"Please," I said, knowing she was talking to me even though she got my name wrong. "She called me Emma," I said to Ryan, who was still sitting across the great divide.
He smiled.
"Do you think she did that on purpose?" I asked furrowing my eyebrows.
His smiled broadened. "Of course she did," he said.
"How would she know I'm Emma?" I asked.
He let out a laugh. "Who said you were Emma?" he asked.
"You," I said. "Me. I said it, but you agreed." I cocked my head to the side and regarded him with a serious expression. "I'm Emma, right?"
He shook his head, still smiling. "There was a real Emma and a real Jack," he said. "Remember? It's based on real events."
"I know, but we're sort of Jack and Emma, still." My voice came out more vulnerable than I intended because I was embarrassed by the statement midway through saying it.
"We probably are," he said.
I had been glancing down, but my eyes snapped up to meet his when he spoke. He was looking at me with that sweet half-smile he always wore.
"Did you say we probably are?" I asked.
He shrugged and nodded casually as he finished the last bite of his pie.
"Did you?" I asked.
"Probably a little," he said, smirking at me.
"Yessss," I said, pumping my fist with a facial expression that had him laughing. "I knew we were," I said. "You made her sing. Was that lady a singer in real life?"
"No," he said. "I didn't have any details about how he remembered her, just that he did. I added little things like the songs that kept replaying in his head because that's what was going on with me." He shrugged. "It helps when the writer identifies with his hero," he said.
"I'm sorry you identified with Jack," I said, knowing I'd been the source of his heartache.
He smiled and narrowed his eyes at me. "Why?" he asked. "Jack's story had a happy ending."
"Yeah, but it took him a while to get there."
"So?" he asked. "At any given time, all you have is from here forward."
"I know what you're saying," I said, "but sometimes it's hard."
"What's hard?" he asked.
"Feeling like I'll know when to stop apologizing for everything," I said. "I don't think I've said I'm sorry enough yet. I don't know if I ever will feel like that."
"Don't be silly," he said.
"I'm not."
"Well, you're gonna just have to get over it," he said. "You're making up problems that don't exist. If you wouldn't have gone to Austin, I might have stayed here and not even gone to grad school." He smiled at me. "We both got a lot of things done during those years apart. You're a different person, and so am I, and the people we are now might be better for each other than the people we were then." He paused and smiled. "I definitely wouldn't be doing jiu-jitsu if it wasn't for that douche-bag, so I am at least thankful to him for that."
I laughed. "I'll try to quit talking about being sorry, but I'm not making any promises. I've been tormenting myself for three months."
He laughed, and I looked at him with a mock-injured expression. "Well, don't you think three months is long enough for torment?" he asked. "I say we just pretend the last two years didn't even happen, and we start over."
I smiled. "We can't start all the way over, though, because we'd lose a lot of good memories."
"We do have a good, firm foundation of inside jokes, don't we?" he asked.
I nodded. "We better hang onto all our stories. Somebody's gonna want to write our book one day, and they'll appreciate all these details so they don't have to make them up themselves."
He shook his head as he grinned at me.
"Can I sit by you?" I asked.
He didn't say a word, he just scooted over a few inches, indicating that he was making room for me. I walked around the table and slid in next to him, and he put his arm around me to make sure I was close. I was right next to him—so close that my face was only inches from his neck.
"Never know how much I love you," I sang softly.
The first line of Fever was unmistakable, and I felt his arm flex as he pulled me even closer.
"Never know how much I care," I sang slowly and soulfully.
"When you put your arms around me,
I get a fever that's so hard to bear."
I cut off when I saw Bird approaching from behind me, but it was too late, she had already heard me.
"Eww-wee, she got some pipes!" she said in a high-pitched tone, looking at me with wild-eyes like I was crazy for not telling her I could sing like that.
I laughed at her exaggerated expression.
"That girl's got some pipes on her, don't she?" she repeated, looking at Ryan.
I glanced at Ryan who was smiling at Bird. "She just played some songs to a room full of people, and brought them all to tears," he said.
I rolled my eyes playfully as I turned to Bird. "Mostly, it was my mama cryin'," I said.
"Did you really have a performance?" she asked, sitting in the booth across from us and staring at me with her trademark smile.
"I did."
"So, you're both artists," she said, sitting back to regard us as a pair. I could see that she was assessing us and forming her opinion when her expression changed. Some thought crossed her mind; her expressive face made that clear. "Wait a second," she said. She pointed at me. "I didn't even think about you being a singer." She clapped her hands together and pointed at Ryan. "Is she Ms. Emma for real?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement. Ryan smiled and shrugged guiltily, which made her clap her hands together again. She let out a big yell as she stood. "Yes, sir, I knew you was Jack somewhere down in there." She clapped again dancing around and, looking extremely satisfied with herself for having this whole revelation. "Eww-wee, I can't believe there's really a singin' Emma out there. That's too much." She pointed at us and opened her mouth like she might say something, but she decided against it and turned for the kitchen. "A real Ms. Emma," she mumbled in an amazed stupor as she walked away.
"Wynn," Ryan said at her back.
