Taylor’s father and boyfriend must have approved too, because we made it out of the house without too much humiliation. Ryan and I exchanged a smile as we strolled down the driveway to his car, an older model Acura.
“Sorry about that,” I said once we were buckled and on our way. “They’re a bit crazy.”
He peered into the side mirror before merging into traffic, then flashed me another smile. “You say that like I’m not familiar with crazy. Have you met my family?”
I laughed. “Touché.”
We drove in companionable-but-still-slightly-awkward silence for a few minutes. I fidgeted with my clutch and glanced around the interior of the car. It was neat except for the back seat, which looked just like mine during the brief time I’d spent hauling the twins around. Toys and crumbs and empty juice boxes decorated the seat, floor, and Mason’s car seat. Typical kid mess, something I unexpectedly missed.
Ryan cleared his throat, and I turned back around to focus on his profile. He’d shaved his beard scruff, I’d noticed. It made him look younger. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he said, gazing straight ahead at the truck in front of us. “It’s kind of intimidating. I feel…I don’t know. Inadequate?”
“Well, I am almost as tall as you are in these shoes,” I said, gazing down at my black strappy sandals with the four-inch heels. “Just kidding. You’re extremely adequate.”
He parked the car along the curb a block or so from the restaurant. “If you say so.”
We made it to Masino just in time for our seven o’clock reservation and the hostess led us to a cozy two-person table in the corner near a decorative wine rack. The place was packed.
“I hope you remembered to bring that gift certificate,” I said after the hostess recited the specials and wandered off. “Or else we might have to wash dishes in the kitchen to cover the bill.”
“I have it,” he assured me. “And feel free to order whatever you want.”
“Okay, but I truly have no desire to drink a…” I peeked at the wine list. “…fourteen-dollar glass of merlot.”
“You don’t drink?”
My mind flashed back to last night, downing daiquiris in the kitchen. I’d felt like shit waking up, but it quickly passed. My hangovers seemed to be getting less intense now, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. “Not tonight,” I said just as our waiter came by for our drink orders. We both stuck to water.
“How’s the apartment hunt going?” Ryan asked.
So he had been listening last Sunday when I mentioned my accommodation issues to Maggie. “Not great,” I said as I perused the menu. All the dishes were listed in Italian, but at least they had English descriptions underneath. “Guess I’ll be staying with Taylor’s family for a while.”
He picked up his own menu and then put it back down without looking at it. “She sort of reminded me of my ex-wife. In looks, I mean.”
“Taylor?”
“Yeah. Dark wavy hair, petite…”
“Big boobs?” I added, just to tease him.
He gave me his almost-smile. “Maybe.”
“Hmm.” I rested my chin on the heel of my palm and leaned toward him. “So what you’re saying is, you have a specific type and it’s the exact opposite of me?”
“No,” he said, grinning full-on now. “I don’t have a specific type. Do you?”
I shook my head. No way could I tell him that I’d always had a thing for blond guys. With pretty eyes. Who smelled really good. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
Our waiter reappeared and we ordered, ravioli for me and fettuccini for him. The air smelled torturously good, and I wondered if Ryan would mind if I asked for a taste of his dish too. By now I felt like eating everything in the restaurant, including the tablecloth.
I shouldn’t have wondered about the sharing thing. As soon as our pasta arrived, we immediately sampled first our own food and then each other’s. It was easy, comfortable, just like the conversation. Sitting here together in this fancy restaurant, on a fake date, wasn’t much different than hanging out in his bookstore. Only here, I was allowed to eat messy food.
“Thanks for agreeing to this,” Ryan said after we’d split a dessert (something chocolate, of course) and got our check squared away. “You made my mother’s week.”
I walked through the door he held open for me and into the warm air. “Happy to help,” I said, feeling full and content.
“Want to walk off some calories?”
I pointed at my feet. “Not the most ideal footwear for walking long distances.”
