Liberty Bay, page 14
Wren grinned at her. “Or not.”
Wren sighed again and opened the door just as a woman and small boy came into view outside of the office window.
“Can I bring anything?” Gina asked as Wren was walking out. “Flint and steel for the cooking fire?”
“Not in my house,” Wren said, giving her a mock offended look. “But on your way over, look for a couple of sticks we can rub together.”
Gina laughed and sat down at the desk again, resting her forehead on her closed laptop. Their meeting had taken a dangerous turn in the middle when she had steered the conversation back to Wren’s childhood, but it had ended well.
She sat up again and put the back of her hand against her warm cheek. Yes, she really liked the way it had ended.
Chapter Thirteen
Wren would have liked some time to pull herself together before talking to anyone, but she met up with Linda and Eric right outside the office door. She breathed a quick sigh of relief that she had at least heard them drive in. The office had large picture windows facing into the barn, offering little in the way of privacy. She wasn’t happy about being interrupted, but she was grateful to have gotten away without her and Gina being caught.
Eric stopped making engine noises long enough to shout a greeting to her as he raced past and into the tack room to get Callie’s saddle.
“Is he being a rocket ship again?” she asked Linda, who was trailing behind at a much slower pace.
Linda shook her head. “Race car. It’s an entirely different sound.” She frowned. “Are you all right? You look flushed. Are you getting the flu that’s going around?”
Wren put a hand to her chest. “I’m fine,” she said, glancing toward the office before she could stop herself. The door was closed, but she could see Gina through the glass, sitting at the desk watching them, probably waiting for them to move away from the door so she could make her escape. “It’s really hot today.”
“It’s in the low fifties,” Linda said as she followed Wren’s glance, looking over her shoulder and into the office. She waved at Gina, who sketched a quick wave in return, then started shuffling through her stack of papers, giving a poor impression of someone who was actually reading them. Linda turned back to Wren and gave her a nudge in the shoulder. “I think what you meant to say is she’s really hot today.”
She laughed and went over to help her son, who had emerged from the tack room with his small arms full of equipment, trailing reins and a saddle blanket behind him.
Damn. Wren had been a little too quick to congratulate herself on having a stealth make-out session in the office. She looked at Gina again, who mouthed the word Sorry at her. Wren grinned and shook her head, walking backward toward the crossties for a few steps before turning away from Gina and continuing down the aisle. She wasn’t sorry at all.
She was glad this lesson was with Eric—if she had to stop kissing Gina and teach anyone at all—even though he came as a package deal with an overly perceptive mother. She didn’t think he listened to more than ten percent of her instructions, anyway, so she was free to let her mind wander, calling out an occasional reminder to put his heels down and mainly making sure he was safe on Callie. Linda, Dianna, or any of her other more mature riders would have noticed her uncharacteristic lack of concentration. Eric, on the other hand, was thrilled because she let him trot more than usual.
She was amazed she was able to teach at all, let alone walk and talk in a reasonably normal manner. Gina had caught her by surprise today. The kiss, as delicious as it had been, hadn’t felt like an isolated event, but like it was part of the more encompassing experience of being with Gina. Talking to her, sharing untouched parts of her childhood with her, kissing her…everything felt connected somehow. Wren had friends who understood, people whose company she enjoyed. She’d had lovers who had excited her. She had never met someone who seemed to have the potential to be everything to her. And someone who made her want to return the favor a thousandfold.
Wren stumbled over the arena’s short rail. She had been walking beside Eric and Callie and had continued on instead of turning the corner with them. She sternly pulled more of her focus back to the lesson, drilling Eric on the parts of the horse. He protested until she changed the game and pretended Callie was a dragon he was riding, and then he got most of the answers correct. She filed the idea away for future lessons, even though she thought Callie looked about as undragonlike as it was possible for a horse to look. If it got him to pay attention and learn something, she’d play along.
Wren managed to keep her mind mostly on the lesson and off her confusing thoughts about Gina until they brought Callie back to the barn and she was free to mentally wander again. Her mind drifted back in time, replaying her conversation with Gina about her resistance to using computers. It was a potent feeling, to be understood like that. Even though Gina’s theories weren’t one hundred percent accurate, they were insightful and thought-provoking. And they proved she had been thinking about Wren, wondering about her and trying to figure her out.
How perfect it would be if the only reason Wren avoided technology was because she had weird jealousy issues about her parents’ little bundle of computer code. Gina’s theories had merit, and they were probably tangled up in Wren’s decisions, but she had made an affirmative choice to live the way she did. She chose this lifestyle because it emphasized and protected the things she valued. She might try using the computer as a business tool, but like the office phone, it wouldn’t infringe on her home. Gina wasn’t as ruled by her tech as Wren had initially expected. She didn’t take calls or zone out with her phone in the middle of conversations. When she was talking to Wren, she always felt fully present.
