The Missionary

going to grab some dessert,” she said, glancing up at him. “You should come. Jimmy will be there, and…you should come.”

Her eyes held his, and he knew he should say no. But dammit, he didn’t want to. And then he chastised himself for swearing. “I need to hit the gym,” he said. He’d already worked out that day, but it was a good enough excuse. And he’d go again, just so it wasn’t a lie.

“Oh come on. It’s not like you’re gonna get any less buff if you skip one workout,” she teased.

Or, at least, her tone was teasing. Her eyes were clearly appreciative though, and Stone found himself reaching behind his head to scratch his shoulder in such a way as to flex his arm. It was stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

“I really should just go home,” he said, telling himself as much as her.

“You never hang out with us,” Wren said, pretending to pout. “Don’t you like milkshakes?”

He tried not to laugh. “No, I like milkshakes just fine.”

“Then come have a milkshake with us.”

He glanced at the now-empty sanctuary, where Jimmy was stacking chairs and rearranging them for the prayer meeting on Wednesday. Nick was gathering his notes and chatting to his wife in low tones, then leaving with Amy holding onto his elbow. The foyer was mostly empty too, as most of the students had either gone home or out with their various groups of friends. A cluster of six cars sat idling with their headlights on. Waiting for Wren, obviously.

“Fine, I’ll come,” he said. “But I’ve gotta help Jimmy first.”

“Yay!” Wren stood up, clapping her hands. “I’ll help, that way we can go sooner.”

With three people, the work went quickly. Stone couldn’t help watching Wren stack the chairs, couldn’t help admiring her curves. He also noticed Jimmy ogling her rather openly, and that put a damper on his emotions. Jimmy was better for Wren. He was nearer her age. He was like her, too, from her world.

Stone resolved to step back and let Jimmy have his shot, and even adjusted his pattern in stacking chairs so Jimmy and Wren would end up next to each other. Except, Wren never even seemed to see Jimmy. Every time she looked up from the line of chairs, her gaze locked on Stone.

And this didn’t escape Jimmy’s notice. He waved at Stone halfheartedly, then cast one last wistful glance at Wren, who waved cheerfully—cheerfully, but platonically. When the last chairs were stacked and the remainder rearranged in the requisite semicircle, Wren shut off the lights, leaving them in the middle of the sanctuary, bathed in darkness lightened only by moonglow from the windows.

Wren slipped her hand around his. “Come on. Let’s go get milkshakes.”

Stone let her pull him out into the parking lot, and they each got into their own cars. At the diner, he retreated by sitting back in the booth and listening. Wren would draw him into conversations every once in a while, but since he was several spots away from her—intentionally—it wasn’t hard to keep his hands busy with shredding napkins and sipping his black coffee.

It was well past midnight when the group broke up. Stone pretended not to watch Wren discussing something with her best friend Emily and glancing at him every so often. He paid for his coffee and milkshake at the register, surreptitiously adding Wren’s to his tab, then waved to her as he pushed through the two sets of doors.

It had been heaven to spend so much time near her, listening to her talk and watching her laugh. It had been heaven, yet also an exquisite form of torture, and he was suddenly exhausted. He was about to start the engine of his ’83 Monte Carlo SS, which he’d been restoring himself over the last year. The tranny needed replacing, and the exhaust manifold left something to be desired, but it was a work in progress, and one of the few hobbies he enjoyed.

And then the passenger door opened and Wren slid in, shutting the door. “You don’t mind giving me a ride home, do you?”

Stone was flustered. His ride was his sanctuary, the one place he could be himself. He twisted slightly to face her. “Um. What about your car?”

“Emily wanted to stay for a while,” Wren said with a too-innocent shrug. “She’s got that thing going on with Brett, you know. So I figured she could drive my Honda home and you could give me a ride. It’s not out of your way, is it?”

“Well…I mean—sure. Why not.” He couldn’t say no, not with those deep brown eyes fixed on him. “Where do you live?”

“Not too far. UV apartments.”

Stone suppressed a groan. The University of Virginia student apartments were on the complete opposite end of Charlottesville from his loft.

He wanted to spend time with Wren. She made him feel…alive and present in reality, which was a huge improvement over most of the time, when he felt like he was drifting and disconnected. Ever since his discharge from the SEALs, he’d been at loose ends. Being around Wren grounded him.

Yet, he shouldn’t spend time with her. He wasn’t the right man for her. He was too messed up. He had too much blood on his conscience.

He shook his head and started the Monte Carlo with a throaty rumble. The 350 small block idled with a powerful grumble until Stone backed out of the parking spot and headed towards the university.

The silence was awkward. Now that he was alone with her, he had no idea what to say. He glanced at Wren, who was clearly trying not to stare at him, and barely containing a grin.

“This is a cool car,” she remarked. “What kind is it?”

“1983 Monte Carlo.”

“So is it a muscle car?”

Stone’s lips quirked involuntarily. “Yeah, I guess so.” Another long, awkward silence. Then Wren laughed, shaking her head. “What’s funny?” he asked.

She rolled her window down, slid lower in the seat, and rested bare feet on the side-view mirror. “Just you. You’re funny.”

Stone frowned. “Why? What’d I do?”

She glanced at him, holding her loose hair in place with one hand. “Nothing. That’s the point. You’ve got the whole strong-and-silent act down to a science.”

   Stone rubbed his forehead with a knuckle. “It’s not an act. I mean, I’m not trying—” He cut himself off, not sure what he was even saying. “I’m just not good at conversation.”

Wren giggled. “No kidding. Getting more than four or five words out of you at a time is like pulling teeth.” She shoved at his bicep playfully. “I’m pretty good at talking, so maybe I can teach you.”

Stone lifted an eyebrow. “You’re gonna teach me how to be a better conversationalist?”

She raised one brow back at him. “Yep. You definitely need help. So. Here’s how this works. I say something, and you say something back. But you can’t just answer the most basic part of what I said. You have to leave room for more…I don’t know, more stuff to be said. You can’t just grunt yes or no answers, you know? You have to keep things open for us to have a conversation. And…you could always try something really daring, like asking me questions about myself. That’s how we get to know each other.”

Stone did sigh then. “Wren, I didn’t say I didn’t know how to have a conversation. Just that I’m not very good at it.”

“Well, the only way to get better is to practice. So, give it a try.”

“Give what a try?”

“Conversating with me.”

“Is that even a word? And, isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Conversating is a word if I say it is. And I say it is.” She dug in her purse and brought out a ponytail holder, tied her hair back in a tight bun, then stuck her hand out the window and adjusted the plane of her palm so the rushing wind lifted and lowered her arm. “This is where you ask me something about myself. I’m an open book, so ask anything.”

“What am I supposed to ask you about?”

Wren gave him a wry glance. “Whatever you want to know about. Duh.”

The problem, Stone reflected, was that he wanted to know everything. “Fine, I’ll play along. Um…what’s