He gaze slid down my body to my shoes, making my stomach flutter like it was empty instead of stuffed to bursting. When his eyes met mine again, he smiled and said, “I have an idea.”
We got back into the car and drove toward the middle of the city, where a large, grassy park stretched across several blocks. Ryan parked the car near some oversized oak trees and I looked over at him, impressed. “You’re quite the problem solver,” I said.
He shrugged modestly as we exited the car. “Better to walk barefoot on grass than on a dirty sidewalk, right?”
We stopped at the edge of the large expanse of lawn and I bent down to remove my shoes, holding onto his bicep for balance. It may have taken longer than was truly necessary to undo my ankle straps. Ryan wasn’t as muscular as Cody, but he was definitely strong and fit. His hand felt warm against my skin as he cupped my elbow, preventing me from face-planting in the grass.
“Since this is supposed to be a date and all,” I said when we started walking again, “maybe we should legitimize it by holding hands or something. You know, in case your mom asks for details.”
“Good point,” he said, twining his fingers through mine. “She’s definitely going to ask, and I wouldn’t want to lie.”
“Very chivalrous of you.” I squeezed his hand. So much for not giving him the wrong idea. “Why is she so obsessed with finding you a woman, anyway?”
We passed a colorful playground structure, one I’d taken the twins to many times. “She worries about me,” he said. “All I do, really, is work and take care of Mason. Not a lot of time left for girlfriends.”
“Haven’t you dated anyone since your divorce?”
“I have, but nothing serious or long-term. Twenty-five-year-old recently divorced men with full custody of their kid and a mountain of debt from lawyer’s fees? Not a great catch.”
Right, I thought. Because there’s such an abundant supply of smart, nice, sexy, ambitious men around here.
We walked in silence for a few moments, the setting sun throwing shadows across the grass in front of us. Right now, with a full stomach and a warm hand enveloping mine and the soft, cool earth beneath my feet, I finally felt brave enough to ask the question I’d been holding back for weeks.
“What’s the story with Mason’s mother?”
Ryan looked at me, surprised. “My mom didn’t tell you?” he asked. When I shook my head, he mumbled, “Shocking.”
“We don’t sit around talking about you,” I said, indignant. “It just hasn’t come up yet. I understand if you don’t feel like—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I mean, no, I don’t really like to talk about it, but it’s not some big secret that I’m ashamed of or anything.”
We reached the end of the lawn and turned left to make a loop. I was suddenly very conscious of our entwined hands, how effortless and warm and friendly it felt. But not friendly in an innocent way. Quite the opposite. The more time I spent with him, the more attracted I became. It wasn’t like with Cody, all aggressive and flirty and cat-and-mouse. No. This just felt good.
Maybe Taylor was right—I did have a little crush.
“She drinks,” Ryan said suddenly, jerking me back to the conversation. “My ex-wife. Chelsea. She has a problem with drinking.”
Last night flashed through my mind again—Cody, the bathroom, an infinite stream of rum. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He took a deep breat
h and then slowly exhaled it. “We started dating in our second year of college, and she wasn’t as bad then. Or she didn’t seem to be. At first, I just chalked it up to normal college drinking. You know…parties, weekend binges. A lot of people did that. I did it.” He brushed a piece of leaf off the sleeve of his shirt. “Then I noticed she was drinking more often. Weeknights. She started forgetting things, missing classes. I knew she was having a hard time. Something happened to her during freshman year. At a party.” He looked away, up at the darkening sky, and I filled in the blanks. “She’d never really dealt with it, and counselling didn’t seem to help. So she drank to forget.”
I nodded. I was familiar with the pattern. “And Mason?”
“We found out she was pregnant with him about a week before our senior year,” he said, smiling faintly at the mention of his son. “It was a shock, to say the least. Chelsea quit drinking the second she found out and things were good for a long time. We got married on Valentine’s Day, in that courthouse.” He gestured to a large white building, visible in the distance. “Just a small ceremony, family only. I knew we were too young, but she was pregnant and we loved each other. It seemed like the next logical step.”