But no matter how apparently easy it was for Gina to be away from her computer or phone for lengths of time, she’d never want to live full-time without them. Wren needed to remember that when she started thinking of phrases like Gina could be everything. Because, in truth, she couldn’t. And Wren wouldn’t sacrifice her own values and completely lose sight of who she was, no matter how wonderful the kisses or conversation, and she’d never want Gina to give those things up for her, either. She wasn’t about to let herself forget what Gina had said about feeling isolated on the farm, as if she was on the outskirts of not just the physical city, but the career opportunities it represented. Wren didn’t know enough about Gina’s business to know if she was correct about this location being a huge disadvantage for her, and she hoped Gina might be able to find a way to remain connected to her world without needing to actually live within the city limits.
Wren checked Eric’s bridle to make sure it had been cleaned properly, and then she did her evening chores before heading back to her house. She hadn’t seen even a glimpse of Gina after Linda and Eric had arrived, and she wondered if Gina was wrestling with the shift in their relationship, too. Wren was kind of glad they had this time apart before their dinner together. She, at least, had needed to work through the excitement of the kiss and get back to a sensible, practical frame of mind. Gina had never hidden who she was or where and how she wanted to spend her life, and neither had Wren, and that was fine. They could move forward—and after a kiss like that, Wren didn’t want to move back and pretend it hadn’t happened. She wanted forward, even though it had limits. She had analyzed and accepted them. She’d be fine.
That is, as long as she could ignore the part of her mind that was laughing hysterically at her overly cocky assertions.
Wren fed Biscuit, then took a shower and put on a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt. Her version of formal wear. She was pulling some ingredients for dinner out of the fridge when the doorbell rang, and Biscuit went berserk.
She answered the door with what she knew was a borderline goofy grin, but she didn’t care because Gina looked happy to see her, too. She had changed into a navy-blue crepe shirt with a delicate pattern embroidered around its Henley-style neckline. Wren wanted to trace those soft-looking patterns with her fingers. Her hands were mentally wandering even lower when she felt Grover lick her hand in greeting. She reached down to pet him and then momentarily forgot about Gina’s shirt. Well, almost.
“What have you done to my dog?” she asked, walking around him while he calmly stood in place.
“What do you mean?” Gina asked, shutting the door and leaning back against it.
“What do I mean?” Wren wasn’t sure where to start. She remembered the green paint from this morning, but now there was bright yellow added to the mix. Not to mention the strip of brown running along one side, from his chest into his tail. It was stiff but still a little tacky to the touch. Some kind of wood stain. “What happened to the hair on his neck?”
Gina had one hand over her mouth, and if she was trying to hide her laughter from Wren, it wasn’t working. “He likes to be underfoot,” she said, not really answering the question. “And he’s so quiet I sometimes forget he’s there.”
“So you paint him like a piece of furniture?”
“Accidentally. If I was painting him on purpose, I’d do something less abstract. Polka dots might be nice.”
“Did you accidentally cut his hair?”
Gina came closer and ruffled the uneven clumps on the back of Grover’s neck. “A little glue dripped on him. I couldn’t wash it out, so I thought I’d just cut off the sticky bits. He has so much hair, who knew it would be this obvious if he was missing some of it?”
“Yeah, who could possibly have known?” Wren laughed. With Gina standing this close, she was ready to forget all about paint drips and bald patches. She might even agree to the polka dots.
Grover trotted into the kitchen, and Wren heard him lapping from the water bowl. He seemed unfazed by his new multicolored appearance. “Anything else I should know about?”
“Well, I’m certainly not telling you about the stuff I managed to clean off him,” Gina said, walking past her and starting a circuit of the room. “You have a lot of things.”
“I have a fairly normal amount of things.” Gina had sounded surprised, so Wren looked around, trying to see the room from another person’s perspective. Stacks of books covered most surfaces, the majority of them related to horses and training, but with some thrillers and a range of nonfiction topics thrown in. A couch, two chairs, a coffee table. Add a television, and she thought it would be a pretty standard living room. Well, except for the pile of horse-related tack and other paraphernalia covering the dining room table. She really should have moved it before her company had arrived.
Gina picked up a book about the early Scandinavian settlers in Poulsbo and set it down again after skimming the back cover. “I guess I thought you were more of a minimalist. I expected maybe a futon and a single chair, not this.”
“You’ve seen my barn and office. I don’t think either of those could have given you the impression that I’m a minimalist.” She walked past Gina and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek on her way to the kitchen. “Is ravioli okay for dinner?”
“Sounds good,” Gina said. She stayed in the living room instead of following immediately after Wren, trying to reconcile this house with the picture she’d had in her mind. To be honest, she had been imagining something more along the lines of Little House on the Prairie, complete with old-fashioned quilts and solid, plain wooden furniture. Dirt floors, maybe. Burlap sacks for curtains. This room had nothing in common with her vision. The gray maple hardwood flooring was elegant, with unusual patterns of knots and whorls, and Gina thought it might be reclaimed barn wood. She had seen articles about the hot trend, but she would bet that Wren had opted for it because it made environmental sense, and obviously not because it was the latest fad. She probably had no idea how cool she was.
Wren seemed to favor furniture with interesting details, and her pieces looked handmade with fancy scrollwork or delicately turned legs. A matte black woodstove was the one nod to prairie life in the room, but it was more modern with its clean and simple lines than rustic in style. The walls were covered with framed pictures—all of them photographs, both portraits of horses and nature photos of local mountains and fields full of wildflowers.
