Chapter 20
Twenty
Today is the third time recently that I have woken up in a tangle of limbs.
But who’s counting? Ryan is breathing softly with his head on the pillow behind mine.
With his arm draped around my waist and his knee resting between my thighs, he couldn’t get any closer to me if he tried. Well, I guess that’s not exactly true.
We never start this way. There’s always a respectful distance between us when we fall asleep. But sometime in the night, he finds me and pulls me close. I should probably question it, but I won’t. I’m not complaining. A girl could get used to this.
The last man I slept beside was Braden, and he was never a cuddler. He frequently passed out on his recliner in the living room. If he made it to bed at all, he slept on his side with his back to me. I’m not sure when it started or if it was always that way.
But all good things must come to an end.
I should go home—alone. Ryan has been stuck with me since Friday night, and I’m sure he must have things to do.
He seems like the kind of man who would have a regular Sunday reset to get ready for the week ahead.
I feel bad that I have already taken up so much of his time.
Hopefully, he didn’t cancel any plans to look after me.
“I can hear you thinking,” he mumbles into the back of my neck, his voice gruff with sleep.
Wiggling to dislodge myself, I feel him release me and move back, so I can roll towards him.
“Hi,” I whisper, peering into his sleepy eyes. They appear more blue than grey in the early-morning light. Fine laugh lines crease the corners. His hair is messy from sleep, and his dark scruff is longer than I have ever seen it. How does he wake up so ridiculously handsome?
“Hi,” he murmurs back, reaching up and softly wiping the bangs from my face. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning my cheek into his palm. “How about you?”
“Really good. Better than I have in a long time, to be honest.”
We lie there for a moment, watching each other silently. I don’t know what is going on between us, but I like it, even if it’s scary. If someone had told me a month ago I would wake up today in Ryan’s bed, I would have laughed in their face. But somehow it feels natural—right.
“I should go home soon.” I pout. “I have laundry and stuff to catch up on before work next week. You probably have a lot to do…”
Part of me wishes he would ask me to stay or come back to my place so we can spend more time together. “Sure,” he says, rubbing his eyebrow. “Before I drop you off, do you want to make a quick trip to town and get something from Maggie’s? I could use a cup of coffee.”
“Really?” I roll my eyes towards the ceiling. “I would never have guessed that about you. But I find it hard to believe that you don’t own a coffee pot.”
“It’s too early for your sass, Trouble. I have a coffee pot, but I enjoy coffee at Maggie’s more.”
“Is that so? Funny, when I said I enjoy Maggie’s coffee more, you gave me a hard time and bought me a coffee maker. Double standard much?” I tease.
“You win.” He raises his palms and shakes his head. “But what do you say? Do you want to go into town?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” he asks quietly, twisting a loose piece of my hair around his finger.
“Much. I’m sure your TLC and sleep have made a huge difference in my recovery time.”
“Admit it. You like my TLC.”
“I could get used to it,” I admit.
Climbing out of bed, I glance back to where he’s still lying on his back, with his hands behind his head.
The blanket sits low on his hips, and his solid chest and abs are on full display.
He is lean from running, but I can still see the definition of his six-pack.
Despite his coffee addiction and existing mostly on takeout, he looks amazing.
I wonder if the other restaurants in town make him custom meals or just Aunt Maggie.
“You’re staring.” He winks. And there are those dimples again. Girl, get yourself together.
“I can’t help myself, Pretty Boy. You’re nice to look at.” Returning his grin, I say, “I’m going to freshen up and then we can leave.”
There is something in his eyes calling me back to bed, but I don’t want either of us to confuse our recent forced proximity for something else.
Less than an hour later, we’re driving down the main street towards the bakery.
It’s officially stick season in Ontario.
That in-between time when all the leaves have fallen from the trees, leaving bare branches before winter covers everything in snow.
Though it’s dull and grey, I don’t mind.
It’s the quiet time before the holidays begin.
I guess that’s why I’m surprised to see the number of cars that line both sides of the street on a Sunday morning.
There is no parking in front of Maggie’s, so Ryan parks in the lot beside the bank.
It’s only a short distance, but there is a nip in the air.
