Chapter Fourteen

The shift today was a slow one. Which no one was allowed to comment on or all the superstitious people working on the ward would throw things at them. Years ago, when they’d had the quietest day Madison had ever experienced in the ER, Casey had said how quiet it was and Madison, Annie, and another nurse had all thrown objects at her at the exact same time. Forever in her memory: the moment Madison’s sandwich had hit Casey in the cheek, a pencil her hair, and the lid of a pen her shoulder.

Not that Madison was overly superstitious. But she wasn’t going to tempt fate when she didn’t have to, you know?

Though at this point, she almost wanted to. She was, dare she say it, almost bored.

She’d had two weeks off, and the rest would be spread over part time since she wasn’t needed on set much now she’d gotten into the swing of things, until the important scenes were filmed.

“Did you get the oncology consultant to come in?” Annie asked, eyes not leaving the computer in front of her.

Madison paused where she was writing notes, leaning with the file against the nurses’ station. “I did. Apparently, I interrupted his son’s bar mitzvah. I felt bad, but, well, he was on call.” Madison made a ‘what you going to do?’ face. That was life in medicine. “He’s with the patient now.”

Annie winced. “Stage four lung cancer. That X-ray was…something else.”

“It was.” Madison’s pen scratched at the page again as she filled in notes. “The patient will need a transfer to the Oncology and Hematology ward ASAP.”

“Already requested.”

“Thanks.”

The scratching of her pen. The murmuring of some patients. The sound of the automatic double doors that led to the wards as medical staff bustled in and out. Madison was on with a different ER doctor today, not Casey. An incredibly arrogant man called Ben who walked around as if he were God’s gift to everyone. He was insufferable, and thankfully he had the one patient they had who was going to eat up a lot of time. So, he was far away from Madison, whose patience often ran thin with him.

The computer pinged.

“Oh, we have a live one. A four-year-old child with sore ears just presented.”

Madison cracked a smile. “Call them through.”

A click of the mouse. “And, done. The admitting nurse will be bringing them into bay four.”

“Thanks.”

Madison slotted the file back into its place, because if she didn’t the nurses would murder her in cold blood—they would argue it wasn’t cold blood—right here on the Emergency Room floor. Grabbing her little notepad from her pocket, and the pen, she scratched off that file from her list.

She wandered into bay four, drawing the curtain around behind her and rubbing alcohol gel onto her hands. A woman sat on the edge of a bed, a small child with Mickey ears on sitting on her lap, clinging to her with all her little might.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Taylor.” Madison hung back a little, not sure how the child would react to doctors.

It could vary wildly: some were curious and full of questions, others were terrified, some couldn’t care less either way. Most, however, being sick and in pain, were clingy and a little whiny.

Madison wasn’t the best with kids, no matter what it appeared like to others, but she tried.

“Hi,” the woman answered. “I am Nour. This is Hedda. My daughter. My English is not so well.”

“Hi, Nour. That’s okay. Would you like me to get an interpreter? What language?”

“Arabic. But no. Thank you. I understand good. Just speaking sometime not so well.”

Madison smiled, and made sure to speak a bit slower and more evenly. “That’s fine. If we have any issues, I’ll get an interpreter right away. I also know a doctor on another ward who speaks Arabic and could maybe come by if we need him.”

Nour nodded, bouncing the child a little, who whimpered and buried her face in her mother’s neck. Madison sat down on the little wheelie chair each bay had so she was sitting facing Nour. An ER doctor normally only spent five minutes with a patient—there’d been a study—but sitting down with them helped make it feel like time was really taken.

“What can you tell me about Hedda?”

“She has fever one day. Very high. 102. She does this with her ears.” Nour tugged at her own ears. “My son do this many times when small. Ear pain?”

“That’s what it sounds like for sure.” She checked the chart and observations the admitting nurse had taken down. Still with a fever, though a bit lower. Was given acetaminophen at home. Everything else pretty normal.

“Okay, let’s see if Hedda will let me have a look in her ears.”

In four minutes, Madison was walking out and organizing their discharge from the ER with some antibiotics. As Nour slipped out, Hedda still in her arms, Hedda waved bye over her shoulder, the glove man Madison had made her with a face drawn on with Sharpie flipping in her hand. Madison waved back.

“Well, that was adorable,” someone said behind her.

Madison turned, flipping shut the chart, to see Ben. She sighed internally. “She was a cute kid.”

“Glad you were there to take her; you would be better with kids than I am.”

