Wren laughed.
They reached the train depot.
It sat slightly back from Main Street, brick weathered warm by age, deep eaves shading the old platform.
Daniel stood beneath one timber bracket.
“Original?”
“Most of it.”
“Who restored it?”
Wren pointed at herself.
Daniel turned.
“You?”
“Not alone.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
He looked back at the building.
“You restored a train depot.”
“I organized the restoration.”
“Difference?”
“Professionals restored it. I harassed people until we had money.”
Daniel nodded.
“That I believe.”
“Hey.”
“Compliment.”
“Your compliments need work.”
He ran one hand lightly over the wood.
“What was it before?”
“Empty.”
“No use?”
“Storage. Pigeons. Teenagers making regrettable choices.”
Daniel looked up.
Wren shrugged.
“Mostly beer.”
“And now?”
“Farmers market twice a month. Holiday market. Craft fair. Summer concerts if the weather cooperates.”
Daniel stepped onto the platform.
Wren followed.
“The building works because people took it back,” he said.
“Basically.”
“Without pretending it was still a train station.”
“Exactly.”
Daniel looked at her.
Wren stopped.
There it was.
A connection.
Not romantic.
Well.
Maybe a little romantic.
But mostly conceptual.
“That’s the center,” he said.
She frowned.
“What?”
“That principle.”
“What principle?”
“Keep what belongs. Change what doesn’t. Give the building a new job without making it deny where it is.”
Wren stared.
“That was very poetic for a man who makes agendas.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughed.
Daniel’s expression softened.
Then he lifted his phone and photographed the bracket.
Wren sighed.
“Moment ruined.”
“I’m working.”
“So am I.”
“You’ve spent twenty minutes explaining waving.”
“Vital cultural information.”
Daniel lowered the phone.
“Two fingers if I know them.”
“Correct.”
“Full hand for incarceration.”
“Among other milestones.”
“Very efficient.”
They walked on.
At the corner beside The Nook, Daniel stopped again.
Not for the building.
For the bench.
Lottie sat there.
Naturally.
She wore sunglasses large enough to conceal state secrets.
“Morning,” Wren called.
Lottie looked from Wren to Daniel.
“You’re late.”
Daniel checked his watch.
“For?”
Lottie ignored him.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing Daniel the town.”
“I thought you did that yesterday.”
Wren looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked at Wren.
“Apparently yesterday was orientation,” Wren said.
“Today has an agenda.”
Lottie made a sound of disapproval.
Daniel stepped closer.
“Mrs. Pruitt.”
“Mr. Hale.”
“I have a question.”
Lottie adjusted her sunglasses.
“About what?”
“The airport.”
Wren covered her mouth.
Daniel remained perfectly serious.
“Specifically the roof.”
Lottie took off her sunglasses.
“I knew you’d understand.”
Wren lost it.
Daniel shot her a look.
She turned away, laughing helplessly.
Lottie continued as though nothing had happened.
“It’s too flat.”
Daniel nodded.
“Why is flat wrong?”
“It isn’t.”
“Then?”
“It looks temporary.”
Daniel went still.
Wren stopped laughing.
Lottie gestured toward Main Street.
“Look around. Roofs here have weight. They cover things. They shade things. They look like they intend to stay.”
Daniel wrote something down.
Lottie watched him.
“You’re writing that?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She replaced her sunglasses.
“Also, fewer windows.”
Daniel frowned.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to see everybody working.”
Wren bit back another laugh.
Daniel nodded solemnly.
“I’ll evaluate that separately.”
Lottie looked pleased.
As they walked away, Wren bumped Daniel’s arm.
“Less airport.”
“Now translated.”
“Roofs with permanence.”
“And shade.”
“And apparently privacy.”
“Separate concern.”
Wren smiled.
“You’re really listening.”
Daniel glanced at her.
“You keep sounding surprised.”
“I think I’m adjusting.”
“To me?”
She should’ve said the project.
She should’ve said his process.
Instead, Wren’s mouth betrayed her.
“Maybe.”
Daniel slowed.
Only slightly.
Wren kept walking.
Cowardice, perhaps.
Practicality, definitely.
By eleven, they had accumulated a small entourage.
It happened naturally.
Tanner joined them outside the hardware store because he’d been “heading that way anyway,” despite carrying a bag of fertilizer in the opposite direction.
Maribel came out of The Nook to object to Daniel photographing her front door because she hadn’t washed the glass.
A teenager named Mason wandered over from the park when he recognized Daniel as “the building guy.”
Daniel accepted this title without correction.
Wren noticed.
Progress.
Mason pointed toward the proposed site.
“Are you putting charging outlets outside?”
Daniel looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Like even if the building’s closed?”
Daniel paused.
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“It should be.”
Wren smiled.
Daniel saw it.
“Why?”
Mason shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Sometimes the library closes before we’re done.”
“With what?”
“Stuff.”
“Mason,” Wren said.
“Homework.”
Daniel nodded.
“And you work outside?”
