Page 34 of A Forbidden Spring
“You were,” Reid says. “Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill.”
“How long have you been sleeping with your super-hot boss?” Reid asks, almost bored. “Listen, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”
Grabbing my wine glass, I take a sip as my cheeks heat, silently praying they’ll drop it.
Unfortunately, when I look up, they’re both still staring at me.
“Youcannottell anyone,” I say quietly.
Pen squeals and launches herself at me as Reid gapes at me. “Wow, I didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”
“So, what’s happening? Are you dating? You’re hardly ever at your apartment.” Pen rattles off her questions in one single breath before squeezing my hand. “I’m really happy for you.”
“We’re going to talk when he comes home from New York. It’s…”
“Complicated?” Reid supplies and I shrug.
“Yes and no. Yes, because he was never supposed to be in Wintervale—his brother was—so I guess he’s trying to figure out what comes next with the business. But I just…” I blow out a breath. “I’m mad that I care, that he makes me care.”
“Wow,” Reid whispers.
“Stop saying wow,” I snap, self-consciousness trickling in at how it must sound.
“Wren,”—Reid’s voice is soft and his eyes sympathetic—“there’s zero judgment here. I just want you to be happy and be treated the way you deserve. Does he do that?”
“I am and he does.”
Now if only we can make it last.
19
MERRICK
After three days in New York, I’d had enough, canceling the rest of my meetings and booking myself the first flight home to Montana.
Home.
If you’d asked me when I came here in January if I’d ever consider a town like Wintervale to be home, I would have told you to kindly—or not so kindly in New York City—fuck off. But I’d come out of duty and spite and fallen for a woman with fire in her eyes and the most alluring mix of sinful and sweet.
The latter happening only after I’d fucked a couple of orgasms out of her.
My mother had been disappointed to see me go, only grabbing a couple of meals together when both of our schedules aligned. That had always been the way—the way I was raised and the way I believed was necessary to run a successful business.
But I’d slowed down in Wintervale, smelled the proverbial flowers, and made it a point to talk with my employees on a more personal level instead of shutting myself in my office until closing.
Stranger still is how uncomfortable I’d been trying to fall into those old routines in New York, the habits already replaced with new ones.
More human ones.
Wren’s car is in the driveway as I pull in next to it and park, relief washing over me both at being home and also knowing she’s here.
Could this be a home?
Could it be our home?
The thought should scare me, but all I want to know is how I could convince Wren to move in here.
