Page 145 of Seale the Deal

Oh, hey, Ruger, Wrenley says completely nonchalantly.

She’s sitting at the table with a pink bakery box open in front of her. One hand holds a fork while the other supports her chin.

For a second, I just stare at her.

Hi?

She takes another bite of cake. Hi.

Hi? I repeat. Baby, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Why are you sitting in the dark?

She looks around the now illuminated kitchen as though she’s only just realizing the lights weren’t on.

I guess I didn’t notice, she says.

I pull a chair close to her and sit down. Everything okay?

The question just hangs there, unanswered. It only takes a split second for a familiar worry to start to grow inside me.

Wrenley?

She bites her lower lip.

Want to try our wedding cake? she asks.

She’s evading the question, but I’m also a little scared to know why.

Sure.

She digs the fork into a piece of cake and holds it out to me. I take the bite, and passion fruit and coconut settle across my tongue while I watch her. It’s good. Really good. But Wrenley isn’t watching my reaction the way I’d expect her to. Instead, she’s staring down at the box, twisting the fork between her fingers.

A knot forms in my stomach. The cake’s amazing, I say.

Yeah. The answer comes too quickly.

She isn’t eating anymore. She’s just sitting there, staring.

Wrenley.

She lets out a shaky breath. Do you ever feel like your life is moving in one direction, and then suddenly, someone picks it up and shakes it?

The question catches me off guard, but the uncertainty in her voice is all too familiar.

Without thinking, I reach across the small gap between our chairs and take her hand in mine.

What’s going on?

For a moment, she looks at me, her fingers tightening around mine as though she’s trying to decide whether to jump.

A few days ago, I got an email.

I swallow, worry creeping into every corner of my existence. “From who?’

Someone I used to work with in Vancouver. Her name is Tammie Roswell, she explains. Long story short, apparently, she heard what happened with my ex and my career, and she reached out because there’s a period drama looking for costume designers. She recommended me. They liked my portfolio, and they want to talk.

Suddenly, the distance and sadness make sense.

Is this what’s been bothering you?