Maybe Now (Maybe #2)

by Colleen Hoover

  “You okay?” I sign.

  He nods, reaching for my hand. He rests his on top of it on the table, brushing his thumb across it. “I’m good,” he says. “It’s just that sometimes you make me wish I had better parents. Parents who could meet you and know you’re perfect for me. Parents who could love you.”

  His words make my heart ache for him. “You have Brennan. He loves that you’re happy.”

  “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “And Warren.”

  “And Bridgette.”

  Ridge makes a face. “Oddly enough.”

  “Right? I really like her,” I say with a laugh. “If someone would have told me six months ago that me and Bridgette would eventually be good friends, I would have bet my life savings against it. It’s only five hundred dollars, but still.”

  Ridge laughs. “If you would have told me six months ago that me and you would be dating and spending an entire day helping Maggie move into my complex, I would have bet your life savings against it, too.”

  “Life is strange, isn’t it?”

  Ridge nods. “Beautifully strange.”

  I smile at him, and we finish eating in comfortable silence. I clear the table and load the dishes into the dishwasher. Ridge hooks his phone up to the Bluetooth on my stereo and turns on one of my Spotify playlists.

  This is how I know he truly loves me. He does things that don’t have an impact on him at all, like making sure there’s always music playing, even though he can’t hear it. He knows I like it, so he does it to make me happy. It reminds me of the first time he did this. We were in his car, driving home from the club, and he turned on his car radio for me.

  It’s the small things people do for others that define the largest parts of them.

  Ridge folds his arms over the bar and leans forward, smiling at me. “I got you a present.”

  I grin as I turn on the dishwasher. “You did?”

  He reaches out for my hand. “It’s in your bedroom.”

  I have no idea what it is, but I grab his hand with both of mine and pull him to the bedroom because I’m excited. He pulls me back so he can walk through the door first. He lets go of my hands so he can sign what he’s speaking. “We were writing a song together once when you mentioned how you wish you had one of these.”

  He pushes open the door and walks to my bed, then pulls a huge box out from beneath it. It’s an electric keyboard, complete with a stand and a stool. I recognize the brand immediately. It’s the same ones we use in my music classes, so I know exactly how much he spent on this gift, and I immediately want to tell him I can’t accept it. But at the same time, I’m so excited about it, I rush over to it and run my hand over the box.

  I throw my arms around him and kiss him all over his face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  He laughs, knowing how happy he just made me. “Is it the right one?”

  I nod. “It’s perfect.”

  I had a piano growing up at my parent’s house, but it’s too big to travel with. I grew up playing it, which started my love for music. I’ve slowly been integrating other instruments, but the piano is where my heart is. Ridge sets the keyboard up against the wall. I sit down and start playing a song, and Ridge sits down on the bed. He watches my hands with the same appreciation as someone who would be able to hear what they’re creating.

  When I finish playing the song, I run my hand appreciatively over the keys. I can’t believe he remembered one comment I made a long time ago about wishing I had a piano like the ones we use at school. “Why did you get me this?”

  “Because. You’re good at songwriting, Syd. Really good. You deserve an instrument that can help you create music.”

  I crinkle up my nose at him because he knows I’m weird with compliments. Just like he is, I guess. I crawl onto the bed with him and wrap my arms around him, looking him in the eyes. “Thank you.”

  He brushes my hair back, sliding his hand to the side of my head. “You’re welcome.”

  I’m inspired. By him, by his gift, by the feeling I had on my way home when the windows were down and the music was blaring. “Let’s write a song right now. I got an idea on the way home from work.” I lean over to the nightstand and grab the pad of paper and pens. We both sit up against my headboard, but the guitar he leaves here is against the wall. He doesn’t retrieve it, and instead, we decide to start with lyrics first.

  On the way home, I had the thought that I wanted things to feel this way forever. I wanted to bottle up his love and save it forever. As soon as I had that thought, I knew I wanted to write a song that revolved around that feeling. At the top of the page, I write the potential title, “Love Worth Saving.” I write the first few lines of lyrics as they come to me.

  Got a little money

  Enough to get us by

  Our house ain’t pretty honey

  But baby it keeps us dry

  Our friends ain’t rich or famous

  But we pretend on the weekend

  I tap the page as I move my fingers across the lyrics to give Ridge an idea of the pacing of the song. He pats his hand on his knee in time with mine and then reaches for the pen and writes, “Chorus,” then follows that up with a few lines of his own.

  Even if our clothes are fading

  They’ll always look new on you

  Even when the times are changing

  Nothing’s gonna change my view on you

  You know we got a love worth saving

  As soon as I see the lines, “Even if our clothes are fading, they’ll always look new on you,” I smile. Last week we were having a conversation about my possibly changing degree paths. I still don’t know what I want to do, but he was supportive of whatever I decide, even if it means we’ll struggle financially a little longer. He said those words to me, that clothes would look new on me, even if they’re faded, and I told him he better put it in a song. It’s almost as if he’s been waiting for this moment and already had those lyrics prepared. It’s incredible how seamlessly we work together. Writing music is such a solitary thing, much like how I assume writing a book would be. But when we’re together, it just works. It’s like we’re better together than we are alone.

