Page 20 of Wild Then Wed
She’s chewing on the end of a pencil, eyes narrowed in concentration. Her brow pinches just slightly, focused, but not tense. She’s sketching something on the page—fast, fluid strokes like she’s chasing the thought before it slips away. Left-handed.
I notice that, for some reason. The way her hand moves, how it curls around the page, smudging the side of her palm without her seeming to care.
I’m not sure why I’m paying attention to any of it. But I am.
She glances up—just for a second—and catches me looking.
Shit.
I probably look like some guy with nothing better to do than stand here, staring at the new girl.
She doesn’t say anything. Just blinks once, then looks back down, like I was never in her line of sight to begin with.
I watch her pass the notebook off to Dottie, then push her hair out of her face, the gesture automatic. She doesn’t linger, doesn’t wait for feedback. Just turns and walks away like she hasn’t completely rerouted my attention without meaning to.
She cuts across the pen to grab her bag, and I know I should let her go.
But I don’t.
“Hey!”
She turns fast. Not startled—just alert. Her hair fans out a little with the movement, the sun catching enough of it through the windows of the pen to turn the strands copper at the edges. For half a beat, something flickers across her face—something unsure—but it’s gone just as fast, replaced by a steady kind of calm that reads like instinct. Measured. Controlled.
Her eyes are blue.
Not soft blue, not sky or ocean or anything easy. They’re sharp. Pale in the center, deeper at the rim. Blue like cracked ice or rain hitting pavement. The kind of blue you only ever see once and then remember for the rest of your life.
“Thanks,” I say, clearing my throat. “For what you did in there. Took guts.”
She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t deflect. Just gives a simple nod. “Just doing what needed to be done.”
I step forward and hold out my hand. “Sawyer Hart.”
She hesitates for a second—just long enough that I start to wonder if she’s going to ignore me entirely. But then she slowly reaches out and slides her hand into mine.
Her fingers are small, but her grip is solid.
“Wren Wilding.”
Wren. It suits her. Direct and a little sharp.
I glance toward the pen. “You always throw yourself into shit-storms like that?”
She cocks her head. “Only the ones where people are being complete assholes.”
I let out a breath that sounds close to a laugh. “So, all of them.”
There’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she’s trying not to smile. Like she doesn’t want to give me that win.
She shifts her bag over her shoulder. “Tell your guys that if I see a whip again, I won’t be as polite next time.”
“You were being polite this time?”
Again, that gets a ghost of a smile. Barely there, but it’s something.
I smile back. “How’s your family holding up with all this water mess?”
Her mouth flattens. “Barely. We’re waiting to hear back on an exemption, but it’s not looking great. If the county doesn’t approve it…” She trails off, then shakes her head. “It’s going to be a disaster.”