I tried to imagine being married at my age, and pregnant, but I couldn’t. That kind of life seemed alien to me.
“Mason was born two days after we graduated college,” Ryan went on. “We moved to Hyde Creek to be closer to Chelsea’s family and I got a job there. Everything was fine for a while, until Mason was about six months old. Then I started noticing things. Money missing. Chelsea started acting secretive and defensive. One night I smelled wine on her breath and confronted her. She admitted she was drinking again, so I gave her an ultimatum. She had to get help, or I’d leave her and take Mason. So she went to rehab for a few weeks, got sober. This time, it lasted several months. I thought everything would be all right now, that she’d finally beat it. You know, for Mason’s sake.”
We were back to where we started, near the playground, but I barely noticed. I squeezed his hand again, letting him know he could take his time. That I’d be patient. He squeezed back, grateful, and continued.
“One day, she got pulled over for speeding. The cop must’ve smelled something on her, because he gave her the Breathalyzer. She blew a .15. That’s almost twice the legal limit. She was arrested, but that wasn’t even the worse part.” Another pause, this one tinged with anger. “Mason was in the car.”
I gasped. “Oh my God.”
“She was speeding, legally intoxicated, with our sixteen-month-old baby in the backseat. It was the last straw for me. I filed for divorce and requested full custody. She didn’t fight it. She moved out of the house we were renting and went to stay with her parents, who’d always enabled her. Mason and I stayed in Hyde Creek, mainly because I had a good job and needed to save money. Chelsea was allowed supervised visits with him but they became less and less frequent. She was still drinking, but I didn’t feel right moving him away from her. She always promised she would get sober for him, be a good mom…”
I felt sick. No wonder he was so reluctant to talk about her. No wonder he acted so edgy and solemn sometimes. No wonder his mother looked so pleased every time I refused wine at dinner.
“Anyway,” Ryan said, sounding drained. Reliving the trauma of his short-lived marriage had clearly taken it out of him. “She kept getting worse. The visits stopped altogether. Her parents refused to speak to me because they thought I was interfering in her relationship with her son. Total bullshit.” He shook his head, scowling at the memory. “When Mason and I came home for a visit last Christmas and Dad told me that Uncle Kenny was sick and needed someone to take over the bookstore, I was more than ready for a change of scenery. I gave my two weeks’ notice, packed up everything we owned, and here we are. I haven’t heard a word from Chelsea since we moved back, and that’s fine by me. Mason’s better off without her.”
“And you?”
His jaw muscles twitched. “I was finished with her the day she endangered Mason’s life. I’ll never forgive her for that.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said softly.
When he looked at me again, his face was flushed, his eyes hard and icy. I’d seen him irritated before, even been on the receiving end of it once or twice, but I’d never seen him mad. Reliving the day his son was put in harm’s way obviously enraged him, even a year and a half later.
“So that’s the story,” he said brusquely. “And now we should probably talk about something else.”
I was happy to change subjects, and for the rest of our walk we stuck to light topics such as the weather and how amazing the food was at Masino. By the time we circled back to Ryan’s car, there was nothing safe left to discuss.
“Guess I should go pick up my son,” he said with a slight trace of regret. “He’s not used to me leaving for somewhere that isn’t work. He was full of questions earlier.”
I looked up at him as I leaned against the car, re-fastening my shoes. “What did you tell him?”
“That I was going out with you.” He opened my door for me, smiling. “He was okay with it. He likes you.”
“I like him too,” I said.
“He asked me if I was going to kiss you good night.” He turned away, brow furrowed. “Oh, wait. That was Nicole.”
