Page 188 of Wild Then Wed
I step back, just enough to really look at her. “Like hell I didn’t. You had a granola bar and some orange peels in your bag, Wren. That’s not breakfast.”
“I was fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugs, her eyes still not meeting mine. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“It wouldn’t have bothered me. You have to eat.”
She lets out a breath, quiet and tired. “My food’s just…expensive. And complicated. It’s not convenient, for me or anyone else. I don’t like making it everyone’s problem.”
The way she says it—it’s practiced. This isn’t the first time she’s had to explain herself. She’s spent years believing that needing something makes her a burden.
I reach out and tilt her chin up, just enough to meet my eyes. “It’s not a problem,” I say, quiet but steady. “It’s not inconvenient.You’renot inconvenient.”
She blinks at me, startled. I don’t let her look away this time.
“You have to tell me when you need food, alright? When we get home, you’re writing me a grocery list. You’re gonna tell me exactly what to get.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off.
“I want to,” I say firmly. “And the week after that, you’re doing it again. And the week after that. And the week after that.”
Her brow pinches, and she tries one more time. “Sawyer, it’s really expensive. I can get my own food, I really don’t—”
“I don’t care,” I say, louder than before. “I don’t give a shit how much it costs, Wren. You’re going to make the lists, andyou’re going to give them to me. You’re going to have what you need at home. Always.”
Her mouth parts slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that. A smile tugs at her lips, soft and surprised. “Home?”
I pause, the word registering only after she says it out loud.
And I meant it.
Wherever she is, that’s where I want to be. Where I feel like I can actually breathe. Where I can sleep past noon and not wake up feeling like the world’s about to collapse. Where things don’t feel borrowed or temporary or halfway.
So I nod, my voice quieter now. Certain. “Home.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, but then, soft as a whisper, “Thank you.”
I tilt my head. “For what?”
She shrugs, fingers toying with the edge of my shirt. “For taking care of me. I’m not really used to that. But I think I like it.”
My chest tightens. I think about how often she’s had to be the one taking care of someone else. How many times she’s probably tucked herself into the corner of someone else’s life, trying not to ask for too much.
I brush a kiss against her lips—slow and certain—and rest my forehead to hers. “Always.” Then I take her hand and lead her over to the table. “Come on, you need to eat before it gets cold.”
She steps up to the tray, lifts the lid, and lets out a low, surprised laugh. “Wait—how did you even know I’d want this?”
I hand her a fork, leaning in just enough to kiss her temple. “I didn’t. I guessed. Mostly I just thought about what I’d want if I hadn’t eaten all day and couldn’t have bread or cheese.”
Her eyes flick up. “You guessed this well?”
I shrug. “I pay attention.”
She bites her lip, like she doesn’t know what to do with that, and picks up her plate. I grab mine and we both drop onto the couch, plates balanced on our laps.
She takes a bite and hums, then glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