  He’s tapping through the beat of the chorus, but I’m still stuck on the lyrics he wrote. I draw a heart next to them to let him know I love them. Then I pause for a moment until I can come up with the next few lines of lyrics.

  Don’t need no gold or diamonds

  Got the glow right in your eyes

  If it’s your love you’re selling

  You know I’m gon’ keep on buyin’

  We can make something outta nothing

  Just keep that feel good coming

  Ridge hops off the bed and grabs his guitar. I decide to use the record feature on the keyboard, so I move over to the bench and he sits next to me on the bed. He spends the next fifteen minutes working out the song on his guitar, and I use what he’s creating on the guitar to match it with the piano.

  He adds a few more lyrics and another chorus, and within an hour, the song is mostly worked out. We just need to give it to Brennan for a rough recording this week to see how it sounds. This was one of the easier ones we’ve written together. I record us playing through it again and then hit play on the keyboard so I can listen to it. It’s more upbeat than most of the songs we write together.

  I love writing with two instruments. The options to add more variations using the keyboard makes the song sound more polished than ones we’ve sent Brennan in the past just using Ridge’s guitar. I’m so excited about the song and the gift Ridge gave me that it makes me want to dance as it’s playing back.

  Ridge sets his guitar aside and watches me dance around the room as the song plays. I laugh every time our eyes meet because I’m in such a good mood. At one point, when I glance at him, he’s not smiling. I pause, wondering what just changed in him.

  He signs, “I wish I could dance with you.”

  “You can. You have.”

  He shake
s his head. “Not to a slow song where I just stand there. I mean like this.” He waves his hand toward me. “To a faster rhythm.”

  My chest tightens with his words. I step toward him and hold out his hand, pulling him up. “Ridge Lawson, you can do anything you want.”

  I wrap one hand around his neck, and he places his hands on my waist. I start tapping against his chest along with the beat of the song. I move left to right to the rhythm, and he starts to follow my lead. I sing the lyrics so he can watch my mouth and know where we are in the song. When the song ends, I reach over and hit play again so we can keep going.

  Ridge starts to fall in line with the rhythm, and I laugh when it finally happens. He laughs, too, as he starts to take over and keep up with a beat he can’t even hear. He leads me around the room as I sing and tap against him. At the end of the final chorus, he spins me and then pulls me against his chest as we both come to a slow stop.

  He holds me there, staring down at me as I look up at him. We’re both smiling. Looking in his eyes, I can see the complete appreciation he has for me like I’ve never seen before. Like I just gave him something he thought he would never experience.

  For me, it was a simple dance—something I do all the time and take for granted. For him, it was a breakthrough. Something he’s never done before that he believed he couldn’t do.

  How he’s probably feeling right now is how he makes me feel every time he turns on the stereo for me. It’s the little things like these that create the biggest moments between us.

  He takes my face in his hands, preparing to say something to me. But instead of speaking or signing, he just drags in a speechless breath as he stares silently at me. He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me gently on the lips. Then he meets my eyes, conveying more with one look than he’s ever conveyed through any other form of our communication.

  “Sydney,” he says quietly. “Everything we’ve gone through to get here. Right here. It was all worth it.”

  There isn’t a thing I could signs or words I could say that could top the meaning in what he just spoke to me.

  I reach over and hit play on our song again. He grins as I clasp my hands behind his neck. He presses his forehead to mine, and we dance.

  I wanted to send Brennan a rough cut of the song Sydney and I wrote tonight, but I needed my laptop to do it. Which is why we just showed up at my apartment and placed ourselves in this horrible predicament.

  Us, standing at the door.

  Warren’s ass, staring back at us from the couch.

  It’s so…pale.

  Sydney spins around as soon as we walk through the apartment door. She’s covering her eyes, even though she’s not facing the direction of Warren’s ass anymore. She’s shaking her head like she wishes she could unsee what she just saw. I wish that, too.

  I think Bridgette might be yelling now. Thank God I can’t hear it. All I see is Warren covering her up with the throw blanket from the back of the couch. Mental note to wash that blanket tomorrow.

  Warren covers his junk with a throw pillow. Wash the pillow, too.

  “Knock much?” he signs.

  “Lock doors much?” I sign back. I grab Sydney’s hand and pull her to my bedroom. When we’re safe from Warren’s nudity, she finally opens her eyes.

  “I’m never sitting on that couch again,” she says, walking to my dresser. She kicks off her flip-flops. I point to the restroom, and she nods. Right before I walk away, she says, “I’m gonna borrow sunblock.”

  I’m in the bathroom with the door shut before I realize what she said didn’t make sense. Or at least I didn’t read her lips right. Sunblock? It’s nighttime. She doesn’t need sunblock. What did she say if she didn’t say sunblock?

  Some socks.

  She’s gonna borrow some socks.

  Shit! The ring!

  I swing open the bathroom door, but it’s too late. The sock drawer is open. The box is in her hands. The box is open, and she’s looking down at the engagement ring with a hand covering her mouth.

