Page 26 of Goose's Wren

Now, every night after dinner, we end up in the same spot.Him on the porch swing and me curled up on the top step with a blanket around my shoulders with a cup of tea.

We talk a lot too.At first, it was safe topics.Old memories from high school, funny stories from club events, weird customers he’s had at the shop.

Then slowly, it became more personal.He told me about the time Timber broke his hand punching out a guy who tried to short change Mina at a charity auction.I told him about the first time I ever left Montana and how terrified I was to sit on a Greyhound alone.

We laugh a lot.And it feels natural and easy.But underneath it, just below the surface, there’s something else.

A tension that hums like electricity under my skin every time his eyes hold mine too long.Every time his voice dips low or he shifts just a little closer, his knee brushing mine like an accident that never quite feels like one.

It’s not the same kind of tension we started with.That was guarded.Steeped in memories neither of us wanted to touch.

This?This is a hungry curiosity.An awareness.We’re circling something neither of us has dared to name yet.

I think about it now as I drive the little beater Goose gave me to use when I don’t want to take the bike into town.

The windows are rolled down, the warm summer air sweeping through my hair as I navigate the winding road past Wolf’s Ridge and into the valley.

The trees blur by, the hum of the road soothing but my thoughts are anything but calm.

Because no matter how hard I try to focus on errands or the job, I can’t stop thinking about that night two days ago.

I’d just come out of my room, heading toward the kitchen to get a bottle of water before crashing into bed.The house had been quiet, no TV, no music, just the hum of the fridge and the creak of old floorboards.

And then he stepped out of the bathroom just as I walked out into the hall.Just a towel slung low on his hips.

His chest was still damp, droplets clinging to the hard lines of muscle I’d never seen before.

Tattoos stretched across his shoulders and down his ribs, the ink dark against his skin.His hair was messy and wet, falling across his forehead.And those eyes...

God.

He looked up just as I froze in the hallway.For a second, neither of us said a word.My mouth went dry.My entire body lit up like a live wire.

He didn’t even flinch.Just stared back at me like he was trying to decide if I was real or not.

Then he gave this half-smile—barely there, but it hit like a gut punch—and murmured, “Didn’t expect to see you up.”

I think I nodded.Maybe I said something.I honestly don’t remember.I just remember standing there like an idiot as he passed me, close enough that the clean scent of soap and something purely him filled my lungs.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

The way my body reacted.The way his eyes lingered, just for a second, before he disappeared into his room.

I don’t know what’s happening between us.I don’t know if he feels the same pull that’s starting to consume me.

But I know I feel it.I know I lie awake at night, just listening to the sounds of the house and wondering if he’s lying awake too, remembering the same damn moment.

Wondering if he thinks about what might happen if either of us were brave enough to take the next step.

The road curves, and I shift in my seat, focusing on the drive.But even the open road isn’t enough to chase the thought of him away.

Goose in nothing but a towel.

Goose watching me like he’s trying not to want something.

Goose sitting beside me in the dark, saying things I waited years to hear.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, biting my bottom lip.

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