Page 51 of Left of Forever

WREN

My phone is already busier than it ever is with the standard birthday notifications, but I quickly scroll and find a message from Ellis telling me he’s left a coffee outside my door.

Memories of last night hurtle through me at the same time I see all the names of the people I love on my phone. It feels like a gentle nudge from the universe to be careful, to remember that we have a regular life and home to go back to, the same place and people who had to pick up the debris of us before. But when I remember the easy intimacy Ellis and I rediscovered yesterday and the bare pleasure in his eyes even after he took me apart, I want to rebel against all of that caution and grab the rest of this trip with both hands.

Thank you for the coffee,I text Ellis.I slept in

Good. Happy birthday, Byrd. If you need time to get ready I’ll go grab breakfast and drop it off?

You don’t have to drop it and run :)

Three dots hover and disappear. Come back again and disappear again.

If we want to get checked out of here on time, yeah I do

I continue to be a disordered mix of edgy and exhilarated as I get ready for the day, but the moment I see him in the lobby, all my circular thoughts wind down.

I watch him catalog every inch of me as I make my way toward him. He starts at my favorite worn-in cowgirl boots, then drifts over my white flowy skirt, lingers on the slope of my hips like he’s remembering how they filled his palms while he drove me over the edge. I see him sigh, and I’m not sure if it’s in relief or resignation when he traces over my top. It’s a simple black knitted thing that ties across my chest, a triangle of torso on display. I can already feel him taking it off. I see it when he clocks the little strip of a whisker burn he gave me at the edge of my neckline. His jaw clenches tight before it relaxes into a heady grin.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he says. It sounds like the first time he’s used his voice today. He lifts two of my bags from my shoulders and loops them onto his own. “Ready to keep going?”

“I am.”

It’s a forty-five-minute drive into the Santa Cruz mountains to get to where we’re headed, and I’m scheming up more questions and torturous, sad-girl playlists, but the outside world interrupts as soon as we leave the parking lot.

Sage calls first to wish me a happy birthday, followed by Sam and my mom. Then comes Silas, who lingers on the phone.

“Sooo, what are you guys up to?” he asks, singsongy. I frown over at Ellis, who scowls at the phone.

“You’re on speakerphone, Silas,” he informs him, which makes me lift a brow.

“We’re just driving to our next stop,” I say. When he’s silent, I ask, “What areyoudoing?”

“Driving to Beaverton with Micah to use the Sluggers tickets I got him for Christmas.”

“You’re making him go to a baseball game? Christ, Silas.” Seems a bit insensitive given that Micah is in a rough place with the sport right now.

“What?He was still playing when I gave him the tickets. It’s circus ball, anyway. Not regular baseball.”

“It’s ajoke,” I hear Micah spit. “And happy birthday, Wren.”

“Thanks, bud,” I say. But I’m stuck remembering how I had to fake being sick to get out of last Christmas. After Thanksgiving… it felt too fresh, and I couldn’t handle the idea of more togetherness so soon.

The first two years after the divorce were like that. For me and Ellis both, I think. Holidays and family gatherings were too damned uncomfortable for everyone. Getting to a place where I could handle being in proximity to him again without the hurt affecting everyone else took a lot of work.

Work we might’ve undone in the span of a few days.

Silas starts arguing with Micah about how circus ball is more entertaining than traditional baseball, and I quickly hang up before their bickering has a chance to bring my mood down any more.

“You okay?” Ellis asks.

I heave a sigh and study him. He seems more well rested and peaceful than he’s been in years. “Just being neurotic about takingit slow or moving too fast.” I look down at my phone and the background picture of Sam with an arm around Sage and me. The deeper we get, the bigger the climb to get back out if we can’t make it again.

He grabs my hand on the center console and intertwines his fingers with mine. “I told you before, I like slow,” he says. But then he plants a kiss to my knuckles, and I feel it somersault down my arm until it tingles across my chest and in all the places he kissed the night before.

“It’s just too easy to fall right back into what we know is… good,” I say. Incendiary, life-altering, explosive, and good.

“Good, huh?” he says, a smirk bending his lips. He knew exactly where my head went. “I get it and agree. But it’s your birthday, and I’m at your disposal, however you need me. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. If you want to write, we’ll write.” He beams, laugh lines spreading. “If you want to use my body, I won’t hold it against you.”