Madison blinked. Behind Ben’s back, seated at the nurses’ station still, Annie closed her eyes.

Ben knew nothing of her ability with children. He’d never seen her really interact with one.

“Why, because I’m a woman?”

He shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

How many sexist and/or homophobic people was Madison going to have to deal with in a damn week? The incident with Dan was still haunting her. How could people still be like this?

Madison slipped her pen into her pocket and stepped closer to him. She could practically feel him clench. “How is my being a woman going to make me any more qualified to deal with a child than you? Do you think they have a special course at med school given only to female doctors that highlights what to do?”

He squirmed. Then straightened, as if deciding he would die on this hill. Not if Madison killed him first. “It’s a biological thing, Madison. You can’t refute that. Women are more maternal.”

“I don’t have a maternal bone in my body. Not even a little nerve fiber one could call maternal. My ovaries don’t make me any more qualified than you to deal with a small child.”

“I—”

“Oh, no. I’m not done. I treat patients who are twice my age. I treat patients who are from other countries. Some of my patients are—gasp!—men. But I treat them, just like you do. And even though sometimes I don’t know exactly how they walk through life, they’re a person. Like a kid is a person. So, I make them comfortable. It’s called being professional. That kid, to let me touch her ears, was easily distracted by a balloon hand. So, I made her one. Just like I chat to adults while doing unpleasant exams to keep them distracted. I repeat, it’s called being professional and treating a patient. Are you telling me you don’t know how to be professional like I do since you are a man?”

Annie smirked. Ben deflated.

“Look.” He was going to double down. Good. “I can’t change nature.”

“If you think I’m better at things than you because of nature and not the fact that I clearly work harder to know how to treat my patients, sucks to be you, Ben.”

The phone rang. Grinning, Annie picked it up. She straightened, typing at the computer.

Ben’s jaw gritted. He grabbed the folder he needed. “Getting a bit emotional, Madison.”

If she slammed his head on the desk, would she lose her job? She thought she felt her eye twitch. Opening her mouth, she was ready to flay him alive—

Annie hung up the phone. “Did someone say the word ‘quiet?’ Because there’s been a pile up, and several of the patients are being diverted here. All hands on deck. I’ll page the residents.”

Ben walked away toward the ambulance bay, grabbing a gown and tugging it on as he went, his posture clearly showing that he thought he’d won that one.

“Ass,” Annie muttered, as she picked up the phone and started tapping away at buttons. “Nicely done, though.”

Madison gave her a half-smile. “Thanks. He thinks he won, though.”

“Nah, he only thinks he thinks that. He knows deep down.”

She sure hoped so.

The rest of the shift flew by, Madison due to clock out at three but not getting shooed out by the next shift of nurses until five. Some of whom were giving her odd looks.

In fact, she was sure some had stopped talking completely when she’d walked into the little office behind the nurses’ station. It gave her the sensation of being in high school when you constantly felt like people were staring at you.

Getting changed, she grabbed her phone and opened her messenger app to check the messages she ignored all day that weren’t work related. Something she’d hated since she was a resident was that their personal phones were used so often for work, pagers long obsolete. She’d rather have a pager.

She had a couple of messages from Wren from as far back as very early morning, kind of generic, then:

“Hey! Want to come over to my place for dinner? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Madison blinked down at it. No, she didn’t want to have dinner with Wren.

Or did she?

She’d lain awake for a long time the night before, thinking about that moment in which they’d messed with Dan.

It had been so long since she’d let someone close to her. The memory alone of Wren’s breath skittering over her flesh had sent a shudder along her spine right there in bed. Cheeks burning, she’d pulled a pillow over her head and tried not to die of mortification.

Having dinner with Wren would be weird, wouldn’t it?

Or Madison could simply tell herself what she’d told herself the night before: that little part of her had been dead for the last couple of years, and it was normal that something so simple could set her off. It had nothing to do with it being Wren. It would have happened with anyone after so long.

Why did Wren want to have dinner?

She answered before she could think about it anymore.

“Sure. What time? What’s your address?”

Three dots appeared immediately. She put her phone on one of the benches, changing her shirt. She was tugging it down right as her phone pinged.

“Seven? I’ll send a pin. Any allergies or food stuff?”

A pin was sent.

“I’m allergic to nuts. Do I have The Wren Acker’s address? Maybe I should share with the press.”

Just a terrified-looking emoji was sent back.

Madison typed quickly.

“See you at seven.”

