Chapter 22 #2
I’m not far from Ryan’s neighborhood and before long find myself at his front door.
It’s hard to explain what draws me to his home as opposed to taking a rideshare to Sofia’s or letting her pick me up as she’s offered.
Suffice it to say it isn’t helping that she’s not as distraught as I am.
I expected a little more support from my ride or die.
It doesn’t occur to me Ryan will have much to say on the matter, or that I will even share this with him.
I simply want to take my mind off it. I’ll think about books when I’m with him, World War II spy novels specifically, because who the hell needs romance.
I’m so sick of disappointment. At least with Ryan’s books you know you’re going to be sad and you can gird your loins and prepare.
There’s a war, and guess what, nobody gets a happy ending.
The end. When I knock, it takes him longer than I would think to open the door.
It’s not a big house and his car is parked in the front so he must be here.
And there’s cover over the porch stoop so I’m not getting any wetter.
I could stay here all night if he doesn’t answer.
I hear him call out, “Hang on!” He opens the door saying, “They said twenty minutes.”
I blink. His hair is wet, and he’s blocking his body partly behind the cracked door.
“I thought you were the pizza delivery.”
“I…I hope I’m not interrupting. Anything.”
“No. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company. They said twenty minutes.”
“Can I come inside? It’s raining.”
“You walked here?” he says, eyes wide.
“Yes, Ryan! And I’m starting to feel like there’s something you’re hiding in there.”
He waves me inside, and I realize what he’s hiding. He’s wearing nothing but a towel on the lower half of his body. It’s another shock to my system to firsthand see all that lean muscle, the drops from his wet hair sliding down his neck. His wide shoulders.
My eyes must bug out of my head because he deadpans, “This is what I’m hiding. I just hopped out of the shower and don’t usually answer the door half naked. With you, in particular, it feels inappropriate.”
“B-but you didn’t want to miss the pizza delivery?” I’m stammering, keenly aware that Ryan has a man’s chest.
I don’t know what I expected, certainly not a child’s chest, or a woman’s chest. The thing is, I’m not prepared for all the muscle and…
definition. I might be staring. Ryan has a runner’s build, not massive, but defined.
And abs…um yes, he has those too. There’s a light smattering of dark hair across his chest but he’s not furry, my least favorite type of man chest. While I’m cataloging all this in my mind, I do hope I’m not staring.
He turns down the hall and points. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Great,” I say, standing so I won’t ruin his dry couch.
It’s a good thing I came here. He’s such a great distraction I almost forget why I’m so upset.
But then it comes back to me far too easily.
My mother! She ruins everything. I glance at my buzzing cell.
There are now messages from Eddie, too. No doubt by now my mother has filled him in.
He wants to “talk to me.” I don’t currently want to talk to him about this, now or… ever.
First, I have to formulate my thoughts and accept this new reality.
The idea of my uncle and my mother together…
a second chance, she said. This isn’t how second chances happen in my romance books.
It’s supposed to be a good thing for everyone concerned but I guess the books don’t ever cover how the daughter feels.
Ryan joins me in the living room wearing an LA Dodgers hoodie and jeans. His floppy wavy hair is combed into place and he’s got his retro glasses back on. I should tell him he looks good with or without his glasses. I should tell him he always smells good, like sandalwood cologne. Like sunshine.
I should say so many things and maybe someday I will, when I’m feeling less vulnerable.
He hands me a fresh towel to dry off and after I do, I take a seat on the plush tan leather couch.
“What kind of pizza?” I ask, toweling my hair.
“Pepperoni.”
“My favorite. Look, I’m sorry to show up like this.” I clear my throat. “It’s rude. For all I know, you might have had company.”
This is a fishing expedition whether he realizes it or not. I want to know, who are you, Ryan Brady, now that you’re resoundingly single?
“No worries. I’m glad you’re here. This way I don’t have to eat alone.”
He starts building a fire, with real wood, not the easy-burning log we use at home.
It usually takes one match and burns for hours.
But Ryan is stacking wood at angles and adding crumpled paper at precise locations like he knows what he’s doing.
All he needs is a flannel shirt and he’d be the perfect small-town hero in a romance book where the big city woman wants to sell the farm he works but… you know what, I can’t do this anymore.
Life is not a romance novel, Luci.
He lights the fire, and it comes to life, flames licking, roaring like a lion. Ryan stands in front of it for several seconds then turns to me.
“Why were you walking in the rain? Did your car break down?”
“No, I…jumped out of my mother’s car.”
He quirks a brow. “You what?”
“I’m not explaining this well,” I admit, pulling the towel around my shoulders. “I didn’t literally jump. You know, I exaggerate.”
He nods. “You are fond of hyperbole, I’ve noticed.”
“We were coming back from the church singles event she wanted to attend.”
“Ah.” He comes to sit beside me. “You’re both looking to meet someone new.”
“Not me, it was my mother. I was there to weed out the losers. She was there trying to make someone jealous.”
I’m almost sure of it. Why else would she want Eddie there if not to show him how many other men found her attractive and the dinner dates she could arrange.
It’s a move straight out of the Geneva Santana playbook of feminine power.
She makes her moves with such finesse no one notices.
I’m sure Eddie has little clue he’s in her scope.
She’s about to reel him in and he won’t even see it coming.
“Trying to make who jealous?” Poor Ryan, his forehead is furrowed in confusion. This is what my mother does to reasonable men. “Her ex-husband?”
“My uncle.”
And I tell him everything.