"What, shug?" she asked from over her shoulder.
"Wynn," he repeated. "Her name's Wynn."
"Uh-huh," Bird said, not really paying attention.
Chapter 18
We sat at that diner for over an hour, talking and cutting up with Bird. Somehow, we got around to me being one of the Martins, and she told me Cam and Cole came in for lunch just about every Thursday when she served smothered turkey wings.
She only called me by Emma, which I was fine with me since I knew it meant she thought I belonged to Ryan. She treated us like we were together, calling me 'his lady' several times. Neither of us corrected her.
I sat next to him, stealing nudges or whatever else I could do to make little physical contacts. I laughed at all of his jokes, but it wasn't just because I thought he wanted me to. I laughed because he was actually funny. I caught myself being attracted to not only his newfound manly features, but also his quiet, confident wit, which had only gotten more interesting during the past two years. I loved everything about him.
"Wynn and I are gonna take off," Ryan called as Bird walked by our table.
"Okay, honey, I'm not far behind you. I'm gonna let these kiddos close up for the night."
"The pie was wonderful," I said, hugging her when she leaned in to squeeze my shoulders.
"Thank you very much Ms. Wynn." She winked. "I'm sorry about calling you the wrong name all night, sweetie. I know your name's Wynn. I'm just a hopeless romantic, and—"
"I didn't mind," I said cutting her off.
She gave me a big smile before kissing her own hand and smacking it right on top of Ryan's head." "I'm glad she's real," she said, winking at him as she turned to walk away.
"I love this place," I said with wide eyes once she left the table.
He smiled. "I knew you would. I'm glad Bird was here."
I stared at his teeth. I loved the shape of them.
I didn't realize that he was waiting for me to stand up until he pinched me. I smiled and stood up, trying to call myself back to reality. How had this night even happened? I had spent the last three months imagining scenarios where I could start over with Ryan, and it was hard to believe that it was actually playing out right now at this very moment. I wanted it so badly and had imagined it so much that I felt pressure not to mess it up—like I was acutely aware of how special this second chance was, and I was terrified about blowing it.
"What's the matter?" he said, on our way outside.
"Nothing," I said. I smiled. "I must have just been thinking."
"About what?"
"Not messing up this time."
"You gotta stop worrying," he said as we started walking down the sidewalk. He pointed in front of us. "I'm up for a walk if you are," he added.
It was Saturday evening, and we were in a busy part of New Orleans near the French Quarter. There was lots of action on the streets. "I could go for a little stroll," I said, knowing it'd be fun to walk a few blocks and take in the sights and sounds. I could hear a brass band from a block or so down, and the atmosphere was calling my name. I put my arm in Ryan's as we set off on the sidewalk toward the chaos.
I was walking on clouds. Bars, restaurants, and businesses were bustling with their doors and windows wide open, letting in the early fall breeze. The sidewalks were full with people spilling out onto the streets. Car traffic was extremely slow on these blocks because of the sheer number of pedestrians. Music was everywhere—every few steps, we heard new sounds and saw the different types of people who had gathered for each musical act.
Ryan gave money to every single busker.
We passed about ten of them, from brass bands to magicians—one was a guy who painted himself silver like a statue and stood there really still. I'd spent a lot of time in New Orleans, and had seen tons of street artists, including statues, but this guy was especially good. Some of the statue ones, weren’t as convincing, but he was great. With the way Ryan was handing out cash, I knew he would have given him money even if he were bad. "You gave him five," I said as we walked away from the statue.
He shrugged. "A five's all I had left. And he was good."
"You give money to all of them," I said.
"It's selfish, really."
"How's that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He smiled as we continued to walk. "I like this," he said, gesturing around him. "I like having a town where we can come see all this madness every once in a while if we want to. I like that it's available to me, and it wouldn't be if they couldn't make enough money to live." We walked several paces, taking in the scene before he added, "Plus, I knew a girl who used to go busking. I went with her one time and I'd watch people give her money or not give her money, and I decided right then that I was gonna be the one who gives."
"Even if they're stinking it up?" I asked snuggling up next to him as we walked.
He laughed. "Especially if they're stinking it up."
We ran into a few people we recognized, so we'd been walking for quite a while when we decided to turn around and head back. It started to sprinkle when were still a few blocks from his truck, and we stopped to evaluate the situation.
"Do you want to wait right here and I'll come pick you up?" he asked, stopping under the canopy of a corner store. "You can go inside and wait.
I shook my head, smiling at him. "It's just a little rain," I said. "I won't melt."
Ryan smiled and grabbed my hand and so we could start out toward his truck. We were walking quickly at first, but it began raining harder, so we started to jog. By the time we made it to his truck, the sky had opened up and we were in a full-on sprint. I was gasping and squealing as I ran to the passenger's side and got in.
Ryan got into the driver's seat and we closed our respective doors, each of us trying to catch our breath. I giggled in between gasps, and I looked at him to find that he was smiling, too. He held out his arms as if indicating how soaked he was. I let my eyes bulge out as I lifted my arms dramatically, saying I too, was soaking wet.
He laughed. "Where'd that come from?" he asked.
