by Kaylee Ryan
I’m not a boy, Mrs. Nichols. I’m all man. “Tyler,” Reagan scolds.
I smirk. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t mind waiting for you.” I give her arm a gentle squeeze before walking past her to the front of the shop.
“Girl,” this from Brenda.
“Spill,” Carol insists.
“Not yours my rump,” Mrs. Nichols chimes in.
I stop when I reach the door and turn to face her. “Reags,” I say, getting her attention. I wait until she turns to look at me. “I’ll see you at six.”
“Tyler.” She sighs.
“Enjoy your lunch, baby.” I wink at her, which only causes her to shake her head at me. A small smile plays on her lips. I’m not even out the door before I hear them all talking at once. Good. My intentions are out there. Ridge knows, and now so does she. If I had to guess, Mrs. Nichols and Mrs. Marks will also keep the small-town gossip mill burning with my little visit today.
As I’m climbing in my truck, my phone rings. Glancing at the screen, I see Ridge’s name. “Hey,” I answer.
“I need a favor. Are you busy?”
“Nope. What’s up?”
“Kendall is working today, and I just got a call from the bank. There’s some kind of issue with the last draw we requested for the Montell job. I have to go up there and sign some papers.”
“Okay, what do you need from me?”
“Can you keep an eye on Knox? He just went down for a nap. Mom and Dad are both fighting colds, and I don’t want to risk getting him sick. I called Dawn, but she and Mark are at some air show—”
“Say no more. I’m in town, so I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“That’s perfect. The bank closes at one, so that gives me plenty of time to get there.”
“Sounds good. See you in a few.”
“I owe you one,” he tells me.
“Nah, I’m happy to spend time with my nephew.” Knox isn’t related to me, but Ridge is like a brother. That’s when it hits me. If things work out with Reagan, like I hope they will, Ridge could one day be my brother, and I’ll truly hold the uncle title with Knox. Just one more reason to not let her run.
When I pull into his driveway, Ridge is sitting on the front porch with a sleepy Knox in his arms. “Hey, buddy,” I say as I approach them. He pulls his hands down from where he was rubbing his eyes and lifts his arms in the air for me to pick him up. “Uncle Ty’s here. Did Daddy wake you up?”
“Right.” Ridge laughs. “Daddy’s quiet time is a rare commodity these days. Especially Daddy-Mommy quiet time,” Ridge says.
“Can’t be too bad. You have a little brother or sister on the way,” I tell Knox.
“Trust me. It’s not enough. One day you’ll see. Speaking of, how are things with my sister?”
“That was just last night,” I remind him.
“I know you.” He shrugs.
“She came over last night. We talked. She’s worried about all our connections if things don’t work out between us.”
“Then don’t let her have time to worry.”
“It’s like you read my mind.” I chuckle. It feels good, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders to talk to him about this, but at the same time, it’s weird since it’s his little sister. But what can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants. I’m not naïve enough to think my heart’s not involved. Not after last night. Not after spending so much time with her over the last year. Really getting to know her. This is more than just a crush. I care about her. I challenge anyone to spend any amount of time with that woman and not grow fond of her. It’s impossible.
“Thanks, man. I shouldn’t be gone long. Half hour maybe.” He leans in and kisses Knox on top of his little head. “Daddy will be right back,” he tells him. Knox doesn’t seem to care. He’s more fascinated with getting his little digits buried in my beard. It’s kind of our thing.
When Ridge gets back about a half hour later, he finds me and Knox in an intense game of roll the ball. We’re sitting in the grass, legs spread apart, rolling a ball back and forth. I’m sitting as close to him as I can get so that I don’t have to get up and chase it every time. He’s loving it, laughing his little boy giggle that touches my soul. I love this kid. I never thought I would say that about someone else’s child, but this little guy, he’s skilled at latching onto your heartstrings.
“There’s Daddy,” I tell him. He cheers and claps his hands, but doesn’t move from our game.
“He can do that for hours,” Ridge says, walking up next to us.
“Well, we started as soon as you left,” I tell him, and we both laugh, which makes Knox belly laugh as well. He’s over exaggerating it and it’s cute as hell.
“Thanks, Ty.”
“Anytime. I had fun. Knox, Uncle Ty’s gotta go. Bump it.” I hold my fist out for him. He makes a little fist and bumps me back. When I stand to leave, he climbs to his feet and barrels into my legs. Picking him up, he immediately goes for my beard. “I’ll see you soon, buddy,” I say, handing him to Ridge. He goes willingly, resting his head on his dad’s shoulder.
“Did Uncle Ty wear you out?” Ridge asks him.
Knox just watches me. “Looks like he’s ready for another nap.”
“He should be. He didn’t sleep very long. It’s almost as if he knew you were coming over.”
“That’s my boy,” I say, grabbing his foot and making him grin. “All right, I’ll see you guys later. Tell Kendall I said hey.”
“Will do.” With a wave from both of them, after some coaching to do so for Knox, I’m in my truck and heading home.