“Sometimes.”
“In winter?”
Mason shrugged.
“If the Wi-Fi reaches.”
Daniel wrote something down.
Wren looked over his shoulder.
EXTERIOR POWER / AFTER-HOURS ACCESS
She smiled.
“You’re collecting strays.”
Daniel kept writing.
“I’ve noticed.”
Mason looked offended.
“I’m not a stray.”
“Not you.”
Daniel looked directly at Wren.
She gasped.
Tanner barked out a laugh.
“Did he just call you a stray?”
“I think he did.”
Daniel continued writing.
Wren stepped in front of him.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“I am a respected member of this community.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I have responsibilities.”
“Many.”
“I am not a stray.”
Daniel looked at her for a long moment.
“Wrens are technically wild.”
Tanner doubled over.
Mason grinned.
Maribel leaned against the bookstore door.
“Oh, I like him.”
Wren pointed at Daniel.
“You’re getting cocky.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Yes.”
“This is an abuse of information.”
Daniel closed the notebook.
“Are we finished here?”
“Not remotely.”
“Good.”
That shut her up.
Not the word.
The way he said it.
Good.
Like he genuinely wanted more time with her.
Wren looked away.
Across the street, Nora Mae was changing the chalkboard lunch special.
Perfect.
Food.
Safe territory.
“We need lunch.”
Daniel checked his watch.
“It’s eleven-oh-eight.”
“You say that like lunch has laws.”
“It has conventions.”
“So did corsets.”
Daniel stared.
Wren smiled.
“Tacos.”
“At eleven-oh-eight.”
“Tacos transcend time.”
Tanner raised one hand.
“Seconded.”
Daniel looked around at all of them.
“This was supposed to be a site survey.”
“It still is,” Wren said. “We’re surveying tacos.”
Daniel shook his head.
But he followed.
The taco truck only came to Willow Creek on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and parked in the gravel lot beside the hardware store.
By eleven-thirty, six picnic tables were full.
Wren sat across from Daniel beneath a faded umbrella while Tanner and Mason argued over hot sauce.
Daniel had removed his sunglasses and rolled his sleeves another turn.
Wren noticed.
She objected to noticing.
There was something deeply unfair about forearms entering the situation.
She concentrated on her taco.
Daniel took a bite.
Paused.
Wren watched.
“Well?”
He chewed.
“Good.”
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“Emotion.”
“It’s lunch.”
“Food should create feelings.”
“It has.”
“Name one.”
“Hunger reduction.”
Wren stared.
Daniel’s mouth twitched.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Yes.”
She pointed at him.
“See, that’s growth.”
He laughed.
Damn it.
There were the teeth again.
Wren looked down at her taco.
Daniel noticed.
She could feel him noticing.
Nobody said anything.
Thank God.
Tanner, who possessed neither subtlety nor self-preservation, looked between them.
“So, Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“You married?”
Wren kicked Tanner under the table.
Hard.
He yelped.
Daniel looked from Tanner to Wren.
“No.”
Wren took a large bite of taco.
Tanner rubbed his shin.
“Girlfriend?”
Another kick.
“Jesus, Wren.”
“Mosquito.”
“Under the table?”
“Persistent.”
Daniel drank from his water bottle.
His eyes were laughing.
“No girlfriend.”
Tanner looked at Wren.
Wren glared.
“Interesting,” Tanner said.
“Tanner.”
“What?”
Mason looked confused.
Daniel rescued her.
“Are there any local stone suppliers?”
Wren could have kissed him.
She immediately regretted that thought.
Tanner answered, and the conversation shifted toward a quarry thirty miles north.
Wren exhaled.
Daniel met her eyes.
He didn’t smile.
Which somehow made it worse.
She mouthed, thank you.
Daniel gave the smallest nod.
Daniel.
Not Big City.
Not Danny.
Not Architecture Boy.
Just Daniel.
She was beginning to understand why he preferred it.
After lunch, Tanner and Mason peeled away.
Daniel and Wren walked toward the lot alone.
The day had warmed, Main Street quieter now.
Wren carried an iced tea.
Daniel carried his notebook.
Naturally.
“You got what you needed?” she asked.
“Some of it.”
“Some?”
“Today wasn’t really about materials.”
Wren looked at him.
“No?”
“It was about patterns.”
“People patterns.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“You’re learning.”
“I knew people had patterns before I arrived.”
“Not Willow Creek patterns.”
“No.”
They crossed toward the empty lot.
Daniel stopped near the edge.
For a minute they looked at it together.
Same weeds.
Same uneven grass.
Same scraggly trees.
Different somehow.
Wren pictured the café again.
But now the picture had changed.
One large communal table.
Outdoor outlets.
A terrace facing town.
Shade.
A roof that looked like it intended to stay.
Daniel opened his notebook.
“I want to move the café farther toward the corner.”
Her heart gave a ridiculous little jump.
“More Main Street exposure?”
“Yes.”
“Bigger terrace?”
“Possibly.”
“Daniel.”
