Page 83 of Sinners Atone
“Believe me, she knows,” Tayce grunts, glugging from her beer.
“Shutup, Tayce,” I hiss through my smile. “Let him tell me.”
Kind Eyes glances over at her in amusement, then looks to the wonky Christmas tree. He nods to the bare branches at the top of it. “I thought the angel was supposed to go on top of the tree, not work behind a bar?”
Flushing red, I stifle a squeal of delight, reach over, and playfully push him on the chest. “Oh, stop that.”
He laughs. “What’s your name?”
I squint up at him, suddenly shy. “Wren Harlow. What’s yours?”
“I’m David. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wren.”
“David,” I repeat, saying his name slowly, thoughtfully. Toying with the idea of saying it for the rest of my life and saving it in my cellphone contact list with a little love heart emoji. Moaning it in his ear as we make love on our wedding night.
Wren and David, David and Wren.
And just like that, the warmth in my stomach cools to tepid, and the view beyond my rose-tinted glasses dims to gray.
I nod, smile, and mutter something about it being a nice name. That’s just what you do when someone tells you what they’re called. And it is, I suppose. It’s just not the name of The One.
Doesn’t have the same ring asWren and Gabe, either.
A shock zaps through me, and I silently scold myself for daring to even think it.
David asks for another wine. I pour it with a polite laugh and some small talk, but my heart is already over it. My head too preoccupied with veins on biceps and gruff commands.
The conversation soon dies, and when he retreats to his friends, the night’s soundtrack takes over. Drunken anecdotes ebb and flow; rain fights through the crack in the roof and sloshes into the bucket in the corner. “Top of the World”by Carpenters fizzes out of the jukebox for the millionth time. It’s a hunk of a machine as old as the bar itself. A few months ago, one of the locals punched it in a liquor-fueled rage, and it’s only ever played this song since. It’s not in Eddie’s budget to replace it.
“You’re still here. I thought you’d be riding into the sunset by now.” Tayce smirks when I approach, giving the playing cards a lazy shuffle. “What happened?”
Lesson two happened. But instead, I say, “His name is David.”
“Oh gosh, what a travesty.”
I brush off her sarcasm. “Oh well. I’m used to the disappointment.” I let out a dramatic sigh and put the dishrag in my hand to work, wiping away water rings and my stupid daydreams. “It wasn’t explosive enough to be my meet-cute anyway. If The One doesn’t crash into me at a coffee shop and spill his Americano down my dress and then awkwardly scrub at my boobs with a napkin, I don’t want it.”
“Wren.” Rory puts down her cards. “What I’m about to say comes from a place of love.” She takes a deep breath. “You need to start dating.”
I roll my eyes.Not this crap again.I swear, we’ve had this conversation more times than I’ve curled my hair. “And I will start dating. When I meet The One.”
She places a warm hand over mine. “But to meet The One, you’ve got to wade through The Many.”
Tayce nods in agreement, for once not a single slither of sarcasm on her face. My gaze narrows on Rory’s wedding ring. It winks back at me purely to taunt me.
“Well, you didn’t do that. You met Angelo, and that was that. Your fingers brushed, sparks flew, and now you’re living happily ever after with your Prince Charming.” I sniff, suddenly feeling defensive. “Now you live in a house so huge you need a compass to navigate it.”
Rory steals a shifty glance at Tayce, who grabs my other hand and takes over. “Yes, but Rory is a peasant. Hers is a rags-to-riches story. But you, you’re already a princess! And you know what princesses do?”
“Hang around in an ivory tower brushing their long blonde hair, waiting for their Knight in Shining Armor to rescue them?”
Rory laughs. “No, not that princess. The other one. The one who had to kiss all those frogs before she met her prince.”
I chew on my bottom lip, my stomach twisting. I know they’re right, of course. Though they couldn’t torture me into admitting it. I must be the only twenty-one-year-old on the planet who’s never been on a date, let alone been kissed.
They don’t understand I can’t go around kissing frogs to find my prince.
Because I learned the hard way: I’m hardwired to be incapable of telling the difference.