  My old landlord texted me this morning and said she had some of my mail, so I decided to drive to San Antonio to meet up with Jake rather than have him drive to Austin. I texted him after I picked up my mail to let him know he didn’t have to come to me for dinner. He responded almost immediately with his address. That text was followed by another that read, Key under the rock next to the grill on the back patio. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.

  That was seven hours ago.

  He’s texted several times since then, apologizing profusely. He got called into an emergency surgery. I keep reassuring him that it’s fine. I even offered to come back another time, but he made me swear I wouldn’t leave before he got home.

  So…in an attempt to make hanging out for seven hours in the home of a guy I’m not officially dating a little less strange, I’ve kept myself busy. I think I underestimated Jake’s honesty when he said he was a messy person. Because…even after a trip to the store for cleaning supplies and hours of straight work…this place still isn’t spotless. I’ve done four loads of laundry, two loads of dishes, made his bed for what I’m sure is the first time ever, scrubbed both bathrooms, and now I’m prepping dinner.

  I came to his house prepared to stay the night. I’m not sure if that’s something he’ll ask me to do, but just in case, I brought my medications, an extra set of clothes, and my respiratory vest. The thought of using it in front of him is embarrassing, but the thought of avoiding my responsibilities and ending up sick again would be even more embarrassing.

  I do get the feeling he’ll want me to stay the night. Our texts started getting flirty a couple of hours ago. The last text I sent him was a picture of my hand touching his sparkling clean kitchen sink, and he responded with, That is the sexiest fucking picture I’ve ever seen.

  I’m layering the cheese on the pizza when I hear his key in the front door. When he opens it, I get this tiny little quiver inside my stomach. It’s so dumb, but I like him so much. It helps that he’s fun to look at. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and a light blue shirt with a black tie. And a smile. He tries to take in his kitchen as he walks closer to me, but his eyes keep falling back to mine. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he’s been waiting for this moment all day.

  “Do you wear scrubs at work?”

  He tosses his keys on the counter. “Yes. Most days, but I keep them at work. Sterilization purposes.” He begins to undo his tie while he stares at me. “You should move in with me.”

  I laugh at his deadpan humor. “No, thank you. I have no plans to be your maid.” I face the counter again and finish putting the toppings on the pizza.

  Jake walks up behind me and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him, missing the way he feels and smells. He lowers his mouth to my ear. “If you were my maid, I could pay you in orgasms.”

  “After today, I think I’m already due one or two.”

  He laughs against my neck. “Considering the pristine condition of my kitchen, I owe you quite a few.”

  I toss the chopped onion onto the the pizza and wash my hands. He’s still behind me, his arms around me. “Are you spending the night?” He sounds hopeful.

  I don’t want to seem desperate, so I fail to admit my change of clothes is already in his bedroom in my backpack. “We’ll play it by ear,” I tease.

  I feel him shake his head, and then he spins me so that I’m facing him. “No, I say we go ahead and call it now. Stay the night.”

  “Okay.” I’m way too easy. I move around him and slide the pizza onto the oven rack.

  “How long does that take to cook?”

  I close the oven door and turn around and face him. “About as long as it would take you to pay back one of the orgasms you owe me.”

  Finally, he kisses me. Then he lifts me, carries me to his bedroom, and lays me on his perfectly made bed. He looks around for a moment when he realizes I also cleaned his bedroom. Then he leaves me lying on his bed while he walks to his bathr
oom. When he sees his spotless bathroom, he then walks toward his laundry room.

  He eventually makes it back to the bed, where he crawls on top of me. “Maggie Carson.”

  That’s all he says. Just my name, with a smile. And then he disappears from my line of sight as he makes his way down my body, to the button on my jeans.

  He thanks me, and when he’s done, we still have five minutes to spare before the pizza’s ready.

  “It’s not what you think,” Ridge says.

  I lift my gaze and drop my hand from my mouth. “I think it’s an engagement ring. Is it not?”

  Ridge shakes his head as he walks over to me and says, “No. Yes. I mean…it is, but it isn’t. It is an engagement ring…but…it isn’t yours.”

  He’s treading very carefully, so it takes me a moment to realize why there’s nothing but a cautious, regretful look in his eyes. I look back down at the ring that isn’t meant for me. “Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know you ever proposed to her.”

  He shakes his head, almost adamantly. “I didn’t.”

  The poor guy looks terrified of my potential reaction. What he can’t see is how fucking relieved I am. We haven’t even been officially dating for a whole month yet. If he had already bought me a ring with the intention of proposing, I probably would have cried, but not from feelings of joy. I’m pretty sure, based on how I’m feeling right now, I would have been scared. Which is weird. I love Ridge more than I could ever love anyone, and I would love to be his wife. I would love to be married to him. But I want to enjoy the stages of our relationship for as long as we can.

  I would love to be his fiancée, but I love being his girlfriend just as much. I want more of the boyfriend/girlfriend thing before we move it to the next level.

  I laugh, clutching my chest. My heart is beating so fast. “My God, Ridge. I thought you were about to propose to me.” I sit on the bed, still clutching the box. “I love you, but… Too soon.”