Page 230 of Wild Then Wed
I was always told to be something different. A little less opinionated. A little more friendly. A little less intense. A little lessme.
And I think some part of me believed that’s what love required. That if I ever wanted to be chosen, I had to show up as a version of myself that wouldn’t scare anyone off.
But Sawyer never asked for that. He didn’t fall in love with a filtered version of me. He fell in love with the whole thing. The quiet. The sharp. The restless. The soft.
He doesn’t reach for the best parts of me and ignore the rest. He meets me in the mess. He sees the parts I’ve kept hidden, the fears I’ve tried to reason away, the softness I only ever showed when no one was watching—and he doesn’t run. He stays. He stays, and stays, and stays.
And somewhere in all that staying, something changed. I stopped looking for the exits. I stopped bracing for the moment he’d decide I wasn’t enough.
Because it never came.
Instead, he built me a room. He filled it with light and color and space, and he called it mine. He kissed me like I was already enough. And for the first time in my life—I believed it.
That’s what loving him feels like. Not reckless or performative or fragile.
Just true. Like coming home to myself.
Chapter 40
WREN
We’ve been in the house for exactly three seconds, and it’s already clear that Christmas is in its full, unhinged swing.
There’s a plastic toy kitchen set blocking the front hallway. Someone’s singing along to Mariah Carey from the dining room. The twins are loose. I repeat:the twins are loose!
Lainey comes tearing around the corner wearing sparkly reindeer antlers and no pants, shrieking with joy, a candy cane clenched in one sticky fist like a weapon. Jack follows right behind her, his diaper sagging under his holiday onesie, holding an empty wrapping paper tube like he’s been drafted into some kind of toddler war.
Sawyer steps aside just in time to avoid a collision. “Uh.Wow.”
I unclip Hank’s leash and shake snow from my jacket. “Welcome to Christmas with my family.”
The air smells like ham—sweet and peppery and probably brushed with some fancy glaze Mom swears is just “a little something she threw together.” The oven is on, the windows are fogged up, and the entire house is buzzing with conversations, clinking glasses, and the unmistakable sound of someone yelling for more paper towels.
I tug at the hem of my sweater—a truly hideous thing covered in tangled Christmas lights that actually light up if I flip the switch hidden in the sleeve. There’s a giant stitched reindeer on the front with one eye slightly higher than the other and a pom-pom nose that keeps brushing against my chin when I sit down. I kind of hate it. I also kind of love it.
Sawyer’s wearing one with three snowmen doing the macarena. It’s offensively bright and has tiny silver bells stitched into the hem so he jingles every time he moves. He didn’t even flinch when I handed it to him this morning. That’s how I know he loves me.
“Merry Christmas, you filthy animals!” Ridge calls, appearing from the kitchen wearing a sweater that reads:“SILENT NIGHT? NOT IF I’M DOING IT RIGHT”in sparkly red letters, complete with snowflakes and—regrettably—bedazzled nipples.
I blink, pointing at his sweater. “Ridge.”
“What?” He lifts a hand, unfazed. “It’sfestive.”
“It’s disturbing. And inappropriate.”
“It’s honest,” he says with a wink, grinning. “And it’s machine washable.”
He pulls me into a hug that smells like expensive cologne and possibly rum. His cheeks are already pink from warmth or whiskey, or both.
“I hate you,” I mumble into his shoulder.
“No, you don’t.”
I pull back, smiling despite myself. “No. But I want to.”
Sawyer steps forward and shakes Ridge’s hand, and Ridge claps him on the back like they’ve known each other forever. “Glad you came, Doc. Hope you brought your appetite and your tolerance for my family.”
“I live with Wren now,” Sawyer says. “I’m in training.”
