Page 16 of Wren's Winter

A crease formed between my thick brows. “Lark. If you took his last name, your name would have been Wren Lark.”

She took a fry, chewing slowly as she came up with her answer. “Yeah...”

“...And I’m going to take a wild guess since he is the unfortunate fourth man in his family to have that name that he isn’t a fan of women keeping their names.”

“I guess it’s a good thing it didn’t work out,” she stated plainly before taking the last bite of her burger. Pushing her plate away, she stood up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Mrs. Hunt came back, placing the check on my side of the table. Good gal. I slipped my credit card into the slot.

“Glad to see you’re not going to let her pay.”

I was already planning on it, but now, I had no choice. “Of course not.”

“She’s a lovely girl.”

“She is.” I agreed.

“You want to tell me what’s going on there?”

“You’re too nosy. I barely know her. It was just lunch.”

“And yet you bring her here. Your favorite restaurant in town, with your favorite person.”

“Bull. Who says you’re my favorite person?”

“Don’t get cheeky. If this girl was nothing to you, you would have taken her downtown to one of those revolving restaurants that serve bratwurst and tankards of beer. Not bring her to meet me.”

“Maybe I was craving your burgers.”

Mrs. Hunt raised a brow at me. “Now who’s full of shit?”

Wren emerged from the bathroom, fresh red lipstick on, her hair smoother than before. I wanted to smudge that lipstick and muss her hair.

“Wren. It was lovely to meet you. Make sure you come back to see me again. You don’t need to bring this guy around.”

“Hey!” I protested.

“I’d love to, Mrs. Hunt,” Wren said as she sat back down across from me.

She laid a hand on top of Wren’s. “Please call me Marta.”

She never offered for me to call her by her given name.

“Marta.” Wren smiled up at the woman.

“Winnie would have liked you,” Mrs. Hunt said.

Wren’s cheeks colored slightly at the comment, her finger rubbing behind her left ear, but she smiled at the older woman.

“You’ve said two words to her,” I grumbled. Not that I disagreed with her, but did she have to show such preferential treatment?

Mrs. Hunt glared at me. “I know what I know, boy.”

As I shook my head, I opened the holder, signing my name to the credit card receipt.

“Hey, I was supposed to pay that.” She reached forward, her hands trying to grab the case from me.

Holding it out of her reach, Mrs. Hunt swooped by, grabbing it. “I already paid. Let me take care of you.”

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