Wren was curled at one end of her large sofa, a pillow hugged to her stomach, her legs tucked beneath her. The oversized hoodie she wore swallowed her frame. It was Grace’s. She’d forgotten it at Wren’s weeks ago when she came visiting, and now Wren claimed it as hers. It smelled faintly of Grace, and William—the original owner of the hoodie.Tonight, Wren found the borrowed history of it oddly comforting. It was a shield of other people’s messy affections.Dean was in the room too. On the opposite sofa. ‘We have to talk’, ‘We’ve really got to talk.’The ‘talk day’ was upon them tonight.“I've had such a rollercoaster time with you so far. You're funny, and thoughtful, good looking, stimulating; I've had some great times, and the past few weeks have been unexpectedly rocky,” she sighed, “I’m just not feeling it on any deeper level, and that’s something really important to me. That's the main reason I’m breaking things off.” It was actually the last night they had that set the ship sai
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