Chapter Nineteen
JASON
After coming in at dawn from patrolling, Jason had slept for a few hours.
His sleep hadn’t been entirely restful because he was still twisted up inside from yesterday’s realizations.
Now he’d worked things out with the pack, he was kind of mad at himself that one innocent question from Jesse weeks ago had caused him to spiral so badly.
But it probably meant he’d never really dealt with his anxiety over belonging.
Otherwise, the question wouldn’t have unsettled him.
He was also struggling with the fact Riley was about to meet the pack.
It should be a long, lazy afternoon enjoying the tail end of summer, but he couldn’t stop worrying—what if Riley hated the pack?
What if they hated Riley? What if Dave made Riley drink fruit tea, and Jesse ate all the ribs?
His fears tangled together in a kaleidoscopic nightmare, all underlain by the relentless ticking of a clock.
When he finally woke up, he got straight out of bed. No way was he going to try and sleep again, not with those fears waiting for him. Especially the clock. He’d done so well at ignoring the fact Riley was only here for a short time.
Desperate to be distracted from that fact, he took a quick shower and headed to town. He had both Fridays and Saturdays off from the diner, so he and Riley had planned to meet for breakfast. But as Jason was early, he headed to the motel.
Once there, he was very glad he had, because Riley was still in bed. And this was the sort of being in bed that didn’t involve sleep or nightmares, and Jason wished he and Riley could share a bed always.
* * *
Much later, they headed to the diner for a late breakfast, where they were met with a harried smile from Sam.
“Tristan might be good for a shift or two if you want,” Jason offered, aware that Sam had been covering for Natalie for more than a week without any extra help.
“Oh, God, I’d take that in a second. Will you ask him for me?”
“We’ll be seeing him this afternoon,” Jason said, and wanted to die on the spot for using the mythical we that people in relationships threw about the whole time.
“Thanks, honey,” Sam said, pressing a menu into his hands. “Not that you actually need this, but there you go.” She hurried off to welcome the family that had just come in.
“So, what’s good?” Riley asked with a grin.
“Trust me,” Jason said, and put the menu to one side without even glancing at it.
“Always,” Riley said.
The word had a weight to it that heated Jason’s cheeks.
Riley had seemed a little cautious with him earlier, and Jason’s first thought was that he’d done something wrong.
But then Riley had mentioned their hike, with an odd tone in his voice, and he’d realized—for some reason, Riley felt self-conscious about what he’d told Jason.
Once it was clear Jason wasn’t going to say anything about it, Riley had stopped his slightly sharp glances at Jason, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And now, they were as they’d always been, except for an even greater warmth in Jason every time he looked at Riley.
“When did you learn how to cook?” Riley asked.
Jason fiddled with his silverware for an instant because he didn’t like thinking about the past. “When I left home, I didn’t have any skills,” he said eventually.
“The easiest jobs to score were bussing tables. I watched the cooks in the kitchens and I realized I wanted to do that—to take raw ingredients and make something with them that people would enjoy. There were a few people over the years who didn’t mind showing me, and I kind of picked it up as I went along.
I’d love to learn properly one day, to go to school and find out how I should be doing stuff. ”
“Do you think you will?” Riley asked.
Jason shook his head. “Couldn’t afford it,” he said.
“Anyway, I don’t want to be away from the pack for that long.
” He grinned suddenly. “And what would I do—open a French haute cuisine restaurant in Elk Ridge? I couldn’t charge people that sort of money for a meal, no matter how well it was cooked. ”
“You decided, honey?” Sam was back, looking breathless.
“Can I help with taking orders?” Jason asked, already half out of his seat.
She put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “You’re on a date,” she said firmly. “I’ll manage, and it’s not like people don’t understand. Now, what’s it to be?”
“Two lumberjacks with extra pancakes, please,” Jason said.
“Oh, good. I love a man in a plaid shirt,” Riley murmured, and Sam smacked the back of his head with a menu as she left.
“So how did you end up being a writer?” Jason leaned forward, eager to hear. “I’ve never met anyone who does that.”
Riley’s lips twisted suddenly, and the mischief that had been sparkling in his eyes disappeared. “I like traveling, and writing a travel guide seemed like a good way to finance it.”
“But how did you start writing?” Jason asked, fascinated. “I mean, did you just wake up one day and think you’d try it, or is it something you’ve always done?”
“Last resort,” Riley said, and laughed. He didn’t sound amused, though. “I’ve tried everything else under the goddamn sun and none of it’s worked,” he said in a rush, his voice bitter. “I figured I might as well be a failed writer, too.”
Jason felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He hadn’t read the signs and he’d fucking pushed Riley, when he knew only too well where his sore spots were. Leaning forward, he grabbed Riley’s hand. “You’re going to write a brilliant book.”
Riley’s gaze flicked up and his eyes were filled with misery. Then he sighed sharply, pulled his hand away from Jason and straightened in his seat. “Well, this is depressing for a Saturday morning. Should I bring something with me up to the ranch? Beer, wine, cowboy boots?”
Jason shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Just yourself,” he said, his fingers brushing Riley’s where they lay on the table. “That’s more than enough.”