I laughed and climbed into the car. The short drive back to the Brogans’ house was comfortable and quiet. No awkwardness between us now. He knew some of the worst things about my life, my struggles and soft spots and burdens, and now I knew some of his too. Each revelation made us closer. At some point, we’d evolved from two strangers bickering in a bookstore into two people connected by happenstance and mutual respect.
Respect I didn’t want to lose.
“I should probably do it, then,” Ryan said once we were parked in the driveway.
“You should probably do what?”
“Kiss you good night on the front porch like a proper date would do.”
My pulse skipped and then settled into a steady, thumping rhythm. Simply holding his hand felt amazing; what would his lips feel like on me? Suddenly, I wanted to know. Needed to know.
“You probably should,” I said slowly. “You know, for legitimization purposes.”
He agreed and I got out of the car, circling around to meet him on the driver’s side so we could walk up to the porch together. But we didn’t quite make it to the porch. As soon as I reached him, he grabbed my waist and backed me up against the side of the car.
Holy crap was my only coherent thought as our bodies met, followed quickly by our lips. I’d half-expected him to be careful and reserved and maybe even a little boring when it came to kissing. But no. He did it like he’d taken a class in it. A class taught by someone who knew all the techniques involved in making a woman’s knees buckle. Dry and soft at first, warming up, then harder, no longer dry but not sloppy either. Just enough tongue and teeth and pressure. If it weren’t for the solid weight of his body against mine, pinning me to the car, I likely would’ve sunk to the ground.
“Well,” I said when he pulled back a few minutes later. “You’re totally dedicated to making this date as authentic as possible, aren’t you? Your mother would be proud.”
He swept a loose curl off my face. “You know, this is the worst possible moment to mention my mother.”
Before I could apologize he was kissing me again, his fingers tangling in my hair. My own hands were free to explore, and I let them skim over his shoulders and down to his chest, which felt warm and taut under his thin shirt. His mouth became even more demanding, tongue stroking mine in a slow, teasing way that made me wonder what talents it had in other places. Imagining this in Taylor’s father’s driveway, with the porch light glaring and the neighbors probably eating popcorn as they watched us through their windows, sort of dampened my mood a bit. I pulled away, gasping.
“You’d better go,” I murmured, dropping my hands from his chest. “Before the neighbors start taking pic
tures and posting them on Twitter.”
“Wouldn’t want that.” He reluctantly peeled himself away from me and took my hand, leading me up to the porch. This time, we made it all the way there. “So,” he said, coming to a stop by the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Dinner at my parents’ house?”
“Of course,” I replied, straightening his collar. “I hear it’s Mexican night.”
He smiled and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Good night,” he said, then turned away and walked down the steps to the driveway and his car. I stood there, dazed, watching him go.
Up in my room, the pink roses sat on the dresser in a glass vase, filling the room with their faint sweet scent. By the time I fell asleep, I’d memorized every petal.
Chapter 15
Sunday dinner was a lot less crowded this week. Garrett, Maggie, and Isaac still weren’t back from their weekend getaway, Alicia and Kenji were both home with baby Ellie, who’d caught her first virus, and Graham was visiting his brother Kenny, who’d recently been admitted to the hospital with some kind of breathing complication. This time around, he wasn’t expected to make it out.
This last piece of news put a definite pall over dinner, but Jane tried to keep things light and cheerful for her grandson’s sake. Mason, I’d learned, was remarkably observant.
“So tell me,” Jane said as what was left of her family—and me—settled around the dining room table. “What did you think of the food at Masino Ristorante?”
Ryan, who’d sat next to me without prompting for once, glanced at me and said, “It was good. Really tasty.”
Suppressing a smile, I reached over and dug my fingers into his leg just above the knee. This was a mistake, because one of the qualities I hadn’t discovered about him yet was that he was extremely ticklish. He jumped, bumping against the table leg beside him and rattling all the dishes. Jane, Nicole, and Mason all stared at him.
“What is wrong with you?” Nicole asked, shaking her head.
Until Now Page 12
