by Grea Warner
The gust of breath escaping my lungs was tense because listening to his personal unveiling saddened me. It was part of what I had been afraid of weeks before when he felt like he needed to be strong for everyone. Even though things were seemingly getting better, he had never let himself truly feel. And then came the straw on the camel’s back—Kari’s birthday and the video simultaneously.
“I should have understood.” But, I hadn’t. I hadn’t seen past the masked outward messages he was giving to truly notice the internal struggles he was dealing with. I think maybe it was because I was trying to simply stay afloat and be brave myself. “I should have stepped up,” I insisted.
He ignored my offering. “Bethany, you have no idea how sorry I am that we had to cancel the wedding. And the other night?” He bit his lower lip. “I knew if I made love with you, it wouldn’t have been that. It would have been just sex because I was hurting and needed to feel. I didn’t want that with you.” And he knew I wouldn’t have wanted it that way, either. “I know you didn’t understand, but I was simply trying to put one foot in front of the other to keep it all together.”
Ryan wasn’t necessarily one to shy away from his feelings, but he was also a man’s man and wanted to be strong. It was such an interesting mix—living with and loving every side of him. And the vulnerability he was putting on display right then was remarkable and worthy of not only my interest but my love.
“Is that what you meant at the baseball game about always saying no to me? It was about the wedding and the other night?” He shrugged sheepishly, and then I had an admission of my own. “I was confused and afraid, but mostly, Ryan, I was concerned because I love you.” I claimed his hand in mine again.
“I know ... to both.” He caressed our joined hands with his thumb. “Thanks for riding it out with me. But, mostly, thank you for giving me the swift kick you did last night to get me back to where I needed to be.”
I wasn’t sure I did that. I had just been letting my messed-up emotions out and telling him how I felt and what I feared. But I played along, wanting us to simply forgive each other and start moving on. “I may not be good at baseball, but don’t underestimate my karate skills, Thompson,” I teased.
“Oh, brother. I do love you.” He leaned over and kissed me most beautifully.
“You must to kiss me with my hair looking like Lyric’s when he needs a good doodle brush out!”
My teasing was for his benefit as well as mine. Saying something funny helped me from tearing up after the gamut of emotional content we had just been through. He ruffled his hand through my brown, more-wavy-than-usual hair. I’m sure it only made it worse, but it was worth it to see the ease in his face.
“So,” he said after an almost magical, silent moment, “it can’t be quite up to weekend winery standards, but how would you feel about a real date night?” He continued straight on, not waiting for my response. “I talked with Maks. He said the kids could stay at his place tonight. I don’t know who will love the video and hide-n-seek games more—the single bachelor or the kids.”
“Oh, you must have been pretty sure I was going to say ‘yes’ since you already involved Maks.” I remained in my playful mood.
“Well, if not, I was most likely going to drink myself into oblivion, and the kids still shouldn’t have been around.”
Knowing that probably wasn’t too far from the truth, I immediately let him off the hook. “Yes, Ryan. Absolutely. Yes.” I pecked him on the lips for good measure. “What do you have in mind?”
He tapped his index finger on my lips. “Up to you. We can get dressed up and go to a hotel or just stay here. Whatever you want. I know Joel and Sallie are still a priority, but I can’t neglect everything else—you, my face ...” He did a half-smile. “We’ve waited a long time for a me-and-you night.”
“Hmmm,” I agreed.
“We’ll figure out a wedding date, too.”
I nodded. The wedding was the first thing that had started our arguing the night before. He hadn’t forgotten. Whether it was his talk with my dad, his own reflection, or me walking away, I appreciated every bit of effort he had made in helping us get back to us.
“And maybe start off the night by practicing making some of those babies.” With that comment, I knew he was completely back.
So, I was, too. “Nope.”
“Nope? Nope to what?”
“No rolls in the hay.”
“What?” I know he was trying not to be shocked or disappointed, but he was a man, and there was no denying it. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you would appreciate the euphemism, farm boy.”
“Uh, not so much. Are you serious?”
“Yep. Not until we set the wedding date.” His eyebrows drew closer to each other, and my lips curled to a half-smirk/half-smile as I clarified, “Willow’s rule.”
He made a tsking sound before razzing my not-there-to-defend-herself friend. “Tell Willow she is no longer on the guest list.”
“You should be thankful I have Willow. You and I could not have continued like we were last night. We actually needed the time apart.”
His eyes closed for a second on my truth. “Agreed. Still ...” His sexy smile revved right back up. “I can make it so you change your mind.” He rubbed my shirt right below my breasts and then made his way underneath as he started kissing me.
“No!” I couldn’t help but laugh. When he continued his parade of exploration, I jumped off the sofa. “No!”
“Lenay ...”
“Oh, now you use that name.” I was still chuckling.
“Uh-huh.” And he was still amused and sexy. When he stood up and went to take both of my hands in his, I hesitated, still playing our teasing game. “We’ll pick a date. I promise.” He played with my fingers. “And not because I want to be in your pants ... which I do.” He smiled, causing me to do the same. “But because I want to be always in your heart.”