I ran my hands through my hair, trying to get myself in order.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Fine," I said. "Just wet."
"Wynn," he said. looking at me seriously.
"What?"
He nudged his chin at me. "I want to kiss you."
"On the lips?" I asked, making him laugh.
"Yes, on the lips."
"Now?" I asked, feeling breathless from the run, or the butterflies, or maybe both.
"I, was thinkin' of doing it now, yes," he said, running a hand through his wet hair.
"I'm nervous," I said.
Ryan reached out and started the truck and I put my hand on his arm. "I want to, I'm just nervous."
"I'm pretty nervous, too, considering the last time we did…" He trailed off when he saw me peeking at him through my fingers.
"Don't talk about it," I said. "I mean, we can talk about the kiss, but not what happened afterward."
"The kiss was good," he said. He put the truck in drive and merged into traffic. "That's why I'm looking forward to doing it again."
"I am too," I said. "I thought you were gonna do it just now, but you gave up too fast. Where you goin'?"
He smiled and motioned to my clothes. "I assumed you'd want to go to Claire's since you got wet."
I glanced down at my appearance. "We can watch a movie on her couch," I said.
He nodded. "I happen to have a change of clothes with me—in my gym bag."
"It's not a karate suit, is it?" I asked.
He laughed. "I do have one of those; we call it a gi in jiu-jitsu, but I also have sweats."
"Ryan?"
"Yeah."
"I think I might love you or something."
We were stopped at a traffic light, and he turned and tilted his head at me. "I've imagined you saying that a thousand times, and never once, in all my imaginings, did it start with I think or end with or something."
I laughed. "I love you, Ryan," I said. "Without all that other stuff."
"You just plain old love me?" he asked.
"I wouldn't call it plain old, but I also wouldn't attach I think to the front of it."
The light turned green, and he smiled as he took off. "Well, I don't guess there's any question about how I feel, but I love you, too, Wynn, if you want to hear me say it."
I pushed at his shoulder as he drove. "Of course I want to hear you say it," I said. "And I want to kiss you. I wish it would have happened before we ever took off." I added, staring at his profile as he drove.
"Oh yeah?" he asked, smiling.
"Uh-huh."
"So, it's something that's happening tonight?" he asked.
"Uh-huh," I said, scooting closer to him, and thinking maybe it could happen at the next traffic light. He glanced down at me and I looked up at him, basically offering him my lips. He didn't kiss me; he just looked me over as if imagining what it would be like if he did.
"I'm trying for you to kiss me, I whispered, as if it wasn't obvious enough.
"Hmm," he said as traffic started moving again and he focused on the road. He was teasing me, and I could hardly stand it. I reached out and squeezed his forearm, and he smiled and shook his head.
Claire's house wasn't too far away, and we made it there quickly. Ryan grabbed a duffle bag from the back of his truck before following me through her front door.
"I guess they're all in bed," I whispered as we walked in to an empty living room. "I guess we're gonna have the living room to ourselves."
I took a quick shower, and he changed clothes before we met in the living room to watch a movie. He came out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of fitted sweatpants and a dark t-shirt.
"You just happen to carry around hot-guy sports outfits in your truck?" I asked even though it was more of an observation than a question.
He stared
down at himself, before looking at me with a straight face. "I think I actually do," he said. "I think my answer to that question is, yes, I do carry sports outfits in my truck."
"Hot guy ones," I said, smiling as I stood up. I hadn't planned on getting off of the couch, but I couldn't stop myself from crossing to him. I walked straight to him, stopping only about a foot or so away. He leaned down and smelled the front of my neck. "This smell has been the same for a long time."
I smiled. "It's my soap."
He nodded. "You're gonna have to get me some of that," he said.
I stared up at him, wishing he would take me into his arms already. "I'll buy you some for your house," I said.
"How'd you know about my house?" he asked.
"I didn't," I said. "I just figured that's where you'd use soap."
"Oh, well, I bought a house."
"You did? Recently?"
He nodded. "I closed like a week ago."
"Can I see it?"
"Not tonight."
"Tomorrow?"
He nodded.
"Will I like it?"
He smiled and nodded. "It's not too far from here. It was built in the thirties. There's some work to be done, but it's a solid place—I'm living in it and everything. The old owners did some renovations in the nineties, and they did a good job keeping most of it original."
"What's it look like?" I asked, feeling weird for not knowing about it until right now.
"It's a two story place like this one," he said, looking around. "It's got a little courtyard in the front with a fountain, although there's no water in it. It's not the nicest house on the block, but it could be. It's plain right now. The previous owner had been using it as a rental." He paused and pulled back, grinning at me. "It needs you, if you want to know the truth."
I scrunched up my face in pure delight before smiling at him. "Does it need my purple chair?"
He nodded. "I have plenty of room for that purple chair," he said. "It's still pretty empty, actually. My sister tried to make me hire her friend who's a designer, but I just haven't yet. I'll probably want to have some painting done soon, and refinish the floors, but I'm doing one thing at a time."
"I want to help," I said.
My One Regret (Martin Family Book 3) Page 12
