Ridge

by Scott, S. L.

  My mom . . . It didn’t matter what I did as long as I was happy. I could sit with her and have coffee, tell her how hard I was struggling, but she’d point out the light in my eyes—that spark of passion—that I was still pursuing my dreams. I’d leave the coffee shop more motivated than ever to keep going, keep pushing, and to make it work. Her slipping me money wasn’t bad either.

  I can’t tell her that she’s the one I’m worried about. She knows and doesn’t need to think about me worrying about her.

  Looking at Meadow, I realize what she’s offering me even if she doesn’t. She’s giving me the haven, a safe place to share the fears and concerns I keep buried inside. She’s giving me more than her heart. She’s giving me something so real: deep and true love.

  I happily give her the same.

  She’s also charming me with her sweetness. “Same goes for you, sunshine.” I bring her onto me, wanting to feel her body on top of mine. This isn’t about sex. It’s about the intimacy she’s giving and the physical closeness I need. I stroke my hand over her bare back and lower, and then wrap her in my arms, holding her to me so I can feel her breath against my skin. “So now you know.”

  “Thank you for sharing with me.”

  “I was thinking I could take you to meet her and my dad next time I’m in Austin.”

  When I feel her smile against my chest, I know she’s accepting all of me instead of just a piece of my life. “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  I shush the room service guy when he pushes the tray inside the suite. Even though I shut the bedroom door, I don’t want to risk waking her. Meadow needs the rest before she returns to Austin. I know for a fact she stays up to not only study but also to talk to me. I owe her a few Z’s.

  As soon as he’s gone, I hear, “What are you up to, rock star?”

  “Hungry, cherry cheeks?” And there they are, matching the blush at the base of her neck. “Nice shirt.”

  She tugs it away from her chest and looks down. “This old thing. Eh, I found it lying around in the bedroom.” Coming toward me, she asks, “Hope you don’t mind?”

  “Mind? I prefer.” I kiss her on the cheek as she tries to look around me at the table of goodies.

  “Wow. Did you leave any food for the other guests?”

  “No. What can I get you?”

  Her hand slips under the hem of the shirt, lifting it up. “You’re fattening me up. Are you planning to eat me later?” As soon as the question is asked, she laughs. “I didn’t mean that way, but,” she says, winking, “I’m happy to oblige if you’re hungry. Again.”

  “I’m always hungry for you.”

  She lifts a lid to find a BLT and french fries. Mac and cheese is under another silver dome. Pecan pie and chocolate mousse are on smaller plates next to a big bowl of strawberries, blueberries, and grapes. The food all looks good and smells even better. “Considering it’s midnight, I figured we’ve worked up quite the appetite, so I went with comfort food.”

  “As soon as I get back to Austin, I have to start running again.”

  “The hotel has a great gym. We can work out together when you’re here if you want.”

  Running a finger under my jaw, she says, “I want. Right after I eat that mac and cheese.”

  As impressive as this spread is, it’s not the food that gives her that faraway, star-struck look in her eyes. It’s the hot tea. “It’s Yogi bedtime just like you drink at home.”

  “How did you remember I liked that brand?”

  “It has the quotes. I know you like the tea, but I told the concierge about the quotes. They did a little digging, and here it is.”

  She takes a sip and closes her eyes. “Does money buy you everything you can dream?”

  “My mom used to tell me that dreams are free.”

  “I like hearing about your mom and your life before . . .” She pokes me in the side. “Before me.”

  “You really don’t care about the fame, do you?”

  “No. Enough people in the world want to be famous. I don’t want to spend my life making sure the world never forgets me. I just hope that one day when I pass that I have family and friends who want to remember me.”

  “That’s love.”

  “I’m feeling mushy.” Lifting her foot, she rubs it against me where our legs are tangled together in the middle of the couch. “You caught me at a good hour.”

  “Midnight. It’s the hour that Meadow Soleil Fellowes gets sentimental on me. I’ll make sure to remember that.”