Just as she was leaving the locker room, changed and having instant regret at accepting the invitation, Casey barreled in, almost slamming into Madison.

“Casey, shit!”

“I was looking for you!”

Madison stepped back to make some space. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? Is that a joke?” Casey stared at her, and Madison stared right back, confused as all hell about whatever was currently happening.

“Stay here.”

Casey walked down the line of lockers, checking there wasn’t anyone there. Seeing the room was empty, which Madison could have told her, she spun on her heel.

“Have you been on your Twitter today?”

That was not the question Madison had been expecting. “Uh, no. Why?”

“Don’t you have a ton of notifications?”

“I turned all of them off.” Madison paused. “Why?”

“No reason.”

Madison crossed her arms over her chest. “Casey!”

This was like back at med school, when the two of them would be in a bar ribbing each other. There had been an ease to their friendship back then that Madison hadn’t thought could go away all that easily.

She’d been very wrong. Though maybe ‘easily’ wasn’t the word to use.

Casey jammed her hands in her pockets. “Are you and Wren Acker together?”

A pause as Madison took that sentence in. Again, not at all what she’d been expecting. Then she laughed. Loudly. She couldn’t help it. The sound bounced around the mostly empty locker room. “No. Definitely not. No. We barely tolerate each other. Why?”

“Um…”

Madison narrowed her eyes, then grabbed her phone out of her pocket. She unlocked it with a flick of her thumb and tapped the Twitter app. That was a lot of notifications. Dread was creeping up her spine.

There was only one reason Casey would ask all of this.

She clicked the notifications. She scrolled through tag after tag. Hashtags popped up.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

The photos.

The photos were…intimate. It made something silly they’d done that had made Madison squirm away appear almost sultry. Sexy.

They looked really good together.

Her mouth fell open.

“So those photos aren’t you and Wren Acker apparently ready to make out against the wall?”

Don’t think about that. Don’t picture that—too late. She was picturing it. Her mouth was suddenly slightly dry.

“That is not what it looks like,” she rasped. She looked up, suddenly desperate for Casey to believe her. Casey, who had loved Nora from the minute she’d met her. Who’d gone on vacations with her husband and Madison and Nora all together. Whose devastated face had crumpled when Nora had finally slipped away. “That’s not…that’s not that, Casey.”

“It looks like that,” Casey said. She was poorly suppressing a little smile.

And then Madison got it. There was no judgment in Casey’s voice. That was Madison’s own projection, hearing something that wasn’t there. Casey was teasing her. Light. Just like Madison had thought the first time—as if they were back in a bar in college, giving each other crap.

Madison’s hammering heart had yet to catch the memo that Casey wasn’t picking her apart for all of this—guilt had to be plastered all over her face.

Probably because it coated her tongue.

“Mads…hey—”

“I should go,” Madison burst out.

Her heart was still hammering.

“Oh—okay.”

“It’s a misunderstanding, we were messing with a homophobe, long story.” Madison was blustering as she headed for the door, shaking hands searching for her keys even though she wouldn’t need them. She still had quite a walk through the hospital to the parking garage. “Wren actually just messaged me saying we needed to talk, it must be about this. So, yeah, I should go.”

Pushing the door open, Madison froze when she heard Casey’s voice.

“Mads, it’d be okay if it was what it looked like. You know that, right?”

She couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face the gleaming empathy in Casey’s eyes that she could hear in her voice.

“Sure, Case.” Her voice came out strong, together. Good. “See you tomorrow.”

She fled, like the coward she was.

* * *

By the time her car pulled up to the gate outside Wren’s house, Madison had calmed down.

That had been a massive overreaction. This would get cleared up and all would be fine. Surely it would all die down? This couldn’t be that big a news item?

Then she remembered the excited fans. The comments she’d been reading the last couple of weeks on her own Twitter about how delighted people were that an out actress was playing such a large role. She sat, engine idling, and pulled Twitter back up.

The fans excitement over—she spluttered.

What was that hashtag?

They had a hashtag for Madison and Wren?

And it was #wrenison?!

“Fuck,” she breathed out. She took in a deep breath. “This will all calm down.”

Wrenison?!

She rolled down her window, the warm air assaulting her immediately, and pressed the buzzer. The gate started to open at once. Like those three dots appearing straightaway under her message—had Wren been waiting for her, ready to slam the open button?

Guilt twinged in her stomach. She’d been so hard on Wren since they’d run into each other. Wren had been nothing but friendly, in hindsight.

