Chapter Eight
By Friday afternoon, Wren Brooks had made three important decisions.
First, she was going to Murphy’s.
Second, she was absolutely not going because Daniel might be there.
Third, if anyone suggested otherwise, she was prepared to lie directly to their face.
“You’re wearing mascara.”
Wren looked into the mirror hanging behind the counter at The Nook.
Maribel stood behind her holding a stack of new releases.
“I often wear mascara.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do sometimes.”
“When?”
“Events.”
“This is Murphy’s.”
“Exactly.”
Maribel set down the books.
“Wren.”
“No.”
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“You’re about to.”
Maribel smiled.
Wren hated that smile.
It was the same one she’d worn on Wren’s porch after interrupting—
Nothing.
She had interrupted nothing.
A perfectly ordinary conversation between Wren and Daniel in which they had been standing approximately twelve inches apart while staring at one another’s mouths.
Normal civic engagement.
Nothing to see here.
“Are you going because Daniel is going?” Maribel asked.
“No.”
“Do you know if Daniel is going?”
“No.”
“You asked him.”
“That doesn’t mean I know.”
“So you did ask.”
Wren turned.
“I hate how you do this.”
“Years of retail.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Neither was yours.”
Wren picked up her purse.
Maribel looked her over.
Jeans.
Boots.
Soft green top.
Hair down.
Mascara.
“Cute.”
“Thank you.”
“Casual.”
“Exactly.”
“Completely accidental.”
“Precisely.”
“Definitely not Daniel-related.”
Wren pointed at her.
“I’m leaving.”
Maribel grabbed her own bag.
“Me too.”
Wren stopped.
“You’re coming?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Live music.”
“Liar.”
“Also, I enjoy watching you make poor emotional choices.”
“Supportive friendship.”
“Always.”
They stepped outside.
Main Street had softened into evening, storefronts glowing behind glass, the day’s heat finally breaking.
Wren breathed in.
Friday nights in Willow Creek felt different.
Less organized.
No committees.
No agendas.
Mostly.
Someone somewhere was probably taking minutes.
But it wasn’t Wren.
Tonight she was off duty.
She had declared it.
She was going to have a drink, hear music, see friends, and absolutely not care whether an architect in expensive shoes appeared.
Maribel unlocked her car.
“You’re checking your phone.”
“I’m checking the time.”
“You have a watch.”
Wren lowered the phone.
“Drive.”
Murphy’s sat six miles outside town where the county road met the highway.
It had once been a feed store.
Then a barbecue place.
Then briefly, disastrously, a seafood restaurant despite Willow Creek being nowhere near an ocean.
Now it had polished concrete floors, old wood walls, a long bar, burgers worth driving for, and a small stage in the corner where local bands played everything from country to classic rock.
Wren liked Murphy’s because nobody had asked her to organize anything there.
A rare luxury.
She and Maribel arrived at seven thirty.
Tanner and his wife, Beth, had already claimed a large table near the back.
Caleb sat with them.
So did Nora Mae.
Wren stopped.
“Nora?”
Nora Mae raised her beer.
“I have a life.”
“I know.”
“You look surprised.”
“I’m adjusting.”
Beth stood and hugged Wren.
“Sit.”
Wren did.
She deliberately chose the chair facing the stage.
Not the door.
Maribel sat beside her and immediately turned her chair toward the entrance.
Traitor.
Caleb grinned.
“What?”
Wren narrowed her eyes.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking mayorally.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
Tanner leaned forward.
“So.”
“No.”
“Daniel coming?”
Wren reached for a menu.
“I don’t know.”
Caleb drank his beer.
“Yes.”
Wren stopped.
Nobody missed it.
She continued opening the menu.
“Great.”
Maribel coughed.
Beth looked between all of them.
“What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Wren said.
“A lot,” Tanner said.
Wren kicked him beneath the table.
He moved his chair farther away.
Smart.
The band started warming up.
Wren ordered a burger and a beer and committed herself fully to not looking toward the door.
She lasted eleven minutes.
Daniel walked in at seven forty-one.
Wren knew because her entire table went quiet.
She looked up.
Mistake.
Daniel stood near the entrance wearing dark jeans and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled.
No jacket.
No tie.
No architectural armor.
Wren stared.
This was unfair.
There should be regulations.
Caleb lifted one hand.
Daniel spotted them.
Then someone stepped up beside him.
Kelly.
Wren looked back at her beer.
Maribel whispered, “Oh.”