  “There are other things I want to do on you, but I think I’ll start by feeding you this mac and cheese.”

  “I’m all yours.”

  “You already were, rock star.”

  “Good point. Feed me, woman, and then let me feast.”

  I shouldn’t find her eye-rolls so amusing, but I do. She gives me an epic one as she gets up to straddle me, rubbing herself where I’ll grow the most. “You’re insatiable.”

  Grabbing her by the ass, I hold her down and grind myself against her. When she moans the sexiest little moan I’ve ever heard, I say, “Turnabout’s fair play.”

  “Touché, Mr. Fellowes.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “Never. It’s too fun to tease.”

  Flipping her onto her back, I settle between her legs. “Speaking of teasing, wanna fuck?”

  “You’re so romantic.” She pushes off me and walks toward the bedroom, leaving the shirt on the floor behind her. “You gonna keep me waiting?”

  I run and lift her over my shoulder. “Not another damn second.”

  31

  Meadow

  Sneaking out from under his arm this morning is tricky. But considering we were up late and active, he’s too worn out to notice when I kiss his head and leave. He sleeps so soundly that I wonder if he always does or just when I’m around.

  It’s dark outside, but I stumble sleepy, and sad that I’m leaving, to the waiting car he hired to drive me to the airport in style. My sister’s going to kill me that I didn’t stop by and at least say hi, but maybe she’ll understand since I was here less than thirty-six hours.

  The gate is getting fuller by the hour, but I manage to find a spot with open seats on either side. The chair is not comfortable enough to sleep in, so I sit and stare down at a photo I took of Dave last night. He didn’t know or maybe he’s just gotten good at pretending people aren’t snapping pics of him all the time.

  My heart beats a little faster just looking at him. He’s mine. All mine. And I’m his, only his, happily his girlfriend. In my peripheral vision, I spy a man in a ball cap sitting in the seat to my right. I curl in on myself to protect the photo from being seen by outsiders.

  But the nosy bastard presses into my space. “Who’s that?” he asks.

  That voice—deep, a cadence my body knows by heart—mine. He’s all mine. Peeking over and playing along, I reply, “My boyfriend.”

  “He’s a lucky guy.”

  “No,” I say, nudging his arm off the armrest between us before looking him straight in the eyes. “I’m the lucky one.” It has to be the hour and the fact I’m exhausted because it’s not normal to tear up just because my hot boyfriend shows up at the airport, right? “What are you doing here?”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  Wow, must be important. I sit a little straighter, suddenly a little worried. “What?”

  “I love you.”

  And I die, my heart feeling as though it’s too big for my chest to contain. Screw it. The tears fall, and I lower my head to his shoulder. He didn’t need to come here and tell me that. I know he loves me, and my heart couldn’t be more happy. But he gave up precious sleep to be here with me. For me. How did I get so lucky? “I love you, too. I was just sitting here staring at your photo like some pathetic, love-sick puppy.”

  He doesn’t mock me, but he does chuckle. “Welcome to my world.” An arm comes around my neck and he pulls me to him
and kisses my head. When I sit up, he continues, “The bed was empty, and the room was cold. I looked for you, but you were already gone. I may not want to say bye to you, but if I have to, I want to make sure it’s a good one.”

  “Dave?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How are you sitting here at the gate with me? Only people with tic—” My eyes go wide. “Did you buy a ticket on my flight just to come see me?”

  “No. Your flight is sold out.” His hand, big and comforting and rough in all the right ways, slips around mine. “I bought a ticket to Cincinnati at noon.”

  “I’m sure it’s a lovely city.”

  “I hear they have a great zoo.”

  I love how much we laugh together. “Let me know how it is.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be catching that flight.” Resting forward on his knees, he looks back at me. “The truth is, I didn’t want you getting on a plane without seeing you once more to tell you that I love you.”

  “You’re going to make me cry again.”

  “Then I’ll hold you as long you want. Forever even.”