She pulled up the huge drive that actually circled at the front of the house, and blinked up at the extremely modern piece of architecture in front of her.

It was all sharp edges, tinted glass, balconies, and sculpted garden.

The house was not as big as some houses she’d seen—she knew some very, very wealthy doctors, after all. This house was big, and very nice. But not as ostentatious as it could be.

Like Wren wasn’t.

Madison bit her lip.

She got out of her car and made her way up the front steps. Musical chimes echoed in the house when she pressed the bell.

The door opened and Wren greeted her, her hair in a sloppy ponytail, pieces falling out to frame her face, which looked scrubbed clean, eyes bright with no eyeliner to hide behind. She was in black leggings, an oversized shirt, and big fluffy socks—clearly comfortable for home.

Adorable flashed through her mind.

The house behind was open and airy. But not overly posh.

Something Madison was realizing Wren wasn’t, either.

Wren shifted from foot to foot. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Come in.”

She stood aside and Madison stepped into a beautiful entrance, cream walls, gorgeous front table along the wall.

The door closed and they stood in the entrance a moment, the air filling up with awkward.

“Wrenison?” Madison burst out.

Wren flinched, grimacing with a nod. “You saw it.”

“Yes. Wrenison?”

“Yeah. They, uh, like to make up names for ships.”

“Ships?!”

“I’m sorry,” Wren blurted.

Madison’s mouth snapped shut, whatever else had been about to tumble out fading. Sorry was written all over Wren’s face. Madison’s palms were still clammy. But what could she say to that? Throw blame at Wren? It wasn’t her fault. Say ‘no problem?’ But there was a problem.

That silence rang around them again, awkward.

“So, I cooked,” Wren said.

That eased some of the tension.

“You cook?” Madison didn’t mean to let surprise enter her voice.

Wren smirked, very lightly. “You don’t think I’m the type to cook?”

“Um…”

Wren laughed. “Relax. I love cooking. I don’t have a lot of time for it, but I like it.”

“I hate cooking.”

“Well, this is perfect then.”

That awkwardness appeared again out of nowhere, and they both shifted their feet.

“I have no idea why we’re standing in the entrance like this,” Wren said. “Let’s head to the kitchen. We can eat there, too. And talk about this. It’ll be far more comfortable.”

Madison followed Wren out of the entrance, Wren giving a little tour as she went. They passed a huge open living room with a TV the size of Madison’s bedroom wall in it, plush couches laid out.

“This is the main space I use, really. Off to the right is something they called a reception room or something, and a games room, which sometimes I use with friends. And this—” she turned them left and any other time, Madison would have been amazed at just how homey this place was, but right now all she could think was Wrenison?! “—this was a dining room. The kitchen was off it, and quite small comparatively. I think the last owner had staff, but I don’t really have any of that, except for a cleaner who comes twice a week. I knocked the wall out between the two and made kind of a huge kitchen with a dining room vibe, so I can cook and my friends can hang, and we can eat at the bar. That kind of thing.”

The kitchen was amazing. Gleaming granite countertops, an island counter, huge stove with a vent hanging over it. Pans hung from hooks in the ceiling over the island in a way that should look messy but instead added to the homely feeling.

The other rooms were nice, but this was the first one Madison really thought had Wren written over it. It also smelled amazing. Garlicky. Rich.

“It’s gorgeous.” Because even in her state, she could see that.

Wren lit up. “Thanks! I designed most of it myself. The layout works really well for cooking, and I can just turn around and talk with whoever is sitting at the bar. Grab a seat.”

At the very long bar were six high seats, plush and comfy-looking compared to the usual hard bar stools. Two places were set opposite each other rather than next to each other. Madison sat on the seat closest to them, figuring Wren would want the one that was opposite and basically in the kitchen, where she was still cooking.

“Want a drink?”

Madison splayed her hands over her thighs and tried not to fidget. “What do you have?”

Wren walked over and opened a huge double-doored fridge, light spilling from its insides. “I have wine, pineapple juice, sparkling water.” She turned around to look over her shoulder. “I could also open a red if you prefer that?”

“A glass of red sounds divine.”

It really did right then. How was Wren so blasé about all this? Madison’s leg was bouncing and bouncing. Was it because she was used to this? Her life spilled over pages for everyone to lap up?

There was some low music playing from somewhere and Madison tried to focus on it while Wren got out a bottle of red from a little wine rack and started opening it. She couldn’t place the music, and she racked her brains for the name so she wouldn’t blurt out what was in her head instead.

