Page 51 of Caught Up In You

Francie

The only question is, do you want a plus one?

My immediate instinct is to say yes. I want nothing more than to introduce Wyatt to Francie. I have no doubt they’d get along famously; they’d probably instantly team up against me in a festival of playful taunts the likes of which the world has never seen.

There’s also the fact that now that I’ve convinced her to be with me—even if it’s in some messy, inscrutable way—I want her by my side as much as possible.

But I also know that what Wyatt and I have is tenuous at best. I’ve had to coax her to me like a stray cat, and any sudden movement could scare her off. That’s precisely why I sent her home by herself this morning. The prospect of curling up around her in my bed, listening to her gentle breaths and feeling her relax,reallyrelax, into me was like a siren’s call. But I knew it would be too much. Wyatt needs to establish distance, even if every part of me wants to obliterate it.

So extending an invite to my ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend’s engagement party five weeks from now is probably not the move with Wyatt Hart.

And yet …

Owen

Yes

Francie

Seriously?

Don’t bring a rando app date or a call girl to my engagement party

Owen

I’m offended, Frank

Francie

You will tell me everything about this girl, Owen McBride

But later. We’re doing dinner with my parents and Josh’s parents, and I have to steel myself for nonstop hint-dropping about grandkids

Owen

You can’t fault them for loving you so much they want you to make copies

Francie

Save the charm for your mystery girl

Owen

I’ve got plenty of charm to go around

Francie

LORD

Half an hour later I’ve confirmed that Felix is spending the evening in Bloomington with Margo, his latest short-term girlfriend. I’m putting the finishing touches on a charcuterie board and uncorking a nice-but-not-too-nice bottle of red.

A spring storm has blown in, the rain pounding the roof in sheets so loudly that I barely hear the knock at the door. I mentally curse Felix for once again ignoring my pleas to fix the doorbell.

Wyatt is standing on my doorstep in her usual uniform of jeans and combat boots and a deconstructed T-shirt. This one is baby blue and advertises the Deluxe Town Diner in red, a little cartoon coffee cup below it with a speech bubble reading, “life is brew-tiful.” It’s been cut up the sides and crosswise into strips, which are tied together to make the shirt fit her narrow torso like a second skin. The sleeves have been cut off and the neckline cut into a dangerous deep V that displays the top of her tattoos.

Tattoos I’m still dying to see.

There’s so much of Wyatt Hart that I’m dying to see.

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