by J. Sterling
The lights to a sporty white Audi lit up and he slid inside. After the engine turned over, I pulled out of the lot, making sure there was enough room between cars for Ryan to turn at the same time I did. Leading him through the streets of Santa Monica, I eventually pulled into my parents’ driveway with him right behind me.
When I exited my car, Ryan got out of his as well.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want to talk to your dad,” he said, like it was no big deal.
“My dad?” I practically choked.
“Come on, Sofia.” He reached for my hand and pulled me toward the front door like he’d been there a million times before.
“Ryan, stop.” I dug in my heels and pulled back on his arm. “Stop.”
“What’s the matter?” He stopped and turned, giving me a questioning look.
“I don’t need you to talk to my dad for me.”
I wasn’t ready for a discussion about Derek with my father. Not before I knew what he even wanted, or why he was suddenly here. My parents would be consumed with worry, and to be the cause of turmoil in their daily lives was the last thing I wanted. Until I was certain that I needed them involved, I wanted my parents as blissfully unaware of all the craziness as possible. Maybe Derek would leave as quickly as he’d shown up?
Ryan looked down at me, his blue eyes practically sparkling in the moonlight. “You’re right,” he said easily, and I felt silly for bracing myself for a debate that clearly wasn’t coming. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I reached up and cupped his cheek, the scruff prickling my palm. “I know what you were thinking. And it’s sweet, the way you want to protect me. But I’m a grown woman.”
“And your ex is clearly unstable.”
“He might be. But I’ll talk to my parents about it. Not you. Not yet.” I stood my ground while still attempting to sound appreciative. I’d never had a man want to take care of me before. It was as shocking as it was endearing. I loved it as much as I feared it.
“Okay. But you will talk to them, right?”
I nodded, afraid that if I said the words out loud, he might catch on that I was lying. Ryan seemed to read me far too easily.
“I should get in there so I can take Matson home. I’ll call you.” I leaned up on tiptoe and planted a long kiss on his lips, my tongue searching for his.
Kissing Ryan was as good as I’d hoped it would be. He knew exactly how to handle me, his tongue eliciting moans from somewhere deep inside me. My body begged me to strip him naked on my parents’ front lawn, but my brain pinged out a message that it might not be the best idea.
Brains were dumb sometimes. They ruined everything.
“Text me when you’re home so I know you’re safe.” He brushed his thumb down my cheek and kissed me once more.
“I will.”
“We have a date to set up too.” He grinned, and I smiled back.
“We do,” I said, and felt my stomach flip with anticipation and excitement.
“Talk to you later, angel.” He pulled open the driver’s door before adding, “And tell your parents, please. They deserve to know what’s going on.”
“I will,” I promised halfheartedly, watching as Ryan pulled out of the driveway and drove away.
I didn’t tell my parents like I’d told Ryan I would, and my mom was none the wiser. She was more excited about the fact that I’d smoothed things over with Ryan and was going to give him a chance. When I told her about the eventual dinner date, she tried to give me fifty different family recipes—all authentic, she said—before I convinced her to walk away from her recipe box. Actually, my dad got her to stop, claiming that I was turning an unusual shade of green, and she’d better stop before I puked all over their hardwood floors.
Matson cracked up at that, then grew serious, wanting to be sure I was okay. After reassuring him that I was fine and Papa was only joking, he started laughing again.
Our drive back home was uneventful, but I checked my rearview mirror more than normal and was more aware of our surroundings than I usually would be. I realized that I had little to defend myself with if something happened. The pepper spray in the glove compartment had to be expired.
After walking through the front door, I texted Ryan to let him know we were home safe and sound, and then got Matson ready for bed. Ryan texted back right away, and my heart flipped inside my chest. All these feelings were brand new, and they were as exciting as they were terrifying.
“You have a date, Mama?” Matson asked as I sat on my knees, tucking him into bed.
“Who told you that?”
“I heard Nana talking about the way to a man’s heart was through his tummy. She said you were going to cook for him. Can I come?”
My heart cracked a little at his request. I never did things without Matson and hated excluding him from this, but it was in his best interest. How did you explain that to an eight-year-old?
“I think the first time Ryan comes over, it should be just me and him. I want to make sure that I like him and he likes me before he spends time with you.”
“It’s Ryan? But we already like each other. I should be there,” Matson said through a yawn.
“I’ll think about it,” I said seriously, and he smiled.
“Thanks, Mama. I won’t ruin your date.” He snuggled deeper into his covers and turned his back to me.
“Oh, baby, you could never ruin anything. It’s not about that.” I kissed his cheek before standing up. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Mama. ’Night.”
“Good night.”
• • •
The next day, Ryan and I fell into a routine of texting throughout the afternoon and ending each night together on the phone.
