Page 77 of Leave a Mark
A young family crossed St. Mary, coming from the Saint Street Inn, their beauty and happiness pulling Wren out of her thoughts for a moment. The woman wore her hair in long waves, the color like warm butterscotch or caramel, and she had the bluest eyes. The man beside her, tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered, carried a baby, who looked just like his mother, in a BabyBjörn. Arms in front of him, the baby gripped one of his father’s index fingers in each hand and shook them furiously, seeming to spur him on. Both the man and the woman laughed as they took their place in the line at the snowball stand. One look told Wren they carried no secrets; they bore no stain of shame. Their lives were happy. Easy.
Like Lee’s.
It was so easy for him. He could say anything. Ask her anything. And do it with a smile on his face. It cost him nothing to put his feelings on the line. Meanwhile, every moment for her was a hailstorm of torment and bliss.
So unfair.
Still grinning, Lee approached her holding two Styrofoam cups overflowing with ice and syrup. In spite of herself, Wren smiled. He really was such a kid.
“That’s better,” he said, stepping close before planting a kiss on her cheek and handing off one of the cups.
“What’s better?”
“You. Smiling. Instead of looking miserable.” Lee opened the Jeep’s door and scooped up Victor.
She arched a brow at him. “I kind of hate you a little.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, still grinning. “But you kind of like me a lot.”
Wren felt a jolt. How dare he?
But he was right. Absolutely right. Still, Wren refused to give anything else away. “What makes you say that?”
Instead of responding, he held out his hand to help her into the Jeep.
She stepped up and sat next to Victor before Lee closed the door. It wasn’t until he settled in behind the steering wheel and started the engine that he answered. “You, Wren Blanchard, don’t do things you don’t want to do. If you didn’t want to be with me, you wouldn’t be with me,” he said flatly. “That’s one reason. Two… when I kiss you, your whole body goes soft—”
“That’s not tr—”
“Hey.” He held up a hand to stop her protest as he turned onto Calder Street. They were just a one block from his house. “You asked. I’m answering. And three — and this one’s the most important — you care how I feel.”
She opened her mouth again to refute, but nothing came out. Of course she cared how he felt. That was half the problem. The other half was howshefelt.
“Now, before I make you blush anymore,” he said, pulling into his driveway. “Would you like to try some of my cherry-cola snowball? It’s truly phenomenal.”
Wren grabbed his offered cup as if it were a life raft. Which it was. Because, clearly, she was drowning. With Lee Hawthorne, she was in way over her head. She used his straw to sip from the bottom of his snowball. It was pretty phenomenal.
She offered him her cup. “It’s good,” she conceded. “But it’s no nectar.”
Lee took it and helped himself, his smile never wavering, his eyes never leaving hers. “Pretty sweet.” And then, without warning, he reached for her, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. He closed the distance between them, and his mouth met hers.
His lips and the tip of his tongue were cool from the sweetened ice, but it was the heat just beyond that drew her in. His hand at her neck slipped down to the small of her back, cinching her closer to him. With her free hand, she clutched his shirt. Because he was right again. Her whole bodywassoftening, and she needed to hold on to him or lose herself.
She was ready to drop her melting snowball and plunge her hands under his shirt when he untangled his tongue from hers. He pressed three quick kisses against her lips before he sat back.
“C’mon. Let’s go inside. I want to show you around.”
Speechless and almost boneless, Wren managed to pull herself together. She helped Victor out of the Jeep as Lee grabbed the cooler and her bag.
“I’ll take care of the rest later,” Lee said, nodding to the kayak atop his Jeep. He led them across the back yard and onto a spacious porch. A single kayak hung from the ceiling next to an empty hoist. Mounted along the back wall of the house, Lee kept a mountain bike, some trekking poles, and a backpacking frame.
None of these items surprised Wren. In fact, they were exactly the kind of things she’d expected, and the rightness of their presence made her smile. Lee unlocked his back door, and Wren stepped into a fabulous kitchen. The cabinets were washed a light slate-blue. The walls were a rustic cream, and the colors of both seemed to echo in the pale granite countertops. Above his island, mason jars dangled from what Wren knew was a custom-made light fixture.
The space whisperedhome.
“What a great kitchen,” she murmured.
Lee beamed. “Yeah, it’s what sold me.”