  I get up and settle on his lap sideways so I can look at him. “I might need longer.”

  “You got it.”

  Nestling against him, I say, “This might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  “Might be? If this only earns me a ‘might be,’ then I’ll have to try harder.”

  “You don’t have to try at all. It seems to come natural to you, like playing your guitar.”

  “I prefer you over my guitar any day, and you know how much I love playing guitar.”

  “Wow. Looks like I’m on a roll.”

  The announcement to board interrupts us, so I squeeze him as tight as I can because I don’t want to say bye. There’s nothing good about leaving this man. “When I see you in three weeks,” he says, “you’re all mine again.”

  “I promise. At least until the turkey’s served.”

  We stand. “That’s fair.” Holding me in his arms, I feel the tension creeping into his muscles. He kisses my head. I don’t have the strength to let him go, but he’s stronger than I am. I knew if I ever fell for him, I’d be the weaker of the two of us. “Don’t say goodbye, okay?”

  “See you at Thanksgiving.” He steps back and adjusts the straps of my backpack. With my ticket in hand, I start to walk away, but he says, “Wait. I brought you something.”

  “What is it?”

  He pulls his hand from his pocket, a gold chain wrapped around his fingers. “Just a token. I found it in Australia.” When he opens his hand, a little cherry pendant dangles against his palm.

  I move into his shadow, feeling so much in this space. “It’s beautiful.” Turning around, I ask, “Will you put on me?”

  His arms go wide with an end of the necklace in each hand. He tries several times, swearing under his breath. “Damn clasp is so fucking small.” I offer to help, but he mumbles, “I’m a guitarist, for fuck’s sake. I can do this.”

  When he gets it, he smiles like a champ. I turn to show him how it looks on me and lift for a quick kiss. “You’re my hero.”

  “Fuck that little clasp.”

  Sliding the cherries along the gold chain, I look down to see the pendant and smile so much just knowing he bought this with me in mind. He says, “The leaves remind me of your eyes, and the cherries remind me of your cheeks.”

  “I love it, but I love that you thought of me when you saw it more.” I slide the pendant back and forth and then feel a lump in my throat form. I can’t extend the goodbye. It already hurts too much. “See you at Thanksgiving.”

  I turn to the sound of silence, thinking that same lump has formed in his throat as well. Looking back once, I see him standing there with his hands in his pockets, the bill of his hat pulled down low, and his eyes on me.

  He doesn’t see the few cameras nearby aimed at him, but I do, realizing how much he’s willing to sacrifice—his privacy, a piece of his life—to be here for me. I walk down the jet bridge and find my seat. Three weeks. I can do that.

  * * *

  Straightening my skirt, I look at Dave for reassurance. He’s always good to me. Taking my hand, he says, “They’re going to love you.”

  The time apart flew by because we talked every spare minute we had. I don’t even feel like we’ve spent time apart. From our hours of video calls to long conversations while we lay in bed about everything from the weather to dreaming about what the future holds, to becoming so comfortable that we could lose ourselves physically while listening to each other’s voice.

  My heart is fuller than it’s felt in years because of the man standing by my side, now wanting to introduce me to his parents.

  “Is this too much?” I ask, referring to my outfit. It was one of my faves when I lived in London—chic but not too over-the-top dressy. The black skirt gathers at the waist and ends just below my knees. My gray sweater has a sweet little Peter Pan white collar, and I’m wearing new patent leather black flats. I feel pulled together and comfortable though a little short next to Dave, which is why I usually like to wear heels around him.

  He rubs his thumb over the top of my hand. “You look beautiful, like always.”

  Guys. They don’t get it. Though I can say, he wore a button-down that looks nice on him. “I’m so used to seeing you in jeans and a tee that you look fancy in your shirt. I remember how hot you were in Hawaii when you wore those suits.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t find me sexy now?”

  The door opens, and a woman with a kind smile is there. “Why are you knocking? It’s your home, David.”

