by Amelia Wilde
Valentine
I have no idea how that conversation ended because in an attempt to protect me from literally dying of embarrassment, my brain blacked the entire thing out. All I know, three hours later, is that somehow I got to my car and drove home. I didn’t even remember my phone, which was the entire reason I ran my awkward ass into Ryder in the first place.
I’ve been in the shower for a long time—I don’t know how long—and no matter how cold the water gets, my cheeks still burn.
I told him I wanted him to mow the lawn shirtless. I told him that. I spoke those words out loud with my mouth.
Worst of all, it’s true. I do want to see Ryder Harrison without his shirt on. I’ve wanted that from the moment I saw him at the Short Stack. What I don’t want is to get attached, and get burned again, like with Conrad. God, that was a disaster...and all over something that turned out to be nothing.
But Ryder wouldn’t be like that. Clearly.
Or maybe he would. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him.
I step out of the shower, towel off, and throw on a tank and some shorts. I’m not going out again tonight. Tomorrow, Cece’s made plans for us, but tonight I’m staying in with a good book.
I am definitely not going to stroll across the lawn to the other cottage. This property used to be two lots, back in the day, but the families who owned them had the same company build identical cottages on either end, with a wide lawn in the middle. My parents bought the lots as a kind of a package deal before I was born, and they only open the other building if they need the space. We’re not the kind of family who loves reunions, so that’s basically never. Thus, there is absolutely no reason for me to go walking out there. Not at all.
I’ve just settled in on the small screened-in porch facing the lake when I hear it.
The hum of a mower, coming from across the street.
I sit with the book open in my hands for a full five minutes, my heart practically beating out of my chest.
Ryder Harrison is baiting me.
I force my eyes back to the page. No. I’m not going to be baited. That was mortifying, what I said earlier, and what am I supposed to do now? Go over and look at him like he’s a piece of man meat?
No. Absolutely not.
On the other hand...
I’m not going to be living here forever. And neither is he. I promised myself in the spring that I’d be out in a year, so at most I’ll only have to suffer through eight months of awkwardness.
I don’t have to suffer at all if I just stay inside.
I bite my lip.
I have to know. That’s the awful truth of it—I just have to know.
But he doesn’t have to know.
I put the book on the table and stand up, adrenaline flooding my veins. I assess my outfit. It’s fine for what I’m about to do.
I go out the front door of the cottage, scanning around the maple trees to see if he’s in sight. The mower hums loudly, off to the left. He must be beside his own house. If I cut diagonally across the lawn, I’ll be shielded by the hedge, then by the maple tree.
Halfway across the lawn I realize I’m sneaking, hunched over like a caricature of a robber. Yes, it’s true, I am a grown woman. I straighten up, but I can’t help walking softly...as if the sound of the lawnmower isn’t going to cover up my approach over the grass on the other side of the street.
This is where I’m at now. I might as well embrace it. Worst-case scenario, he’s wearing a shirt.
I come up behind the maple tree. It’s huge, the trunk thick and round, and easily conceals me from the other side of the street. The only issue I face now is that it also conceals the other side of the street from me, so all I can hear is the damn mower.
It’s quiet now, like he’s behind the house, which is set back from the road by a stretch of yard. I bet Minnie would love a playhouse out there. The Culvers never had kids, so there’s nothing of the kind. Maybe I could—
I shake myself out of the weird plan I’ve started to make involving one of those playhouses that they sell in front of the hardware store when the sound of the mower gets louder.
I have to play this cool.
If he’s coming toward the road, that means that eventually he’ll turn back and face the house. That will be my moment. That’ll be when I finally get a glimpse of those ripped shoulders.
Behind the tree, every fiber of my being is locked on listening to the sound of the mower. It gets louder and louder. I’m in tune with the sound; the sound is me. I hear the shift in the noise as he reaches the road, pushing the front of the mower a couple of inches onto the asphalt, and then I hear it as he turns back.
Heart in my throat, I move to the left side of the tree and lean out, ever so carefully.
He is shirtless.
“Damn,” I whisper, because even his back is sexy.
Just then, a white stripped-down Jeep zooms down the road between us, and the group of college girls inside lets out a loud, uniform whoop that pierces air. “Ow ow ow!” one of them screams at the tail end, and that’s probably what brings my plan crashing to a halt.
Ryder turns at the sound, but by the time he’s facing the road again, the Jeep is gone. The sight of his absolutely fucking gorgeous body in the sun has addled my brain, and it’s only at the last second that I jump back behind the tree.
I hold my breath.
He probably didn’t see me. This tree is huge, and I’ve been careful to put it directly between me and his house. He probably—
The sound of the mower cuts off.
No. No no no no no. He’s not going to catch me doing this. It’s not going to happen. It can’t happen. If it happens, I’ll never live it down. I’ll have to move, and I can’t move. Not today, anyway.
I cross my fingers on both hands. No no no.
“Valentine?” His voice sends blood rocketing to my cheeks. I have to be redder than a stop sign. “Are you hiding behind that tree?”