“Is this just all normal for you?”

The cork popped out and Wren blinked at her, hand held up from the force of pulling the cork out, corkscrew in hand, bottle held in front of her stomach.

So much for not blurting it out.

“No.” Wren’s hand finally came down and she walked over to fill the two wine glasses she’d set in their places on the counter. The wine made a satisfying glugging sound as she poured them both a small glass. There was the slightest shake to Wren’s hand, and Madison, belatedly, was realizing Wren was not actually blasé about this. She was nervous. “I mean, it is, in a way. But these kinds of invasions of privacy really hit me when they involve other people.” She put the bottle down and made eye contact with Madison, that nervousness in the edges of her eyes. “I really do hate it, then.” A pause. “When did you see it?”

“Right before I got here.”

“You really managed to avoid that all day?”

“I started on an early shift.” Madison shrugged and pulled her glass over. “I noticed some colleagues kind of staring at me as I left for the day. Then Casey made me check Twitter.”

“You talked to Casey?” Wren sounded far too invested in that as she walked over to the stove to stir a sauce that was quietly bubbling.

“Just briefly. She had some questions.”

Wren snorted, which probably wasn’t very hygienic over food. “I bet she did.”

“I’ve turned off all notifications on Twitter. They’re too much.”

“Good idea.”

“So…Wrenison.”

Sauce-covered wooden spoon in hand, Wren turned back, a wince on her face. “Yeah. I’m—look, I really am sorry. This should never have happened.”

“I thought they weren’t allowed to take photos on set?”

“I mean, we can’t prove it was a fan, and we can’t prove who it was, and press don’t reveal sources because they’re not idiots. In theory, it could have been someone on set, or so anyone accused would say. And they’re not wrong.” Wren rested against the counter next to the stove. “It could have been anyone.”

“But you think it was one of the people you were signing stuff for yesterday?”

“So does Rhianna. It’s the most obvious. She said that any future setups will be on hold for now. There’s not a lot that can be done, unfortunately.”

“We can’t make, like…a redaction?”

Wren stirred the sauce again, pursing her lips a moment. “We could go online and say it’s not true, make a joke of it. I can make a statement that gets released. There are a few options.”

“But?”

“For now, Tyrone—he’s my PR manager—thinks we lay low for a day or two and see what happens. We’re not obliged to say anything.”

“But the whole world thinks we’re some kind of hot new couple. They made a hashtag, Wren.”

Wren cracked a smile, then turned to check something in the oven. “They really did.”

“Why do they care that much?”

“I’ve been asking myself that since this started forever ago. Why are our private lives so interesting?” She straightened, shrugging. “Mystery? I don’t know. Most of the time they’re pretty boring.”

“I won’t lie, sometimes I read celebrity gossip.”

“Ever read about me?” Wren grinned at her as she opened the oven and pulled out some mouthwatering-looking grilled chicken.

“What?”

“Me?” She put the tray on the counter and tugged off the oven gloves she was wearing, starting to plate the food. “You ever read any celeb gossip on me?”

“I think we established the other day that I did.”

That smile widened. “Oh, yeah. So, you kept tabs on me.”

Madison couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Not really, you became a hard name to avoid. I won’t lie, though—even I was surprised about that ‘difficult to work with’ business years ago.”

With her back to Madison, Wren’s face was hidden, but her shoulders slumped ever so slightly as she grabbed a pan and poured out sauce carefully. “Yeah, that was almost damaging.”

Gnawing on her lip, Madison wasn’t sure if she should push this. But if they were trying some kind of friendship, surely she would? “What was it all about?”

“That’s a good question.” Wren turned, two plates in hand, and brought them over, placing one down in front of Madison and putting the other on the place she’d set for herself.

“This looks amazing,” Madison murmured. Because it did. Beautifully plated, charred asparagus on top of grilled chicken with some kind of red and crunchy seasoning, all with some kind of sauce that could have been something like hollandaise.

“You sound surprised again.”

“I mean, I hate cooking, but I do it—it just never looks this pretty.”

Reaching for her wine, Wren shrugged. “I don’t always make it look so fancy.”

“Just when trying to make things less uncomfortable for your not-girlfriend?”

Wren winced. “Basically.”

A silence settled over them for a moment, and Wren’s eye contact got a little too intense, so Madison picked up her fork, needing to not meet that look anymore. If she thought about Wrenison again, she wouldn’t be able to eat. And she wanted to eat this, not sit and stare at it with knots in her belly. “Want to talk about what all those accusations were about?”