A few minutes after six and I keep checking the front window, waiting for her to pull in. She texted me about thirty minutes ago and said she was going to be a little late. Apparently, she had a late walk-in—a longtime client with a hair emergency. I have no idea what that could be. Anyway, it put her behind. She didn’t say how late, but that doesn’t keep me from watching for her anyway. I should have had her clarify when but all I really cared about was that she was still coming over.
I wanted to take her out tonight, that was the plan, but she mentioned she was exhausted, and I feel bad about that. We were up late last night, so it’s best we do another night in. We can watch more of that show we were watching last night and just relax. Only this time, when she’s in my arms, it won’t be me wishing there was more between us. It will be with the knowledge that there is more. That we are more, and I couldn’t be happier. The more I think about it, the harder it is for me to keep myself in check. I don’t know where she’s at with us—just a crush, she’s exploring, or if she’s feeling this deep-rooted connection that we have as well. If I had to guess, I would say the latter.
I’ve made spaghetti for dinner. It’s one of the things I can make and not screw up. Boil some noodles, add some sauce from a jar, and voila. I have some beer in the fridge and some Little Debbie Brownies for dessert. It’s the best I could do on short notice. Besides, she loves those brownies. That’s why I bought them.
My phone rings in my hand. I see her smiling face. It’s a picture of her and Knox I took a few weeks ago. “Hey,” I greet her.
“Hey,” she says, sounding exhausted. “I’m not coming over. I’m sorry, but this has been a shit day.”
“What happened?”
“Just busy at the shop and then… woman problems.”
“Ah,” I say, already knowing that she has issues with her “woman problems” as she calls it. I’ve known her our whole lives, and this last year we’ve spent a lot of time together. “Anything I can do?”
She laughs softly. “No, Ty. Thank you, though. I just want to put on some comfy clothes, takes some pain medicine, and curl up on the couch.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Just a night to chill.”
“That’s what I had planned. I made dinner and everything.”
“You cooked?” she asks, surprised.
“I cooked for you,” I correct her.
/>
“I’m sorry, Ty.”
“Don’t be. You take care of you. I’ll be home all night, so call me if you change your mind or if you need anything.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you soon,” she says before the line goes dead.
Defeated, I drop down on the couch. The smell of dinner reminds me I have a huge pot of spaghetti waiting and ready. I hate that she’s not feeling well. I should have offered to pick her up and pamper her all night. That’s when it hits me. I can go to her. Hopping to my feet, I head to the kitchen to pack up the spaghetti. I throw in the box of brownies, and a bottle of Advil just in case she runs out. Once I have it all packed up, I carry it out to my truck, then rush back to close up the house. If she seems like she doesn’t want me there, I’ll leave her with dinner and go. I’m just hoping she wants me there and lets me in to take care of her.
Heading to her house, I’m passing the pharmacy when an idea hits me. I turn around and park in front of the building. On my phone, I pull up treatment for her “woman problem” symptoms. Once in the store, I pick up a heating pad, some medicine called Midol, some other chocolate alternatives, and a pint of her favorite cherry cordial ice cream. Armed and ready, I drive the remaining two blocks to her place.
Armed with dinner and my pharmacy purchases, I head up the back steps to her apartment over the shop. Using my elbow, I lightly knock on the door. When the door opens, there’s surprise written all over her face.
“Dinner was already made. You have to eat, right? And I stopped and picked you up a few things.” I lift the hand that’s holding the pharmacy bag.
“That looks like more than a few things.”
I shrug. “I wanted you to have options.”
“Come in, you crazy man.” She laughs, stepping back from the door so I can enter her tiny apartment. “Let me take some of that,” she offers.
“I’ve got it.” I make my way to the small kitchen area and set the bags on the counter. “You go sit. I’ll make you a plate.”
“Ty, I’m cramping not dying.”
“I don’t care if it’s because you broke a nail. I’m taking care of you tonight. Go. Sit.” I kiss the corner of her mouth and go back to plating up dinner. “Here you go,” I say a few minutes later, handing her a plate of spaghetti.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I made this for you. Only seems fair you get to eat it.”
“I’m sorry I bailed on you tonight.”
“Things happen. I’m just glad I get to see you. And then there’s the fact that you get to eat my spaghetti.”
She takes a big bite. “Delicious,” she says after she’s swallowed it all.
“It’s not gourmet, but it’ll do.” We finish our dinner making small talk. When we’re both done, I take the plates to the kitchen, wash them, and place them on the drainer. “You ready for dessert?”
“No. I’m stuffed.”
“Need anything from the kitchen?”
“No, thank you. Ty, you don’t have to take care of me.”
Grabbing the bottle of Midol the pharmacy suggested, the heating pad, and a bottle of water, I head back to the living area.
“What is all that?”
“Well, I stopped to get you some more medicine in case you were out, and the pharmacist suggested this.” I hand her the small bottle. “Then my internet search said a heating pad helps, and I brought chocolate and your favorite ice cream.”
She stares up at me, her mouth hanging open. She closes it and then opens it a few more times before she actually speaks. “Tyler,” she whispers, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Hey.” I crouch down to my knees and cup her face in my hands. “I just want to take care of you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“These are good tears.” She smiles. “Damn hormones.”
