Page 19 of Wren's Winter

He cleared his throat, then took a large drink of his beer. “No, they passed a while ago. Within two months of each other. Gran first and then, without her, my Gramps just faded away.” A small smile ticked up on the corner of his lips as his voice grew wistful. “Gramps told me that maybe if I was real lucky, someday I could find someone who loved me half as much as he loved my Gran. But I’d need to get my head out of my ass to find her.”

He laughed to himself, and I smiled at the remark. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He was. They both were.” His eyes focused back on me as if he were realizing who I was. “Wow, sorry. I haven’t told anyone about that before.”

Reaching out, I placed a hand over his. “I don’t mind.”

He studied my hand on top of his, and I wondered if he was going to push me off. Instead, he turned my hand until it was facing up. With the lightest touch, he traced a circle around the inside of my palm. Every brush of his fingertip sent heat down my arm and into my chest. My ribs too tight with the expanding sensation, almost to the point of pain.

“I wonder why you’re so easy to talk to.” His question didn’t feel like it was directed at me, more a musing to himself.

He wouldn’t look at me, still tracing on my hand. A circle, a star, small shapes. Each glancing touch throws me more and more off balance. The late ’90s rock music fell away.

“Easy to be with,” I murmured, so low I wasn’t sure he could hear me. His fingers moved from my palm to my wrist. The thin skin of the inside of my arm heated at his gaze.

A loud thud of the door opening startled us apart, cold air blasting through the small bar. A group of men came in, loudly joking about the Seahawks chances for the playoffs.

Tucking my hand under my leg, I ignored the phantom of his touch on me. Adrian let out a low chuckle, glancing at the door while he finished his beer.

I followed suit, chugging the rest of the winter ale.

“Another round?” he asked as he stood up from the table.

I nodded, not trusting my voice not to betray me. My smile shaky as he walked back to the bar. What was happening to me? Over the years, I had crushes on men, fleeting things, where I would talk a little too much or laugh a little too hard at their jokes. I thought I knew what it was to be attracted to someone. But I had never in my life had such a visceral reaction to a man. In all the years I spent in relationships, no one had ever affected me the way Adrian did from a simple hand-holding.

There was an intimacy between us that was frightening. I never put stock into my mother’s sense of intuition, but everything in me was telling me that being beside Adrian fit. For years, I swallowed down the annoying voice in my head that something wasn’t quite right. No relationship could be perfect, so why nitpick things? But it was right with Adrian.

Shaking my head, I tried to get the idea out of my mind. I didn’t know this man. I was rational, sometimes. And didn’t need to get attached to a stranger.

From my spot at the table, I watched as Jordan, the bartender, leaned across the bar top. I couldn’t hear everything that was said, but I was sure I caught the word “man whore.” Adrian flipped her off as she turned away to refill our drinks. He could flirt with whomever he wanted. Was I developing a small crush on my vacation house neighbor? Yeah, obviously. But I was a grown woman.

Sometimes.

While he was at the bar, I walked down the bright purple hallway to the single-person bathroom. A chipped mirror hung over a pedestal sink that had a brown ring of soap scum in it. The walls were decorated with people’s phone numbers, multiple anarchy signs, and the word “cocksucker” five times over.

I focused on the signs on the lime green walls—Hey, Diddle Diddle, Aim for the Middle! and Best Seat in the House—anything, but my shaking hands and the lump in my chest.

The soap was thin pink sludge that made my hands feel dry as I was washing them. The knob stuck as I tried to turn it. It took some aggressive jiggling before I either broke the lock or opened it. The door jamb was in bad enough shape with gouges all over that it was hard to tell what I did and what had already been there. Walking back out into the almost empty bar, Adrian was still talking to the bartender. She was pretty. Short, straight black hair, and a lip piercing. Colorful tattoos covering her arm and up her neck.

I got my belly button pierced a year into my relationship with Buck, and he insisted that a classy woman would have only a single ear piercing on each ear, so I let the hole close up. Tattoos were a definite no-no. Maybe I’d get a tattoo. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about it, but the idea appealed to me. A few feet away from the table, an arm reached out, stopping me in my path.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing?” The man set his beer down directly on the bar top instead of a coaster. A faded beanie covered his head and a scraggly goatee on his chin. He wasn’t bad-looking, but I got an icky vibe from him.

I stepped back. “Um, hi.”

“I’m Jarrod. I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Because I’m visiting.” I glanced over at Adrian. He laughed at something the bartender said, and she flapped the towel at him.

“From where?”

My eyes snapped back to the guy. “Somewhere not here.”

I hoped my harsher tone would be deterrent enough, but instead, he laughed. “No need to get testy. We don’t get a lot of new people in here. Most of the tourists stay in the downtown area.”

“So I’ve heard.” Hugging my purse closer to my chest, I backed up a step, but the man’s arm was still in the way, his hand resting on an iron railing separating two areas. Gritting my teeth, I tried to make my words as clear as possible. “Please move your arm so I can get back to my friend.”

“Which friend?” the man glanced around, his eyes stopping on Adrian and Jordan. “Looks like your friend is busy.”

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