12
Ryder
I’m not a hundred percent sure it is Valentine when I call across the road. After all, it could be anyone with red hair like hers. All I saw was a ponytail as it flashed back behind the tree, and maybe an inch of the creamy skin of her forehead. But after that Jeep full of the kind of idiots I’m not interested in went by, I definitely saw movement behind one of the big maples across the road.
Okay. I lied. I am a hundred percent sure it’s her. The only question now is whether she’ll come out from behind the tree or run away from me again.
After she announced that she’s interested in seeing me shirtless and performing yardwork, the conversation totally petered out. Valentine stammered something about needing to get home and made a beeline around me.
I only realized I was standing there with a goofy smile on my face when the bakery door opened a second time, and there was Leslie, wanting to know if everything was all right with the cupcakes.
Yeah. Everything was. And things might be all right with the rest of my life, too. At least, I have the bizarre sensation that that’s how they’re heading, even if it all turns out to be shit in the end.
My brother wasn’t home when I finally made it to his place after a quick stop at the daycare place and another one at the big box store south of town to buy a new package of t-shirts and a baby monitor that connects to my phone via an app. I can’t say I’m disappointed, but I do still need to talk to him. I’ve been putting it off all week, and now that things are...different, I’m ready to get it over with.
But first, the lawn.
I swung by the daycare and picked up Minnie just before three, gave her a snack, and put her down in the Pack ‘N Play. I’m going to need a crib sooner or later, or maybe even an honest-to-god toddler bed. She was out in less than a minute. I plugged in the monitor and headed out to the shed in the back where Mrs. Culver had assured me I’d find all the tools required to keep up appearances on the house and lawn.
She wasn’t lying. It was all gassed
up and ready to go. I only hesitated for a second before stripping off my shirt and tossing it onto the porch on the first pass. My phone is set up to alert me if Minnie makes any noise, so it was the perfect time to call Miss I’m-Not-Sweet’s bluff.
The first four passes across the yard—it’s bigger than I thought—I saw no sign of her. I started to think maybe this was some kind of fucked-up hazing game, but Jesus, we’re not in high school. No way.
Then I saw that flash of her hair.
“I saw you,” I call out through the breeze.
A few more beats go by, and then Valentine steps out from behind the maple tree and gives me a sheepish wave. “Hey,” she calls back.
“Are you done hiding behind the tree?”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“Bullshit.”
She covers her eyes with her hands like that will make this entire situation go away, then uncovers them. “This is your fault, you know.”
“It’s my fault that you were spying on me from behind a tree?”
She presses her lips into an embarrassed line. “I guess it’s my fault.”
“I’d say. You were the one who started all this, back at the bakery. I’m pretty sure you said—”
“Stop, stop!” She waves her hands in the air. “Everyone’s going to hear you.”
I shout louder. “Everyone’s going to hear me say that you asked me to mow my lawn shirtless just so you could—”
Valentine looks both ways and then darts across the street, coming to a breathless halt in front of me. She looks so damn gorgeous, her damp hair in a braid over her shoulder, wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a tank top that stretches perfectly over her curves. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks are pink and even though I know I shouldn’t mess with her—I shouldn’t mess with anyone, I need to focus on building a new life from nothing—I can’t help but fall a little bit. Just a little. “Stop. The entire neighborhood’s going to hear you,” she says in a voice just above a whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” There’s a strip of trees on either side of the rental property, and she’s the only one across the street.
She grins. “I don’t want people to know.”
“Know what? That you asked me to—” I’m having too much fun with this, and I know it.
“I didn’t ask you to mow your lawn shirtless,” she says, almost hissing the words. “I just said that I wouldn’t mind if you were that kind of guy.” Her gaze flicks over my shoulders, my abs.
“And then you ran away.”
She goes an even deeper red. “I had somewhere to be.”
“Yeah. Behind that tree, watching me mow my lawn.”
“I just wanted to see if you’d...if you’d actually do it.”
I raise my hands into the air at my sides. “I did.”
“Why?” There’s a sudden seriousness to her tone, even though she’s still smiling.
“To make your dream come true.” I mean to say it as a joke. It doesn’t come off that way. The look in Valentine’s eyes deepens, and she bites her lip.
“You think my only dream was to see you shirtless?” I think she means for it to come off like she’s hardly dreamed of seeing me, but it doesn’t sound like that. It doesn’t sound like that at all.
“No. Just one of them.” Her green eyes are blazing into my core. It might as well be a thousand degrees out here.
“You’re right,” she says, but there’s a tremble in her voice. “I have tons of other dreams. And plans.”
The urge to touch her rages out of control. It’s been a long week. It’s been a long two years. It’s been a long day, for God’s sake, and I give in to that urge.
I reach out and brush my knuckles across the pink blush on her cheek. The contact is electric. It’s all I can do not to take her in my arms right now, right here in the front yard. Valentine gasps at my touch, and I fucking do it. I put my thumb against that bottom lip of hers, just for a second, just long enough to imagine that it’s mine to kiss, and bite, and…
“I’ll make another one of your dreams come true.” I drop my hand and step a little closer. Valentine’s breasts rise and fall under her shirt, looking round and perfect as hell.
