Page 58 of Wild Then Wed
I push my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “It’s clean.”
“It’s empty,” she corrects, turning to face me fully now.
I nod once, because she’s not wrong. And because there’s nothing I’m interested in pretending about with her.
“Did you come here to judge my taste in furniture,” I say, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, “or were you planning to pitch whatever business deal you were going on about?”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, just pulls out one of the barstools and plops onto it like she’s done it a hundred timesbefore. Her boots swing lightly against the footrest, her hands tightening around the thermos still clutched between them.
She takes a breath like she’s about to jump off a cliff, then looks up at me, serious as hell.
“There have to be rules for this conversation,” she says.
I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms loosely over my chest, amused. “Rules?”
She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “Rules.”
I raise a brow. “How many we talkin’?”
She thinks for a second. “Okay…maybe just one.”
I fight a grin, rubbing the scruff along my jaw. “Alright. What’s the rule?”
She shifts on the stool, adjusting her grip on the thermos like it might anchor her.
“You’re not allowed to talk,” she says.
I bark out a laugh before I can stop it. “That doesn’t sound much like a conversation, Wilding.”
She smiles, quick and crooked, but it’s gone just as fast. “Okay, I’m serious. No talking until I’m done.”
I run a hand down my face, dragging my palm across my mouth to keep from laughing again. “Deal.”
God, what the hell is she about to say? Is this how Wren Wilding asks people out? Because she looks like she’s about to pitch a hostage negotiation, not a coffee date.
Except she saidbusiness deal.And between the Wildings and the Harts, there’s not a whole lot of business we’ve got left to offer each other.
So what the hell’s got her looking like she’s about to be throw up all over my kitchen floor?
She pulls in another breath, squares her shoulders, and says, “I think we should get married.”
My head whips toward her so fast I nearly crack my damn neck.
There’s a beat of silence. Just the low hum of the fridge. The distant click of Hank’s nails on the hardwood floors.
I stare at her, waiting for the punchline that doesn’t come. I open my mouth, instinct, and she lifts a hand fast, eyes wide.
“Remember the rule,” she says, pointing at me like she thinks I might forget.
I snap my mouth shut, still staring at her like she’s grown a second head.
Married.She said married. As in, husband and wife.
Either I’ve had a stroke, or Wren Wilding’s just proposed to me on a random Tuesday.
Chapter 11
WREN