“Don’t.”
“I said oh.”
“Your oh has subtext.”
“My oh has paragraphs.”
Daniel and Kelly approached.
Wren concentrated on the label of her bottle.
Daniel stopped beside the table.
“Evening.”
Everyone answered.
Wren did not.
Daniel looked at her.
“Wren.”
She looked up.
“Architect.”
His mouth twitched.
Kelly smiled at everyone.
“Hope you don’t mind if I join.”
“Of course not,” Beth said.
Wren loved Beth.
Usually.
Chairs shifted.
Kelly sat beside Tanner.
Daniel took the empty chair across from Wren.
Of course he did.
Wren picked up her beer.
Daniel noticed.
“Good day?”
“Very.”
“Productive?”
“Extremely.”
“What did you accomplish?”
“Things.”
His eyebrows lifted.
Wren smiled.
“Specificity is useful.”
Daniel leaned back.
“I’ve heard that somewhere.”
Kelly looked between them.
“So you two have been working together?”
Wren answered first.
“Unfortunately.”
Daniel nodded.
“She’s difficult.”
Wren gasped.
Kelly laughed.
“Sounds fun.”
“It is,” Daniel said.
Wren stopped.
There was no joke in his voice.
Daniel looked at her.
Neither moved.
Maribel kicked Wren beneath the table.
Wren ignored her.
The waitress arrived.
Everyone ordered.
Daniel asked for water.
Wren stared.
“What?”
“You’re at a bar.”
“I drove.”
“Responsible.”
“Yes.”
“Annoying.”
“Also yes.”
She smiled despite herself.
By nine, Murphy’s was packed.
The band had finished its first set and switched from country covers into old rock.
People danced near the stage.
Tanner and Beth were out there now, laughing their way through something that barely qualified as coordinated movement.
Nora Mae had somehow acquired a second beer.
Caleb was talking to Kelly.
Maribel had disappeared toward the bar.
Which left Wren and Daniel sitting across from one another with approximately six feet of wooden table and far too much awareness between them.
Daniel tapped one finger against his water glass.
“You’re quiet.”
“Am not.”
“You have been for thirty-two seconds.”
“You timed me?”
“No.”
“You just know.”
“Yes.”
She rolled her eyes.
He smiled.
Wren looked toward the dance floor.
“You like dancing?”
Daniel followed her gaze.
“Yes.”
She turned.
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Why does everyone assume I don’t do things?”
“Because you look like you’d schedule fun.”
Daniel considered.
“I have scheduled vacations.”
“Of course you have.”
“That’s normal.”
“Did you make an itinerary?”
“Yes.”
“Hourly?”
“No.”
She relaxed.
“Half-hour increments.”
Wren stared.
Daniel smiled.
She threw a napkin at him.
He caught it.
“You are such a liar.”
“Occasionally.”
The band started another song.
Something older.
Upbeat.
Familiar.
Daniel listened for a beat.
Then stood.
Wren looked up.
“What are you doing?”
He held out his hand.
She stared at it.
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You just asked if I dance.”
“I wasn’t volunteering.”
“You’re frightened.”
Wren laughed.
“Of you?”
“Of being wrong.”
“About what?”
“That I schedule fun.”
She looked at his hand.
Then his face.
Challenge.
Damn him.
Wren put her hand in his.
“Fine.”
Daniel led her toward the dance floor.
She leaned closer as they walked.
“If you’re terrible, I’m telling everyone.”
“If I’m good?”
“I’ll lie.”
He laughed.
Then he put one hand at her waist.
And Wren forgot every clever thing she’d ever said.
Daniel could dance.
Not performatively.
Not with flashy spins or practiced tricks.
He simply understood rhythm.
Naturally.
Easily.
He moved like a man who was comfortable in his own body and had chosen, inexplicably, not to advertise it.
Wren stared at him.
“Problem?”
“You’ve been hiding things.”
“Such as?”
“This.”
“I told you I could dance.”
“You said you liked dancing.”
“Related concepts.”
Wren shook her head.
Daniel turned her lightly.
She came back against him.
Closer.
His hand settled at her waist again.
The room seemed to tilt.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Wren looked up.
Daniel’s expression changed.
He felt it too.
Then Tanner yelled from behind them, “DANNY BOY!”
Wren’s head snapped around.
Daniel closed his eyes.
Tanner waved both hands.
“LOOKIN’ GOOD!”
Wren laughed.
Daniel looked down at her.
