RESCUED BY WREN by Dorothy Callahan

 Emma’s heart hammered away faster and faster. Geez, at this rate, she’d break into a sweat simply staring at Wren as he stood there on her front stoop. 

     Man, if Bill were alive, he would be miffed. 

     Perhaps her best friend, Sarah, sensed Emma’s issue, or maybe she simply needed help upstairs moving all the furniture, but the inner door swooshed open and there she was.      “Everything okay?”

     “Yeah.”

     Sarah looked back and forth between them. “You know him?”

     Not as well as she wanted to, but Emma nodded. 

     A suspicious smile curled Sarah’s lips. “Just curious: are you the guy from the restaurant last week?”

     Now Wren’s smile grew into the most brilliant thing she’d ever seen, and he knew, darn it, that she’d been talking about him. “We did share a booth, yes. Emma told you about that?”

     “She did. Why are you here?”

     Emma relaxed. Sarah had this under control. 

     “I’ve been trying to reach Emma all week.”

     “Well, you found her, but we’ve got a lot of work to do, so, unless you’re here to help move furniture….?”

     “I can do that.”

     They both snapped their eyes to him. Emma came to her senses first. “What?”

     “I can help you move things.”

     Despite telling her eyes to behave, Emma’s gaze traveled up and down Wren’s frame. He was tall and lanky, not unlike Bill, and Bill had been pretty strong from working out. “You don’t have to do—”

     “Hey. I said I’d help, and I’m here to help. What needs moving?”

     “The entire bedroom.” Sarah looked at Emma while she said this. 

     No, Emma wasn’t remotely ready to have another man in her house, let alone her bedroom. “We’re fine. Really. We got this.”

     But Wren looked at Sarah, not her, almost in challenge. “I can help. Really.”

     Sarah’s tone and manner turned coy, and Emma’s mouth dropped open as she purred to Wren. “Are you strong?”

     He laughed. “Yeah.”

     “How strong?”

     He looked at Emma like he needed to prove himself. “I grew up on a farm. There’s not much I can’t lift or move. That includes animals and machinery. I think I can handle a few pieces of furniture.”

     “He’s got my vote.” Sarah started to swing the storm door open for him, but Emma blocked the way.

     “No! You don’t understand. When Bill died… when Bill died….”

     He stood before her and tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. “Something inside you did, too.”

     Hot tears slipped from her eyes. Her mouth scrunched as she tried to keep her emotions from tumbling out. 

     “I get it, Angel. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. The world keeps turning, and even though your feet are on the ground, it feels like everything around you is spinning out of control.”

     That was exactly it. She nodded, and then nodded some more. She felt rooted to the spot, and though her feet couldn’t move, everything around her spun out of reach and out of focus. She’d be mortified to have this secret crush of hers in her ramshackle house, absolutely mortified. But his sweet and honest expression and desire to help was so foreign after the last few years of struggling alone that the mere thought of being cared for brought waves of panic and paradoxically, relief.

He still stared, patient and waiting for her answer. Her eyes widened as her pulse raced. “I shouldn’t. It’s not—”

His hand flung up with an interrupting sound to halt her refusal. “It’s an honest offer, Emma. Now, are you going to let me in, or am I going to have to beg your friend here to get you to accept my offer?”

“I’m Sarah.” She rammed her hand out the door, physically shoving the storm door into Emma’s backside hard enough to hurl her into Wren’s chest.

Wren rescued her with a hand on her lower back, smiling once to her as he pulled her snug to his side, and then broader still as he reached out and shook Sarah’s hand. “I’m Wren.”

It was the first time Emma had been up close and personal with a man’s chest since Bill died. That brought her lifetime tally to a whopping two. And Wren wasn’t releasing her. With her one palm on his pectoral and the other on his waist, Emma found herself suspended in time. His polo had three white buttons on it, with the tiniest smudge near a buttonhole. The swell of his chest was tangible if not visible under his clothing. And his scent… oh, Lordy, his scent. He smelled like soap and horses and something earthy and minty, not toothpaste, but more like wild spearmint. Her fingers had spanned to brace her fall, and now she curled them, capturing a bit of his shirt in the process.

Her eyes raised up to Wren’s like she’d downed half a bottle of bourbon, liming him with sunlight and making him all blurry and dreamy around the edges. Perhaps he knew where her thoughts were, or perhaps he felt the same way, because he continued to smile down at her for what she thought might have been hours.