Ryan claimed I was the expert, brilliant songwriter. But not only was he guiding me business-wise on that career journey, he was also a master of words himself. And his skill set, in reality, meant so much more because his words were personal and counted when most needed.
Chapter Eighteen
“Uhhh,” Ryan partially grunted. “There was a reason why the beginning of June had been so perfect.”
That was true. Singer Spotlight had been done for the season, there weren’t any family obligations, and the kids had just finished school. Best laid plans.
Finding another date for our wedding truly was going to be a challenge. But at least it was the only nuptial obstacle. After all, we already had everything else planned—the dresses, the vows, the best man and maid-of-honor, my dad’s church, the limited guest list. Reordering magnolias and rebooking the hotel reception site wouldn’t be as difficult as finding a date on the calendar.
Because we were sitting next to each other in the restaurant booth, I could place my right hand on the top of his thigh without being noticed. Softly tapping my fingers like a piano, I said, “I’m sure we can pick a date.”
Those deep blue eyes blinked at me as if he was taking a sexy photo and, placing his left hand around my back, he tugged me in a little closer to his side. “Yes, I’m anxious for dessert.”
While dinner at the hotel restaurant was scrumptious, I knew food wasn’t exactly on the menu for dessert. But we were sticking to our informal agreement and setting a wedding date first. And because it was hard for me, especially knowing how much we were again emotionally connected, I wasn’t making it easy for him. I teased my mouth on his.
“It’s already July,” he said, after an exasperating, in more ways than one, breath. “And Joel’s birthday and your birthday are both in August, plus the hospital benefit in between.” When I let my hand move to rub his pant-covered inner thigh, he squirmed. “You know, this is defeating your purpose.”
“Yeah? How is that?” I smirked and slipped my hand into the one side of my sleeveless dress to fiddle w
ith my bra.
“The more you distract me, the more I can’t concentrate to find a day.”
I laughed—he had a point. “I should have gotten in on the deal with Joel and Sallie to go to your office, too.”
“Huh?”
“Defeating my purpose,” I quoted him and then explained, “The day after our first kiss. I asked to meet you at your office instead of your house. You said it was ‘defeating my purpose’ of not wanting to be alone with you because it was a Saturday and no one was at the office.”
“Ha! Yeah.”
“Funny, tonight’s a Saturday, too. But this time, I do want to be alone with you.”
I watched as his eyes squinted the tiniest of bits, his face tilted as if it helped him read my mind, and then he said it. “Geez, Lenay. The office, yeah?”
I hadn’t been serious when I first brought up the idea. It was just a continuation of my tease that had come from his innocent “defeating” comment. But the seemingly brightened look in his eyes and the prevision of the two of us really alone in the place where we first essentially met? Gosh, I suddenly really wanted it to be a reality.
“September. September,” he said in an even more hurried pace.
“September when?”
“Uh ...” He panned through his phone, which merged and detailed his many obligations. “We’ve gotta let the kids get situated in school ... but before any of the TV promos start. Mid or late September? The twenty-first?”
“What about your family? Is that good? I don’t think it should be a problem on my family’s end.”
“Uh ... my mom’s birthday is around then. But I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to share it with us. And, you know what? Between the spouses and grandkids, something is always interfering—a birthday, anniversary, sporting event. Late September, early October for Dylan with the winery ...” He seemed to hesitate and then changed his mind. “Eh, it’s our day. They will come.”
Knowing we once again had a definite plan for making our union formal made me so happy ... so at ease. I had always believed in the sanctuary of marriage. But considering how our relationship started—with so many people thinking we were somehow wrong—it made me want to legitimatize our love that much more.
Ryan seemed to feel it, too. But he actually verbalized it. “You know when I told Sonny I consider you my wife?” He waited the second or two for me to nod. “I meant it, wholeheartedly. I’ve been through the paper stuff before, and I understand it’s not what makes a marriage. Knowing we are going to declare everything we are in front of the people we love, that means so much to me.”
I didn’t want to cry, even though they would have been happy tears. It was the tiny part of me that was vain enough not to want a post-tear-stricken face when we made love. So, I pushed the potential tears aside and used my sass that had been part of our attraction from the beginning of our relationship. “You didn’t need to say all that. September twenty-first was all.” I scrunched my nose and raised the corners of my mouth a bit. “I told you we could have sex as soon as we picked a date.”
“Lenay ...” He cooed a tsk.
“Ryan, don’t make me cry,” I begged.
He kissed my nose and went along with my request and sarcasm. “Okay, then. Heads go upstairs to the hotel room ... tails my office?”
The narrowest but longest of breaths pursed out of my lips at the prospect. I was back in the game. And I made an amendment to the rule.
“You mean which one first?”
His light laugh shook my nearby body, too. “Well, of course.”
He took our special quarter out of his wallet, and I ground my teeth together. I was nervous. Well, not nervous. Anxious. It was an anticipatory, jittery feel. I suddenly felt more alive than I had since, gosh, the bridal shower.
When the coin flip result was revealed, Ryan partially groaned. I knew it wasn’t because the venue didn’t excite him as it did me. It was because it was just a little farther away.
“Okay. I’m going to track down the waiter and pay this bill. You go to the valet.” He took the ticket out of his pant pocket and handed it to me. “Get the car so it’s ready.”
