Page 185 of Wild Then Wed
My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the soft light bleeding in through thick curtains. The room is quiet. Still.
Too still.
And then it fully hits me—she’s not here.
My pulse jumps before I can stop it, some primal instinct kicking in before logic does. My hand moves across the bed like I’ll find her that way. Like maybe I just missed her.
But it’s just thin fabric and air.
Until I see it.
A slip of hotel stationery on her pillow. Folded once, my name written across the front in her handwriting—round and a little loopy. The S is bigger than the rest.
I sit up, still groggy, and open it.
Sawyer,
Took Hank for a walk. I wanted you to get some sleep. We’ll beback soon.
P.S. What do you call a dog who does magic?
A labracadabrador. ?? -W
There’s a tiny doodle of a paw print next to her signatureW. It’s a little smudged in the corner, like she might’ve leaned on it while she wrote. I trace it with my thumb and try not to smile, but fail miserably.
She walked my dog.
I don’t know what gets me more—the fact that she let me sleep, or the fact that she took Hank out without me asking her to. Like she’s mine, and what’s mine is hers. No questions asked.
I lean over the side of the bed to grab my phone, still stuck in that floaty, post-dream state, and my eyes catch the time.
12:04.
I blink at it and frown. Then check again.
Noon?
I can’t remember the last time I slept that late. Maybe high school. Maybe never. Not when you’re up with calves at sunrise or pulling double shifts at the clinic or studying until your vision blurs. Sleeping in just hasn’t ever been athing. I’m not wired for rest. Or haven’t been, at least.
But somehow…I did. Somehow, with Wren in my bed last night, I actuallyslept.
And she let me. No alarms. No noise. Just a note with a dad joke and a doodle and her out in the city somewhere, walking my dog like this is just what she does now. Whatwedo now.
Damn, what is she doing to me?
By the time I’ve cleared out my work inbox, texted three people back from the clinic, and showered off what’s left of the nightmare still clinging to my skin, the room’s gone quiet again.Peaceful, almost. Except now I’m wondering what the hell Wren ate for breakfast.
I unzip the lunchbox she packed—tucked neatly beside her duffel bag—and find curled orange peels and a crumpled granola bar wrapper.
That’s it?No. No, that can’t be it.
She let me sleep in, walked my dog, and only ate…citrus and oats?
There’s no way in hell that’s all she’s eating today.
I grab the hotel phone and press the button for room service.
It rings twice before a bright voice answers. “Good afternoon, this is Clarice at the front desk of the Langford. How can I assist you today?”