He looked at her.
She pointed.
“Don’t possibly me.”
“I haven’t designed it yet.”
“You can feel it.”
“I don’t design by feeling.”
“Liar.”
Daniel looked offended.
“I do not.”
“You sat at the creek and changed your mind about the whole building.”
“I gathered information.”
“You had a feeling about the information.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Wren grinned.
“This is going to be my life’s work.”
“What?”
“Getting you to admit you have feelings.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That’s an ambitious use of your time.”
Something changed in the air.
Tiny.
There and gone.
Wren looked toward the lot.
Too close.
Not physically.
Something else.
She pointed toward the trees.
“Keep those.”
Daniel followed her finger.
“Two are unhealthy.”
“How do you know?”
“I looked.”
“Of course you did.”
“The oak can stay.”
“Good.”
“The smaller one should come out.”
“Bad.”
“Wren.”
“Daniel.”
“It may be diseased.”
“That’s rude.”
“To the tree?”
“It has had a difficult life.”
Daniel closed his notebook.
“Are you emotionally attached to every living thing in town?”
“No.”
“Name one you aren’t.”
“Dale’s alpacas.”
“You helped catch one yesterday.”
“That was civic duty.”
Daniel nodded solemnly.
“Not attachment.”
“Exactly.”
“Understood.”
She glanced over.
He was smiling.
Wren sighed.
“God, you’re annoying.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Frequently.”
They walked farther into the lot.
Daniel measured distance with his stride.
Wren didn’t ask.
She was learning too.
At the center of the field, he stopped.
“This is approximately where the commons would be.”
Wren looked around.
There was nothing.
She tried anyway.
“Big windows?”
“Some.”
“Lottie said fewer.”
“Lottie doesn’t control fenestration.”
“Don’t let her hear you.”
Daniel pointed toward town.
“Main circulation there. Café there. Multipurpose space on the north side so it can operate independently after hours.”
Wren turned slowly.
She could see it.
For the first time, really see it.
Not the cold rendering.
The place.
People entering.
Mason charging a laptop outside.
Maribel holding book-club meetings.
Nora Mae criticizing the coffee.
Remote workers arriving from somewhere else and gradually learning the difference between one-finger and two-finger waves.
Wren swallowed.
Daniel watched her.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“That’s usually my line.”
“I can see it.”
He went quiet.
“The building?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Wren looked at him.
“You did that.”
“We haven’t designed anything yet.”
“No. You asked the right questions.”
Daniel’s expression shifted.
Very slightly.
Wren smiled.
“Don’t get weird. I’m not complimenting your shoes.”
“I would never expect that level of generosity.”
“They remain suspicious.”
“Noted.”
She looked back toward the lot.
“What happens next?”
“I sketch.”
“Can I see?”
“When I have something worth seeing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is exactly an answer.”
“I want to see the ugly sketches.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re ugly.”
“You’re an architect. Isn’t that illegal?”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“No.”
“Danny.”
“No.”
“Danno.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Danimal.”
He closed his eyes.
Wren laughed.
Then he opened them.
“Tomorrow.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“You can see them tomorrow.”
Wren smiled.
“The ugly ones?”
“The preliminary ones.”
“That means ugly.”
“It means preliminary.”
“Same thing.”
Daniel sighed.
“Eight-thirty.”
“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“Nine-thirty.”
“Fine.”
“With coffee.”
“Obviously.”
Daniel gave her a look.
Wren grinned.
They began walking back toward Main Street.
Halfway there, Daniel said, “Wren.”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said.”
She glanced over.
“What?”
“I need your help.”
No joke.
No qualification.
Wren slowed.
Daniel kept his eyes ahead.
“You understand what I can’t get from surveys and reports. I don’t want you to design the building.”
“Good, because I was planning a moat.”
His mouth twitched.
“But I want you involved.”
Warmth rose through her so quickly she couldn’t joke around it.
So she didn’t.
“Okay.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Then Wren smiled.
“But I’m still demanding the moat.”
“No.”
“Decorative moat.”
“No.”
“Koi pond?”
“Maybe.”
She gasped.
Daniel kept walking.
“Did Daniel Hale just say maybe?”
“Don’t make me retract it.”
Wren hurried after him.
“Oh, no. It’s on record now.”
“There is no record.”
“I have witnesses.”
“We’re alone.”
“I’ll find some.”
Daniel shook his head.
Wren fell into step beside him.
Same direction.
Same pace.
Not something she imagined would happen often.
Which made it surprisingly nice when it did.
Ahead, Willow Creek stretched around them—brick and trees and crooked sidewalks and too many opinions.
Behind them, the empty lot waited.
And for the first time, Wren didn’t see the project as Daniel’s sleek modern building fighting against her old familiar town.
She saw something else taking shape.
Not his.
Not hers.
Theirs, maybe.
The town’s.
She liked that much better.
She glanced sideways.
Daniel caught her.
“What?”
“Nothing, Big D.”
His expression flattened.
Wren laughed all the way back to Main Street.