On his way out, he almost runs into Wren in the doorway. She stifles a shriek and comes to a standstill. “Hope I’m notinterrupting anything.”
“Nope, we just finished. He’s all yours. I doubt you like to share, anyway.”
She blushes as he sashays away, whistling some irritatingly jaunty song. When we’re alone, she slides over after stoppingalong the way to pour herself a glass of orange juice. I suspect it’s mostly to have something to do with her hands.
“You didn’t show up for breakfast this morning,” she says. It’s more of a statement than a question, like she won’t allow herselfto actually ask it outright.
I curse myself for my gruff tone, but f*****g hell, I don’t know how else to be around Wren. She’s not a woman I hav
