Page 200 of Wild Then Wed
People light up when they see him. They stop to shake his hand, clap his back, pull him into conversations like they’ve been waiting for him to show up. And he lets them. Not in a fake, performative way. Just—genuinely. He’s warm without trying, approachable in a way that I probably never will be. I watch him and wonder what that feels like. To be someone people are just naturally drawn to. To move through a space like you deserve to be there. To carry that kind of light.
There’s something about that charisma and ease that makes you want to be near it. Like maybe if you stand close enough, some of it will rub off on you.
Sawyer and Joel are still talking—laughing, catching up like no time’s passed at all—but their voices have sort of faded into the background. I’m standing here, watching their conversation without really absorbing any of it. Sawyer’s hand finds mine again. Just a soft brush at first, then his fingers thread between mine like he knows exactly when I need something to hold onto.
Joel’s telling some story with wild hand gestures and this grin that practically stretches off his face, and Sawyer’s smiling back, eyes soft and crinkled at the corners. There’s a quietcomfort to seeing him like this, as if I’m witnessing a piece of who he used to be.
I try to stay present. I try not to shrink. But the truth is, I’ve always been more observer than participant in rooms like this.
Some people are built for this sort of thing—people who can strike up a conversation in a grocery store line, who walk into a crowded room like it’s theirs. Ridge, Sage, Lark, Miller, Joel, my mom—they can talk to anyone, light up a dinner table. They’re magnetic without even trying.
And then there’s me and Boone. We’re like our dad. Quieter, and slower to open ourselves up to people. We don’t speak unless we really mean it. And it’s not that we don’twantto connect—we just don’t always know how. Or worse, we overthink it until we’ve convinced ourselves not to try.
I glance up at Sawyer again, at the way he’s listening to Joel with that small smile, like he’s genuinely happy to be here. He’s different, I’ve learned. Somewhere in-between. A person that people naturally trust and want to be around, but he doesn’t let many people in. He’s polite and respectful to everyone, sure. Warm, even. But when it comes to real closeness? That’s earned.
And once you’ve got it, he doesn’t half-ass it. He shows up for you, fully, with everything he is.
Which is maybe why it’s still so hard for me to believe he’s here withme.Holding my hand in a room like this, as if he doesn’t care who sees or what they think. Like he’s already chosen his place, and it’s beside me.
“Joel Valentine!” a woman’s voice calls out, bright and teasing.
We all turn as she weaves through the crowd in a black gown. Her olive skin practically glows under the chandelier light, and her dark curls are pulled up, a few spiraling around her cheekbones.
Joel groans under his breath and mutters, “Shit.”
She crosses her arms. “You said you were on your way to the table, remember?”
“Iwas,” he insists, looking not even a little guilty.
She narrows her eyes. “Sure.”
Then she spots Sawyer and her whole face lights up.
“Oh mygod, Sawyer!” she says, wrapping him in a hug.
He lets out a laugh and hugs her back. “Hi, Nova.”
She pulls back, looking at him like she could squeeze his face. “It’s been forever! And you’re still stupidly good-looking. Ugh.”
Then her eyes flick to me, and she practically beams. “And you must be Wren!”
Before I can say anything—before I can even prepare for it—she throws her arms around me.
I freeze—completely short-circuit. My arms hang there, useless, while she hugs me, and it takes me a beat too long to react. When I finally move, it’s more of an awkward pat than a proper hug, and my eyes flick to Sawyer.
He’s already watching, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he’s enjoying this a little too much. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Um…hi?” I manage.
Nova pulls away, completely unfazed. “It’s so good tofinallymeet you in person!”
Joel wraps an arm around her waist and gives me a look that’s both apologetic and not. “My wife’s a hugger. Sorry.”
Nova rolls her eyes like she’s never been sorry for anything in her life, which somehow makes me laugh.
She grins again. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s good to put a name to a face.”
Then she shakes her head and adds, “We were so close to making it to your wedding, but our daughter had other plans and decided to be born the night before. She has terrible timing, honestly.”