“Ryan!” I laughed. “We’re not making a mad-dash getaway.”
“The heck we’re not.” He pecked me quickly on the lips. “Go!”
I scooched out of the booth as gracefully as I could, tossed my purse over my shoulder, and shook my tailfeather a little, knowing Ryan was most definitely watching. Because it was raining ever so slightly and the valet insisted, I waited in the covered section, which connected the restaurant with the outdoors. I would have danced in the rain I felt so free and happy. A little water couldn’t dampen my mood. But ... something else suddenly had the potential.
“Did you have the couscous? You always liked that.”
Swiveling around, I came face-to-face with the person who had spoken those words. “Andre.” His name came out almost in a whisper.
It had been over a year since I had seen him and, honestly, wouldn’t have cared if I ever did again. Looking cleaner or maybe healthier, he was dressed in black slacks and a white top, which I instantly recognized as part of the restaurant staff uniform. His occupation seemed about right, considering he had been a food server in the apartment building I used to live in.
“Bethany.” He nodded with an unapologetic open gaze. “You’re looking ... well, as fine as ever ... maybe a little flushed. But that’s probably just our little, uh, attraction thing we got going on, huh?” He winked, using his charmer act that had worked in the past and probably still did with other unknowing women.
Very unchristian of me, I spurted out the words like they were fire. “You wish.”
“Can’t deny that.” He did a one-sweep of me with his eyes. “Still with Mr. Music, huh?”
“Despite all efforts from outside forces,” I sneered and squinted at him—definitely one of the main troublemaking culprits.
“Hey, so, I’m sorry about all that. I saw the two of you in there, and I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you—”
“Then why did you? It would have been for the best.”
“I needed to. I shouldn’t have done what I did—sold out you and ... and ...”
“Ryan,” I helped him with the name, simply to expedite whatever the apology or what-have-you was.
“Ryan, yeah. Ryan Thompson. I shouldn’t have told the mags and media about your affair.”
“It wasn’t an affair!” I brought my voice down in enough time to not cause a scene.
“Well, no one knew that, and you sure acted like it was.” What he said was true, but it had been my and Ryan’s business—not the world’s. What Andre had done to us came down to simply not having any kind of human decency. “You don’t understand how much I needed the money and how desperate I was.”
“You needed it because you were trying to stay out of jail.” Again, I managed to barely keep my volume in check.
“I know.” He took a breath. “Bethany, I’ve paid my debt off to the apartment for what I took from them. I only did it because they paid crap, it was easy, and I thought no one would notice a little here and there. And I wanted a better life.”
Geez, I thought, doesn’t everyone? He was the same age I was. He just had to give it a chance—not simply feel entitled to more and take without earning it.
“I’m trying to be the person my aunt raised me to be. Believe it or not, I truly regret the part I played in your scandal or whatever you want to call it.”
Scandal was a good word. Divorce Gate was another I had secretly called it in my mind. But that wasn’t the only thing I held against the man standing in front of me.
“I regret falling for your Casanova line that I was special.”
Those words had gotten a vulnerable, drunk me to sleep with him. Bad. Decisions. Drunk. Like none other. Not only had it been completely one hundred percent out of my character, but it had been before knowing Ryan was going to enter my life and totally reform how a man
should treat me.
“No line ... swear it.”
“Andre, come on.”
“Totally the truth and totally a hot damn night. Will never say I regret that.”
“What?” On Ryan’s exaggerated one word, I literally stuck my arm out to prevent a suddenly present him from lunging toward Andre.
“He’s ... No,” I pleaded.
“I told you, if I ever laid eyes on him again, Bethany, I would—”
I didn’t have to stop Ryan that time because the presence of the valet did. “Uh ... uh ... ma’am, your car is here.”
“Go ahead.” Ryan’s head-tilt signaled that he wanted me to go with the bystander valet, who was holding an open umbrella for me. “I’ll just be a minute.”
I knew Ryan loved me and would defend me with everything in him. But he didn’t need to. He didn’t need to be that guy in the bar with Maks and Olsen. He didn’t need to prove anything to me, because I knew his love. I knew our love. It was greater than all of that.
So, I threaded my right hand with Ryan’s left and squeezed tight. “I hope you can be that person your aunt wanted you to be, Andre. I truly do. I think it’s in you. I hope you can find happiness. I know I have.” I looked at Ryan—who seemed a little shocked by my gesture—and gently, but with persistence, pulled him toward our waiting car.
After finding our way out of the parking lot, Ryan finally spoke. “What a jerk.”
“You mean bastard.” I tried a smile while using the name Ryan and I had more commonly used for Andre ... if we spoke of him at all.
“Hmmmf,” he mumbled, as if trying to stop himself from laughing and instead hold on to his pissed-off stance. “You’re right. I mean bastard.” He patted my leg and switched lanes. “You good?” He glanced over at me.
“Are we still going to your office?”
“Yeah?” he asked in a hopeful way.
“Then I’m more than good.” I smiled.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“What I want is you.” My comment got another quick look from the driver. “He’s not going to ruin tonight. He apologized and—”