They could talk more about the pictures soon. Madison needed to sit on her feelings for a bit after driving over here stewing.

A sigh. “It was a difficult time. My career was taking off, but things can crash and burn if a director or producer decides they want it to. And that director and I clashed over something, and I guess he decided to make my life hell. He played it well, though.”

Madison chewed, considering Wren. She took a swallow of wine before asking, “Was he another homophobe?”

Wren’s eyes darted up from her plate. “No. Not him. A sexist, though.” She sighed. “I need to trust this stays between us. I worked hard with him, and after, to make those rumors go away. But Tyrone told me to just be quiet about it all back then, and he was right. Stirring the pot would have made it worse.”

“I won’t breathe a word.”

“It’s not the biggest deal—he wanted me to lose another ten pounds, when I was already at a very decent weight. Obviously, this is an ongoing issue around these parts.” That was one way to put it. “But I refused. It got a little ugly—I’ll spare you the details. But in this environment, it’s really hard to feel healthy at an actual healthy weight, and I didn’t want to perpetuate that by dropping even more weight. What would that do to fans? I had a lot of teen fans at the time, and I didn’t want to send the message that stick thin meant success. Well,” Wren said wryly, stabbing at a piece of asparagus, “he did not like that.”

“It must have taken a lot to stick to your guns about that. I can’t even begin to imagine the pressure.” Madison really couldn’t. She’d never faced that kind of pressure. Sure, as a teenager she’d had some awkward moments but she’d kind of lived her life simply enjoying the next piece of cake and not really thinking about it.

Which was its own sort of privilege, she assumed.

“It was intense. My mother, well—” Wren interrupted herself, fork poised over a piece of chicken. “My mother was on his side at the start. She’s old Hollywood, really, and didn’t see the harm. She stopped, though, after we talked, and took my side. But with her and the PR of the movie and the director—I almost lost the role. I think my team managed to keep it for me purely by the contract and the director lost out in that fight, and he decided to give me a little warning as punishment.”

“He could have tanked your career with that little warning.”

Wren gave her a small smile. Maybe at the slight outrage that was in Madison’s voice. “He could have—but he knew how to play it. If that’s what he’d wanted, he would have done it. But anyway, it was the most toxic work environment I’ve been in, and with the added press at the time.” She waved her hand in the air. “It was gross.”

“Yet to all of us outside it was just celeb gossip.”

Wren winked. “That celeb gossip is often someone’s life.”

“It didn’t stick, at least.”

“There is that. Which is why I trust Tyrone when he says we should just let this blow over. Or at least give it a chance to.”

Madison put her fork down, that knot in her belly tightening now they were back on the subject. She didn’t know how she should feel about this. “But wouldn’t it be better to nip it in the bud first? Like you said, a short tweet that makes light of it? We can make it funny—‘Ha! I should be so lucky! Too bad these pics were just taken at the right time with the right angle. We’re colleagues and friends!’ or something.”

Wren cocked her head. “Are we?”

“What?”

“Friends? I thought you didn’t like me.”

Madison grabbed her wine and took a sip. “I wouldn’t say I like you. I… tolerate you.” She winced at herself.

But Wren merely appeared amused. “So, we’re friends?”

“We could be?”

Wren smiled, and the way it lit up her entire face left a squirming feeling in Madison’s belly near that knot that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Just the reminder of Casey’s insinuation was enough to get her heart pounding again, her palms clammy. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

This moment felt too big, too warm. Too nice. Filling the space across the granite counter between them in the low, glowing light, music filtering through. Wren’s sincerity, the curve of her lips, the cheekbones that got her so much attention with a jawline that Madison had noticed far too often when Wren had been pressed so close yesterday.

A moment was building, and Madison wasn’t sure what to do with it. She hadn’t let her closest friends near her in so long, yet here she was with Wren Acker talking about being friends.

What did she do with any of this? The softness in Wren’s eyes wasn’t going anywhere and Madison thought she could drown in this moment.

“As your friend,” Madison said, “I should tell you that you have sauce on your chin.”

Whereas Madison would have died inside and thought about that moment at three a.m. for the next five weeks, Wren only swiped at her chin with her fingers and laughed, pink barely crawling into her cheeks when Madison’s face would have felt on fire.

“Thanks, friend,” Wren said.

Madison was starting to see how this woman had become the girl next door of Hollywood.