“Still proprietary?”
“Shut up.”
He grinned.
The song ended.
Neither stepped away immediately.
That was the problem.
Wren became aware of Daniel’s hand.
Her own resting at his shoulder.
His thumb moved once against her side.
Barely.
Then the next song began.
Slower.
Oh no.
Daniel looked toward the stage.
Then back at her.
Wren said, “Don’t.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re thinking.”
“So loudly?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Stay.”
One word.
No teasing.
No nickname.
Wren’s heart did something irresponsible.
So she stayed.
Later, Wren stood outside beneath the yellow glow of Murphy’s porch light trying to cool down.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Possibly spiritually.
The night air helped.
A little.
She heard the door open behind her.
“Running away?”
Daniel.
Naturally.
Wren didn’t turn.
“Air.”
He came to stand beside her.
“It’s cooler.”
“Excellent observation.”
“I have training.”
They leaned against the wooden railing.
Cars moved occasionally along the highway.
Somewhere behind the building, cicadas screamed into the darkness.
Wren looked toward the parking lot.
“Kelly likes you.”
Daniel sighed.
“Oh, good. We’re discussing this.”
“She does.”
“I gathered.”
“She gave you her number.”
“Yesterday.”
“And you came here with her.”
“No.”
Wren looked at him.
“She was inside the door when I arrived.”
“Oh.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“I came alone.”
“Oh.”
“You already said that.”
Wren stared out into the dark.
“Fine.”
Daniel waited.
She hated when he did that.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He smiled.
Wren looked at him.
“Did you call her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Daniel’s gaze settled on hers.
“You know why.”
Her breath caught.
There it was.
No joke.
No escape route.
Wren swallowed.
“Daniel.”
“Wren.”
The porch door opened.
They both turned.
Maribel stuck her head out.
“Oh.”
Wren pointed.
“Don’t you dare.”
Maribel backed inside.
The door closed.
Daniel laughed quietly.
Wren pressed both hands over her face.
“This town is hell.”
“No.”
She lowered her hands.
Daniel was smiling at her.
“It really isn’t.”
Something about that softened her.
He liked Willow Creek.
Not as a project.
Not entirely.
He liked it.
And maybe—
No.
Not going there.
Daniel looked back toward the parking lot.
“The drawings are ready for another review.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Monday.”
Wren blinked.
“You’re taking the weekend off?”
“Part of it.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Daniel?”
“I’ve been advised I work too much.”
“By a very wise woman?”
“By several people.”
“Ah.”
He looked at her.
“Tomorrow morning, I’m going to the farmers market.”
Wren smiled.
“That is adorable.”
“Stop.”
“You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
“I assume vegetables.”
“Oh, honey.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Should I be concerned?”
“Deeply.”
Daniel smiled.
“You’ll be there?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll survive.”
And there it was again.
That easy assumption.
If Wren was there, he’d be fine.
She liked that far too much.
Daniel pushed away from the railing.
“I should go.”
“Yeah.”
Neither moved.
Wren looked at him.
Daniel looked back.
The almost-kiss from yesterday rose between them.
Waiting.
This time there was no doorbell.
No Maribel.
No excuse.
Daniel stepped closer.
Wren’s pulse jumped.
Then the porch door flew open.
Tanner stumbled out laughing with Beth behind him.
“WE ARE GETTING WAFFLES.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Wren bent over laughing.
Beth slapped Tanner’s shoulder.
“You idiot.”
“What?”
She dragged him toward the parking lot.
Wren wiped tears from her eyes.
Daniel stared at the ceiling of the porch.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
That made her laugh harder.
He looked at her.
Then he started laughing too.
Not the restrained Daniel laugh.
Real laughter.
Helpless.
Warm.
Wren leaned into the railing.
“This is not funny.”
“It is objectively funny.”
“Twice.”
“Three times if you count the creek.”
“We weren’t going to kiss at the creek.”
Daniel looked at her.
Wren stopped.
“Oh.”
“Good night, Wren.”
He walked toward his car.
She stared after him.
“DANIEL.”
He turned.
“Were we?”
He smiled.
Got into his car.
And left.
Wren stood beneath the porch light, mouth open.
Behind her, Maribel appeared in the doorway.
“Waffles?”
Wren pointed toward the parking lot.
“I hate that man.”
Maribel looked at Daniel’s disappearing taillights.
“No, you don’t.”
Wren sighed.
“No.”
That was becoming a problem.