Grant had even called to make sure that everything was okay, and after reassuring him, the teasing texts began rolling in. He informed me that it wasn’t cool of me to choose Ryan over him, and that he knew I only did it because I wasn’t into older men. He let me know that once I grew bored with Ryan, he’d still give me another chance . . . if he was available. Grant warned me that a guy like him was a catch and wouldn’t stay on the market long, but I knew he was full of it. Grant only had eyes for one woman, and that woman no longer walked this earth with him.
Each night once Matson was in bed, I found myself pressing my cell phone against my ear and being put on hold every few minutes while Ryan served a customer. Since he didn’t have a normal work schedule, I was a little concerned about how the logistics of dating him could possibly work. Being a single mom meant I had priorities that other girls my age didn’t have. I couldn’t go out every night of the week, and Ryan couldn’t come home to Matson and me after a rough day at the office for a sit-down dinner.
Trying to set up an actual date with him was harder than it should have been. He only had one night off during the week, and it was a school night. He suggested that we have lunch instead on the weekend, but for some reason that seemed less like a first date, in my opinion, and he confessed that he felt the same.
As much as I hated messing up Matson’s school schedule, I opted for Thursday night for our first date, and planned to send Matson to my mom’s. When Matson informed me that he was okay with it all “since it’s Ryan,” relief filled my body.
“How do your brothers do it?” I asked Ryan Wednesday night while lounging on my sofa, snuggled into a soft throw, my phone hot against my cheek.
“Do what?” His voice boomed through the phone as music played in the background.
“Keep their girlfriends happy when they’re never home? It’s not like you guys have normal business hours. Do they ever even see each other?”
He laughed. “The girls are here a lot.”
My life revolved around Matson. I couldn’t have it revolve around a bar scene. “I can’t do that, though.”
“I know.”
“So if the girls aren’t at the bar, then what?”
“We each have
one night off during the week. But, Sofia, it’s our choice how often and long we want to work, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. What do you mean?” I kicked the throw off my feet and wrapped it around my legs instead.
“We’re all here because we want to be right now, but we don’t have to be. We could give our other bartenders more hours, and we’ve talked about it before. Scaling back. I know that once Frank and Claudia start a family, there’s no way Frank will want to be here as much as he is now. And he won’t have to be. I don’t have to be here either. I’ve just never had a reason to cut back before.”
I smiled to myself, biting on my bottom lip before releasing a small sigh of relief.
“Sofia?” Ryan’s voice cut through the silence.
“I’m here.”
“Did I scare you off?”
“The opposite, actually,” I admitted, still grinning. I’d assumed, wrongfully again, that Ryan would never leave the bar. That he would always close it down on weekends, and be there as much as possible. The Fisher brothers were the face of Sam’s bar, and I assumed they would never walk away from the publicity and marketing they brought to it.
“You want me even more now?” he asked with a laugh.
“Something like that.”
“No, really. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I just never thought you’d leave the bar. Which was part of the reason I ruled out dating you in the first place. I couldn’t see myself being serious with a guy who didn’t come home until two in the morning every night.”
“Three. Sometimes four,” he said, and I gasped.
“Really?”
“Sometimes. Depends on the night and the crowd,” he said, and my heart stopped for a second before beating again in its normal rhythm. “You still with me?”
I nodded, forgetting for a second that he couldn’t see me. “Still with you. Just surprised.” I honestly couldn’t imagine the upside-down, backward schedule sort of life, and wondered how he’d done it for so long.
“It’s a lot of late nights, I know. But it doesn’t have to be. And it won’t always be that way.”
“What do you want, then? Like what’s your ultimate goal?” If he had already thought about stepping away from the bar at some point, in what capacity would he do that?
“I think my ultimate goal is to still have a presence at the bar. It would probably be a mistake for all three of us to disappear completely and never be there.”
I found myself nodding along. “I agree.”
“Do you?” He sounded surprised.
“Of course I do. You guys are the face of Sam’s, and half the reason why your customers come there in the first place. If you take that away, what would that potentially do to your bottom line?”
“Exactly,” he said, his tone lightening. “So I know that I’d like to still be there. It’s important to all three of us that we’re always hands-on to some degree with the business. None of us want things going on there that we don’t know about, or wouldn’t be proud of. Frank always wants to be the one to handle the books. To keep things on the up and up, you know? And Nick would have a hard time putting the marketing in anyone else’s hands, I know that for a fact, even if he doesn’t. I love creating and crafting new drinks, so I want to continue being the one who does that.”
“I think that’s smart.”
“Which part?”
“All of it,” I said as hope and happiness weaved through me. “What about your hours?”
“That’s the part we haven’t nailed down yet. I think it’s important for us to be there on the weekends . . .”
I grasped onto his words, deflating a little at the thought of Ryan working on the only two days I had off. My defeatist attitude didn’t last long as he continued.
“Not both days,” he said, “but we’d each be there on either Friday or Saturday until the bar closed. So I’d have only one really late night on the weekend. And then we’d all still work during the week, but more normal hours. Leave the bar around seven or sometimes eight, I’m not sure. We haven’t worked out the details because none of us are quite ready to scale back just yet, but when the time comes, we will.”