I’m glad Ryan insisted I wear one of his hoodies.
He gave me one on the day he rescued me in the rain that I should probably give back.
Or not. One can never have too many hoodies.
He’s looking hot in black sweatpants and a grey hoodie.
He threw a beanie on his head so he wouldn’t have to style his hair.
Though he always looks great, I’m really enjoying this casual thing he’s doing lately.
Thank God his pants aren’t grey, or the good women of Emerley would trip over each other to see what he’s packing.
I couldn’t help but notice when he was wearing pyjama pants earlier. Woah.
Climbing out of the truck, Ryan meets me at my door. Placing his hand on my lower back, he guides me through the parked cars onto the sidewalk.
“So, this is why you can’t be bothered to call or text me back.”
I startle at the sound of Braden’s gruff voice.
We haven’t seen each other face-to-face in months.
All communication has been through text messages and e-transfers when he needs money.
I set up automatic withdrawals for the apartment and truck because I don’t trust him to use the money for its intended purposes.
“Braden. Hi,” I stammer, glancing towards Ryan, who’s standing beside me with his arms crossed, glaring.
His blond hair is a little longer than the last time I saw him, and he has grown a beard that’s perfectly trimmed.
He’s wearing new boots and clean blue jeans.
The collar of a black-and-grey plaid flannel peeks from beneath his warm coat.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but he looks…
good. Better than someone who’s so down on his luck.
“Well, are you going to answer my question?” his voice rumbles.
“What was the question?” I crinkle my forehead and bite my lip.
“Are you avoiding me because you’re hooking up with this guy now?” He exhales and shakes his head. “After all these years together, this is what you do to me.”
I can feel Ryan tense beside me, but he remains silent, trusting me to handle this situation myself. I harness his confidence and straighten my spine.
“We broke up months ago. I’m not doing anything to you,” I say firmly.
“You know you always come back, Becky,” he says smugly. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“No, Braden, I won’t.” Pursing my lips, I shake my head. “When I left in the spring, I made it clear that we were finished for good.”
I don’t want to have this conversation on the street, in front of Ryan, but it needs to be said. I’ve put it off for too long already.
“As soon as the lease is up on the house, I’m done subsidizing your life.”
“Is that right?” He huffs out a quick laugh.
I see Ryan dip his chin slightly from the corner of my eye, giving me his silent support and the courage to continue.
“I’m taking the truck back. You have a few months to figure it out, and then that’s it.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Beck,” he growls. “You know I use the truck to get back and forth to work. I stayed in this shitty town because of you. It’s the least you can do.”
I met Braden a few years after I moved to Emerley.
He was charming and a flirt. I enjoyed the positive attention, and we had fun whenever we hung out.
Falling into a serious relationship with him felt natural—the next step.
However, when we moved in together, all the charm and fun disappeared.
His mood was unpredictable. One minute he was loving and affectionate.
He would shower me with praise. Next, he was angry, and I couldn’t do anything right.
So once again I found myself walking on eggshells in my own home.
He never laid a hand on me, but he regularly cleared the kitchen table with his arm and slammed doors if he felt he wasn’t getting his own way.
Why did I ever believe I could have a real future with him?
He blames me for all his problems. Though he grew up here, I was the one who wanted to stay. He promised things would be better if we moved somewhere new. I wasn’t willing to leave my friends, who are like family, Aunt Maggie, and the tattoo studio for him.
I loved the idea of travelling and hosting a pop-up shop a couple of times a year as long as Emerley remained our home base—somewhere permanent I could return to. I thought it might be a suitable compromise but look how that turned out.
I hoped that when I ended our relationship, he would eventually leave without me. Surely the woman he was talking to online would take him in—gross. But I couldn’t be so lucky. I’m his human ATM. Why would he give that up?
“You don’t need me to leave. Go if you aren’t happy living in Emerley. Nobody is forcing you to stay.”
“What, you think you’re better than me now?
I don’t think so.” He’s beginning to raise his voice.
Not enough to cause a scene, but enough for people to notice.
“Look at you whoring yourself out and doing the walk of shame on a Sunday morning. You didn’t even bother to fix your face and hair,” he huffs, shaking his head.