  His home. I’ve come to think of that hotel suite in LA as his home, even my apartment when he comes to Austin. I can’t help but feel a little possessive over the term home when I hear her say that.

  My hand is released, and he steps up and hugs the woman. “Good to see you, Aunt Pat.”

  “You too, David. Your mom’s been so happy knowing you were coming for Thanksgiving.” She smiles at me over her shoulder. “This must be Meadow.”

  When Dave steps aside, she holds her arms out for me. I walk into her welcoming embrace. “Hello.”

  “You’re just as pretty as David said you were.”

  My gaze meets his over his aunt’s shoulder. I mouth, “Charmer.”

  “Come inside,” his aunt says, stepping inside the foyer of the Rollingwood neighborhood home. The house is pretty and traditional in style with white walls with dark wood floors. Lived in, but pristinely clean. It’s an area of town far from where I grew up. Like the Crow brothers, we had a nice enough home but didn’t have money to spend frivolously. Dave clearly grew up differently.

  He takes my hand and leads me into the living room where a few people around our age are hanging out. A girl stands and rushes to hug him. His hand briefly tenses around mine before he lets go. “Hey.”

  They’re introduced as cousins, Pat’s kids. He apologizes to me for being on edge, but I tell him he owes me nothing. It must be weird to leave one day as a normal guy and then come back years later famous with more money than your parents.

  In the kitchen, I see his mother for the first time. I’ve not seen photos but one of him when he was young, but I recognize her smile. It’s the same one he has. Lisa sits at the table directing her sister, Pat, and a few others. When her hazel eyes land on me, she stands and looks at my hands, one still holding her son’s. “David, you snuck in.”

  “I did,” he says, the room coming to a stop as everyone looks at us. He leads me to her but releases me to hold her. She’s so small compared to him, closer to my height, but I wonder if the medical treatments have stolen more than her energy.

  She has a colorful pink, red, and navy silk scarf wrapped around her head that matches the pink of her shirt. She’s dressed more casually in denim capris. Holding her son’s face between her hands, she says, “You’re too skinny.”

  “I eat like a horse.”

  “When
you eat, you mean. I have a feeling you don’t take as good of care of yourself as you should.” Her eyes find me almost tucked behind him. “I bet Meadow would agree with me.”

  “I worry about him too.”

  That makes her smile, large and happy. “Thank you for watching over him.” She holds her hands out to me. When I take them, she says, “It is so lovely to finally meet you.”

  “You too.” She’s so kind that my heart starts to hurt, and I feel sad because this woman, Dave’s absolute supporter, is terribly ill. For so long, he grieved silently and alone. I wish when I found out I would have pushed for more, to help him, to help her, to do whatever I could for them.

  But I see where his quiet strength comes from.

  Patting her son on the arm, she says, “She’s gorgeous. Now leave her with me, and you go say hello to your father.”

  I’m not sure if she’s protecting me while Dave breaks the ice with his dad or if she wants me to get to know me better, but I stay. Dave gives me a wink and says, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She has me sit next to her just as a colander of green beans is set down on the table. “Ever snap beans?”

  We get to work, taking off the ends and chatting about my schooling. She went to the University of Texas too, though she lived in a building that’s been long remodeled into something new. My gaze occasionally drifts outside to the back patio where a few men are smoking cigars. But Lisa always pulls me back in with some engaging story about her college days or Dave when he was younger.

  She calls him her miracle baby. Doctors said they couldn’t have a child and then one day Dave decided he would make his way into this world despite the predictions. “David is named after my father. Those two were inseparable before he died. David was only ten, but they were best friends. I think my husband was a little jealous of the bond they shared.” She laughs to herself.

  “I’ve been a chatterbox.” She touches my hand. “Tell me about your family.”

  We chat about the wedding and Hawaii. “It was so beautiful. I could smell the flowers in the air. And my sister . . .” I can still see her in my head, never looking happier. “My sister is so beautiful with a soul to match. Rivers is wonderful. They deserve all the happiness.”