“Will you hire more staff?”
“Yeah, we’ll have to hire a manager and a couple more bartenders. It’s either that or sell the place, which we’ve talked about doing too.”
“You’d sell Sam’s?”
“None of us want to, so probably not. But it’s always an option.”
Stepping back was one thing, but selling was a whole other ball game. It shocked me that I was saddened by the thought. “What would you guys do if you didn’t have the bar?”
He laughed. “I have no idea. Probably wish I had a bar to work at.”
Yawning, I glanced at the time. Making sure I read the numbers right, I swore under my breath at the late hour.
“Ryan, I need to go to bed.”
“I know. I’ve kept you up late every night this week. Sorry.”
“You’re a bad influence,” I teased.
“That’s the rumor. Go to sleep, angel. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I grinned, loving whenever he called me the nickname he and Grant had coined for me.
“And hey,” he said right before I said good-bye and hung up. “Anything from Derek lately? You haven’t said.”
I thanked my lucky stars that Ryan asked this on the phone and not in person. He had an innate sense of when I wasn’t being completely honest, and he would have called me on this the second the next words left my mouth.
“Nope. It’s been quiet.”
“He can’t have just disappeared, right?”
“Probably not.” I swallowed, my mouth dry from the lie.
Ryan cleared his throat. “You’d tell me, right? If he was bothering you, you’d tell me?”
“Of course I’d tell you. If there was anything to tell,” I said, trying to sound convincing.
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow night for dinner. Can I bring anything?”
“Nope. Just you.”
“Just me, it is. Sleep well, angel.” And before I said another word, he ended the call.
I hated lying to Ryan, but I didn’t want him worrying about my ex-boyfriend, the same way I didn’t want my parents to worry. I couldn’t stand the idea of being the cause of so much stress, and until there was actually something to be worried about, I planned to keep everything to myself.
The other night when I got off work, Derek was waiting by my car in the parking garage. Before I got close enough to ask him what he was doing there, he walked off, giving me the evil eye. Just as he reached the ramp, he stopped and turned in my direction to point a finger at me.
“What do you want, Derek?” I’d shouted at him. My voice echoed off the concrete walls, repeating his name back at me.
He broke out into an evil laugh before walking down the ramp and disappearing from sight.
I had no idea what it all meant, but I refused to be intimidated by him. He wanted me to know that he knew where I worked, but I wasn’t surprised by that. He’d found out who Ryan was and where he worked, so of course he could find out where I worked as well.
Part of me wondered if he’d always known. Maybe he’d been keeping tabs on me the whole time.
First Date
Ryan
My phone pinged with a text.
Sofia: Thank you for the flowers. You didn’t have to, but they’re gorgeous.
A picture message arrived right after the text. A giant bouquet of roses filled my screen, stark-white flowers overflowing a white vase, not a bit of color showing, not even the green stems.
I stared at the messages from Sofia for a solid five minutes before I even thought about responding.
Glancing over at the two dozen pink roses I’d bought earlier at the farmers’ market, flowers I planned to take to her house tonight, I was more than a little confused. She had clearly gotten flowers at work. But if I hadn’t sent them,
who did, and why did she think they were from me?
Ryan: I’d send you flowers every week for a year, but I’d never send you anything so devoid of color when all you do is add so much of it to my life. Basically, angel, I didn’t send those. So, who’s the secret admirer?
His name flashed in my mind the second I pressed Send on my response. Derek. It had to be. Unless there was some other guy trying to court my girl, but it seemed unlikely. Not that Sofia wasn’t worthy of all the admiration in the world, but I’d spent the past few nights with her on the phone for hours on end, and there were no other men in her life.
Trust me, I’d asked.
Sofia: You didn’t???
I was about to type a response when my phone vibrated with another text.
Sofia: Are you messing with me? They’re from you, right?
Ryan: Angel, I didn’t send them. And if it wasn’t me, then . . .
I baited my message, hoping she’d bite and land on the same page as I was. Her response took less than a second.
Sofia: Derek.
My vision blurred as the possessiveness I was growing far too familiar with coursed through my veins, heating my entire body.
He knew where she worked. He’d sent her flowers with no card. What did this asshole want? What was he up to? What game was he playing? And why?
Hating having so many fucking questions and none of the answers, I quickly typed out another response.
Ryan: That’s what I thought too. We can talk about this later. See you tonight, angel.
Sofia: Okay. See you tonight.
I spent the rest of the afternoon attempting to calm myself down, realizing that a freaked-out Ryan was no good for anyone, least of all Sofia and Matson. I tried calling my mom to ask her advice, but when she didn’t answer, I opted out of leaving a message. I’d been almost desperate enough to call Grant, but I didn’t want to upset him, especially after his health scare at the beach. He never told me how fragile his heart was and I never dared ask, knowing that he’d damn well bite my head off.