“Do you mind if I stay?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” she says, wiping her eyes.
I plug in the heating pad and hand it to her. “You need those?” I point to the bottle she’s still holding.
“Not yet. I just took some.”
Nodding, I take the bottle and the bottle of water and set it on the small coffee table. “Stand up for a minute.” She does as I ask, and I lie down on the couch, patting the spot in front of me.
“There’s not much room,” she says, looking at the small couch.
“Perfect. That means you’ll be even closer. Come here.” I pat the spot again. This time she lies down in front of me. Taking the heating pad from her, I turn it on and place it over her belly, over her shirt, not wanting her skin to get too hot. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly as her head rests in the crook of my arm. “We forgot the remote,” I say, realizing the TV is off.
She giggles and manages to reach out to the table without falling off the couch to snag the remote. “What do you want to watch?”
“You choose.”
“More Hart of Dixie?”
“Yeah,” I agree, knowing it’s what she wants.
“This isn’t going to work. Let’s go to my room. We’ll have more space.” She stands, and I let her. I watch as she unplugs the heating pad, and heads to the door that leads to her room. Gathering the bottle of medicine and her water, I follow her.
She climbs in bed already having the heating pad plugged in. Once settled, I wrap her in my arms. She pulls up the second season of her show and hits Play. I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. I’ve wanted this with her for so long. It’s still surreal that she’s here in my arms instead of at arm’s length.
“Ty,” she whispers.
My eyes are closed. I didn’t sleep last night. Lying here with her, I’m so damn comfortable. “Yeah, baby?” I answer, keeping my eyes closed.
“Thank you for tonight.”
“Never thank me for taking care of you, Reagan.”
“Most men—”
“I’m not most men.”
“Will you stay?”
“I was planning on it.” That seems to settle her as she relaxes into me. I don’t remember much after that. Just the feeling of contentment that washes over me before I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 9
Reagan
* * *
Today has been one crazy, shit-tastic day. It started out waking up alone. It’s only been two weeks since Ty and I started whatever this is between us, and I’m already used to his strong arms wrapped around me. They had a job out of town the last two days, so he and Kent just stayed there. I guess it was something to do with a door they installed about six months ago. I don’t know; I didn’t ask for details. All I knew is that I was sleeping alone.
Then, my first client of the day was a little girl who’d just turned three. Her hair had never been cut. Mom wanted it cut to her shoulders, so it was more manageable. Fine, no biggie. Except, to the little girl it was huge. She was crying as soon as her mom sat her in the chair. So, we had Mom hold her instead. Still crying. Lots and lots of crying. So much crying that she made herself sick. All over her mom, and me since I was cutting her bangs. Luckily, I live above the shop, so a quick shower and change wasn’t a big deal except for it put the rest of my morning behind. I had my afternoon blocked out to visit the supply house a couple of towns over. I always try to get in and out before five so that I miss all the rush-hour traffic. Well, today, that didn’t happen. I sat in traffic for over thirty minutes, which isn’t terribly long, but after the day I’ve had, it was too long for me.
Now, here I am about ten miles outside town, ten miles from home sitting on the side of the road. I heard a loud pop over the radio, so I stopped to see what I hit, if anything. Lo and behold, what did I find? A flat freaking tire. “Damn it.” I kick the offending object but it does nothing to make me feel any better.
I have the back of my car loaded down. The trunk is full of supplies that I will have to unload to get to the spare tire, and then load them again. I can do it. I know how to do it. But this isn’t a
good stretch of road to be doing that on. So, I call my parents. I don’t get an answer, but then I remember Mom saying they were going to the movies this evening. Shit. Ending the call, I dial Ridge.
“Hey, sister,” he greets me.
“Ridge, where are you right now?”
“At the shop. What’s wrong?” Concern fills his voice.
“Nothing really. I have a flat out on South Bend Road. I can change it, but my car is loaded down with supplies.”
“That’s too dangerous,” he says, reading my mind. “Where on South Bend?”
“About ten miles or so outside of town.”
“Stay in your car, put on your flashers. I’m headed to you now.”
I sigh with relief. “Thank you.”
“Hang tight,” he says, ending the call.
Locking my doors and hitting the button for my flashers, I start the car to run the air conditioning. It’s hot as hell today. I point all the vents toward me, letting the breeze cool my heated skin. My phone rings, pulling me out of my cool zen. Glancing at it in the cup holder, expecting it to be my parents or Ridge, I smile when I see Tyler’s name on the screen.
“Hello.” I sigh into the phone.
“Reags? What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“The sound of your voice.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“I do. Tell me what’s wrong.” His voice holds no room for negotiation.
“It’s been a shit day. It’s good to hear your voice.” It sounds crazy even to me, but just hearing his voice makes it all better, makes this day better.
“Did you miss me, baby?” he says, his tone lighter.
“I did,” I confess.
“I missed you too. But you’re not getting out of this. Tell me what’s wrong. Why was this a shit day?”
I go through my spiel, starting with the morning to my present state. “Don’t get out of your car. That stretch of road is dangerous. Too many curves and hills, and the shoulder has zero space to move around. People drive like maniacs on that road.”
