Page 43 of Wild Then Wed
And I’m realizing that I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I’ve just gotten myself into.
Chapter 8
SAWYER
The second we walk through the door, it all hits—chaos, heat, and something that smells like fried potatoes and brisket so tender it probably melts in your mouth.
Riley’s voice booms before we’re even fully inside. “I swear to Christ, Crew, if you mess with my truck again—”
“Nobody’s messing with your goddamn truck,” Crew fires back from somewhere down the hall.
I step inside and Wren follows, her boots thudding softly on the worn hardwood. The house is warm. Loud. Lived-in. It’s been this way my whole life.
The twins, Emily and Nathan, are at the kitchen island helping Mom—who’s rattling off instructions with that thick Texan drawl that makes everything sound nicer than it is. She’s pointing at pans, stirring something with one hand, and correcting Emily’s slicing technique with the other. It smells like garlic, onion, and my mom’s buttermilk biscuits the closer we get to the kitchen. My stomach growls loud enough that I’m pretty sure Wren hears it.
Riley spots us first, leaning against the dining room doorway with a beer in hand. It’s not even noon.
“Well, shit,” he drawls, grinning like the asshole he is. “Sawyer brought a date. A pretty one, too.”
Wren goes stiff beside me. I see it—the way her shoulders lock up, the way her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. Her expression is caught somewhere between amusement and discomfort. Her cheeks are tinged pink, but she’s doing her best to look unbothered. I don’t think anyone else notices, but I do.
She’s in a room full of strangers, all of them talking loud, moving fast, with zero concept of personal space. This is probably her worst nightmare.
I shove Riley hard enough he sloshes beer on his shirt. “Shut the hell up.”
He just laughs, wiping at the stain. “What? I’m just being friendly, you dick. I liked this shirt.”
I playfully grab him in a headlock before he can keep digging his grave. “You’re being a shit-starter.”
“Ma!” Riley yells, flailing like a toddler. “Sawyer’s trying to murder me again!”
From the kitchen, Mom doesn’t even look up from the stove. “Then die quietly, baby. And grab some plates if you’re gonna keep yappin’.”
Wren’s standing there, arms crossed tight over her chest, but I catch the way her mouth quirks up into a half-smile.
I lean down a little, my voice low and just for her. “It gets better once they’re fed. I promise.”
She lets out a chuckle. “That’s how it usually goes.”
I grin before I can stop myself. Any laugh I can pull from her feels like a win.
Wren Wilding doesn’t hand out smiles and laughs like party favors. You earn them. You work for them. And I kind of like that about her—that she’s real. That she doesn’t fake it to make anyone else comfortable.
Her laugh surprises me though. For someone who moves through the world like she’s waiting for the ground to give out beneath her, it’s…soft. Feminine in a way that feels at odds with how tightly she holds herself together. Her voice, when she speaks, when she laughs—it’s warmer than she probably realizes.
And shit, if that doesn’t hit somewhere it shouldn’t.
I liked Julia’s laugh, too. Loved it.
Bright and untamed, one that could pull me out of my own head without even trying. She’d tip her head back when she really got going, lose herself in it, and it made you want to laugh too—just because she was.
The weight of that memory presses in, slow and mean. My stomach knots, and just like that, I can feel the wall going back up.
Automatic. Like breathing.
Whatever this thing is—this pull toward Wren—it’s not supposed to be happening. It’s not fair to Julia. It’s not fair to Wren either.
I straighten up, roll my shoulders back, and clear my throat like it’ll shove the thoughts down where they belong.