This was a home. A place to relax and read at night, or a place to invite friends for meals and laughter. A place to snuggle together on the couch and talk about all sorts of inconsequential things that meant the world because they were shared. Gina had tried to turn Wren’s house, her world, into the most inhospitable environment she could imagine. The reality of it was frightening because it was familiar. She wasn’t supposed to be able to picture herself here, in this off-the-grid, backwater place.
Gina paused by a picture of a teenage Wren standing next to a small bay with Appaloosa markings, her arm draped companionably over the horse’s neck as she smiled happily at the camera. Gina thought this looked like the same horse the little boy had been riding today. She had watched a few minutes of the lesson, standing deep in the shadows of the barn, torn between relief at the chance to get a little distance from Wren and wanting to drag her up to the apartment and kiss her where they couldn’t be interrupted.
Gina stepped away from the picture and went into the kitchen. Putting an afternoon of distance between herself and Wren hadn’t done anything to change her feelings. Gina wanted her with a ferocity that was as unfamiliar as it was frightening. In her past relationships, Gina had always hoped increased intimacy would begin to wear away the edges of her awkwardness, until she was able to totally relax and be herself, but she had always been disappointed. Even months of conversations and flirtations with other women had never brought her to the same level of comfort she had felt with Wren from the first moment they met in the parking lot, with no need to chase after it between the sheets.
Wren’s kitchen was all warm oak and buttery yellows and golds. She was standing at a butcher-block counter, cracking an egg into the crater of a small flour mountain and then mixing it together with her graceful fingers.
“You’re making ravioli,” Gina said, coming to stand next to her and focusing on the food, not her memories of those same fingers lost in her hair and skimming her throat.
“I am,” Wren said, bumping Gina with her shoulder while she kept mixing and kneading the dough. “Just like I said I was going to.”
Gina shifted behind her and propped her chin on Wren’s shoulder, watching her steadily work the dough together. “No, I mean you’re making it. From scratch. As opposed to opening a packet and throwing it in boiling water.”
Wren laughed, and Gina felt the vibrations move through her where her body was in contact with Wren’s. She liked the feeling, so she moved closer, sliding her hands around Wren’s stomach. Wren sighed against her, her hands going still as Gina kissed her neck. She rested her mouth softly against Wren’s skin, feeling the thrum of her heartbeat against her lips, licking the hollow above her collarbone where the friction of her rougher tongue against Wren’s soft skin made Gina ache with wanting her.
Wren twisted her head around until her mouth met Gina’s, kissing her slowly and deeply while she turned the rest of her body to face her. Gina felt each inch of movement as Wren’s arm rubbed across her chest, soon replaced by the pressure of Wren’s breasts and hips against her own.
Gina pulled back from the kiss just a fraction, remaining close enough so she felt Wren’s quick exhales against her mouth. “You’d better not put those hands in my hair until after you wash them,” she said, emphasizing her threat with a gentle rasp of her teeth against Wren’s lower lip.
Wren moaned at the bite, then rested her forehead against Gina’s and laughed quietly. “Don’t worry. If I get dough in your hair, we can just cut it out. It’s thick enough no one will notice if some is missing.”
Gina pushed away from Wren with a grin and leaned her elbow on the counter, not going far from her. “I’m not showing up in my videos with a haircut like Grover’s. Now keep cooking,” she said motioning toward the lump of dough on the counter. “It’s very sexy.”
“This is sexy?”
Wren wriggled her dough-covered fingers at Gina, and she laughed and swatted them away. “How’d you learn to cook like this?”
“Neither of my parents likes to cook, and they were usually too wrapped up in their latest project to spend time in the kitchen, anyway. We had a lot of takeout and frozen meals, but when I stopped eating meat, I had a hard time making that style of eating work for me. I got some cookbooks from the library and started experimenting. My parents ate whatever I put on the table. I don’t think they even realized that they became vegetarians.”
Gina watched Wren flatten the dough by passing it back and forth through a pasta machine, before pushing it into a metal mold and filling it with a mixture of ricotta, parmesan, and spinach. They kept the conversation light, talking about favorite meals and childhood hobbies, but Gina felt something more profound hovering in the space between them. Something intimate and domestic and tempting. Her physical response to Wren was much easier to handle, and Gina crossed the distance between them often, with soft touches, kisses, and playful shoves.
Wren’s house seemed full to her now, with its books and photos, its inviting kitchen and the rich scents of Wren’s thoughtfully crafted meal. And Wren, laughing and chatting as she created magic with her hands. But Gina knew this wouldn’t last. It was exciting because it was new for her. Too many nights like this, with no sounds of television or YouTube videos in the background, no busy city streets just outside the door, and Gina would grow as resentful as she had been as a teenager.
She reached for Wren and kissed her, pushing her hard against the counter and driving away the knowledge that she really wasn’t missing any of those things at all.
Chapter Fourteen
“She won’t want to do this,” Gina said, walking down the stairs of her apartment the next morning. She kept one hand on the rail to steady herself and keep from tripping over Grover since she was trying to walk and talk to Maia at the same time.