“How do you know what my—”
My phone goes off in my pocket, a loud chime.
“Shit. That’s Minnie.”
“Calling you?” Valentine’s brow furrows.
“No, I have—” I dig the phone out of my pocket and swipe the screen to end the alert. Then I open up the monitor’s app. There, on the screen, she’s stirring in her Pack ‘N Play, her arms stretched over her head. “I have an app.” Just then, the sound kicks in, and Minnie’s sweet little voice comes over the phone’s speakers.
“Hey, Daddy?” She yawns. “Hey, Daddy?”
I put the phone back in my pocket and meet Valentine’s eyes. Hot damn do I wish I could stay here with her. Or invite her back in. But nap time is over. “I have to head in.”
“Me too. I’ll see you later,” she says quickly, and before I can reach out and touch her again she’s headed back across the road. I start dragging the lawnmower back to the shed. I can finish the lawn later. But I’m not done with Valentine, even if she’s running away...again.
“Valentine!” I stop moving and call after her, loud and clear. She skids to a halt in the grass on the other side of the road.
“Yeah?” she shouts back.
“Go out with me.”
A pause. “When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I can’t. I have plans.”
“Saturday, then.”
This is not how I envisioned planning my next date, in a shouted conversation across a street, but what the hell.
“Okay,” Valentine shouts. Then she turns on her heel and sprints out of view.
13
Valentine
Things might not be off to the most impressive start with Ryder, but if anything’s going to make me feel good as hell about this, it’s cocktails with Cece. After my shift at the Short Stack, I head back home. Ryder’s car isn’t in his driveway, and I feel a twinge of disappointment about it...but not enough to keep me from enjoying a too-long shower. While the water glides over me I slip my hand down between my legs, thinking of his lean body in the sunlight, thinking of his thumb against my lip, and come with my hand braced against the shower wall.
At least I don’t have to worry about him interrupting my extensive beauty routine for nights when I’m going out on the town. After I’ve gotten control of myself, I spend fifteen minutes instead of my usual ten drying and straightening my hair.
Cece appreciates the effort, letting out a loud whoop when I slide into the booth across from her at the new wine bar in town. Like all trendy new things that come to Lakewood, it’ll be gone by next summer.
“Damn, girl,” says Cece, raising her wine glass to her lips. “You look amazing.”
I’m definitely glowing. “You started without me.”
“Of course I did.” She signals the waitress, who brings a second glass of Moscato. “I didn’t want your wine to get warm, though. You can thank me later.”
The instant the sweet wine hits my lips, I’m practically transported. It’s chilled to perfection. Okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the wine bar will stick around.
Cece looks good, too, in what looks like her favorite little black dress. She always looks good. Cece is the kind of person who looks put together even when she’s a hot mess. I can’t even pretend to be anything other than a hot mess. “You’re right,” I tell her. “This is amazing.”
She puts her glass down on the table. “I also...ordered appetizers.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Speaking of my girl, are you doing okay?” The shift in conversation is so abrupt that I just blink at her for a moment. I didn’t tell a single soul about the embarrassing encounter with Ryder yesterday, or about him renting the Culvers’ house. Then it clicks. Once again, she’s talking about Conrad.
I don’t want to talk about Conrad, but Cece is on the hunt for more details. I never told her exactly why we broke up—I only sent her several increasingly mortifying texts—and I know she’s dying to hash it out. I’m more interested in talking about Ryder, but talking about Ryder will mean admitting that I probably have a ridiculous crush on him.
Probably.
“Yeah,” I say, rolling the stem of the wine glass between my fingers. “Yeah, I’m doing fine.” The truth is that Ryder is the perfect distraction, even if a man like him could never be anything else.
“You don’t want to talk about it.”
“I really don’t.” I give her a wide grin, and Cece rolls her eyes.
“But I really want to know. I want to hear, in detail, exactly how that prick finally proved to you that he’s an asshole.”
My heart twists in my chest. It sucked what happened with Conrad. More than sucked. It ripped me apart, and not just because I thought I was in love with him. Maybe I really was in love with him, but even if that wasn’t true, it was just another thing gone wrong in a string of things that didn’t turn out.
I take another sip of the wine, steeling myself. This is the first sit-down I’ve had with Cece since everything happened. I should just get it over with.
“He broke up with me, for starters.”
She cocks her head. “I’ll wait.”
“We broke up because…” I take a deep breath. Thinking about it makes my stomach turn. I was scared, too, but Conrad… “I guess things hadn’t been going very well for a while.”
“I’d say.”
It’s amazing how, now that we’re not together, everyone in my life is willing to share opinions about Conrad. If they’d told me sooner that it would end like this, maybe I wouldn’t have wasted so much time on him.
“You know, Cece, you could have mentioned something when we got together two years ago.”
She just looks at me. “Did I really have to mention it? Out loud? With words?”
