18. This Town
18
THIS TOWN
NIALL HORAN
She was a glutton for punishment.
That was the only possible explanation for why Ginny wrestled with and chased Ryan across the football field with the rest of the able-bodied team for a solid twenty minutes after their epic loss, laughing like a hysterical woman when he’d get too close, or loosing her breath when his hands gripped her waist or her hands, or when his fingers twisted in one of her curls. The air was cooler, but the tension between Ginny and Ryan felt electric and alive.
She should have pulled him aside and confessed the truth the second the game had ended. Or the moment he’d handed her the game ball. But she didn’t.
Nope.
Instead, Ginny got caught up in the magic of the night. In the excitement emanating from their friends and family despite the loss. She was completely dizzied by the way Ryan would catch her gaze and give her that small, tilted, delicious grin of his when someone congratulated her on a job well done or commented on the team’s matching socks. Like she and Ryan had a shared secret, all their own.
That same masochism was entirely the culprit for why Ginny, without any second thoughts, accepted Ryan’s offer to drive her over to Griffin and Caroline’s house for a Friday night bonfire. A twenty minute drive down country roads with the windows down and the radio up, and Ginny and Ryan singing every word to every song, wrapped in his oatmeal cookie fresh outta the oven smell she loved so much. Only when Ryan sang the old twangy words to a country classic did Ginny think of him as Melody Man and wondered what it would be like to talk about the music and lyrics they both loved, openly. Only then did she feel the pang of disappointment in herself. And then, resounding conviction churned in her spirit when Ryan sang his—Melody Man’s—favorite worship song, Firm Foundation, and Ginny had to stop herself from referencing one of his earlier letters to her.
“Hey Ry,” she said, adjusting the music so that he might hear her better.
“Hmm?” he answered, still humming.
“I was wonderin’ if…” Ginny inhaled. “I was wonderin’ what ever happened with your mystery girl. If you still had those… feelings?” What are you doing, Ginny?!
He tapped the steering wheel a few times. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Gin… I’ve been pretty confused for a while about her and about you. Not just since the other night.”
“When she didn’t show?”
Tell him. Tell him. Tell him! The words banged against Ginny’s beating heart.
“Yeah, but…” he continued, “I dunno. I was interested in her in some ways. And I felt like a jerk—like I was bein’ pulled in two directions. I mean… we kissed…”
“Smooched,” Ginny added, aiming for levity but not feeling it at all.
“Right. But even then, I was just unsure. Everything was just really unclear. I’m sorry if that hurts you to hear, because I know I already have—hurt you that is—but…”
“It doesn’t, Ryan,” she whispered, barely getting out the words through the emotion choking her. “I understand.”
More than you know, Melody Man.
Ryan pulled into Griffin and Caroline’s driveway and put the car in park. The yellow glow of garden lights strewn across their back patio could be seen from the front, and music played overhead. He turned to her, and Ginny watched something like pain cross his face. He pulled her hand into his and interlocked their fingers.
“Gin, don’t cry, please.” He swept a tear from her cheek with his thumb and left his hand there. But Ginny felt crushed. Crushed under the weight of her feelings for him and the shame she felt at not telling him the truth in the pavilion the week before. Not telling him every day they’d spent together. Not screaming it in the taut space between them now.
“Ginny… my friend… she gave me some advice not long ago, and it’s made me really focus on praying for God’s will for my life. And it's you who’s been at the center of those prayers, Gin. Not a girl I haven’t met. Not some ideal in my head. I haven’t talked to her again, and I’m good with that. I want…” He let his thumb swipe across her cheek and she felt more tears spill.
What did he want? Ginny was going to burst.
She couldn’t do this anymore. “Ry–”
“I want to date you,” he blurted. Like it was a simple announcement.
I like Chick-fil-a. It's unseasonably warm this evening. Oh, I’d like to date you…
“You… what?”
He pinched her chin in his hand and brought her face closer. And Ginny, stunned senseless, could do nothing.
“Ginny…” He took a tenuous breath, as if he could say anything possibly more shocking than what he’d already declared.
“Virginia,” he whispered, so close to her mouth, Ginny felt his words rush across her lips. “ I would like to take you on a date. More than one, preferably. I… I want to spend more time with you. Just you and me. Please.”
He’d said her name. Virginia…
Ginny’s chin trembled in his grasp for all the wrong reasons, but Ryan drew her closer, bringing his lips to hers in a featherlight, tortuous kiss, letting his warmth linger against hers. Brushing his nose along the rim of hers and then kissing her again. It was the kiss she’d dreamt of. One she could write songs about for years to come. A kiss that would haunt her.
“Ryan, I—”
Someone pounded on the window of the car. “Leave room for the Holy Spirit, y’all!” Blaire shouted, pulling Ryan and Ginny apart as if they were teenagers caught canoodlin’.
Ryan grinned, and with a bashful flick of his eyes and shake of his head, he blew out a breath. “We should go.”
Ginny shook her head, still in shock. “Yeah. Um… Yes. I… Okay—”
“Can we talk more after? Later?”
“Yeah. Uh. Yes. I… I want to talk la… later,” she stuttered, barely looking at him. “Please.”
“Wow. Rare to see ya speechless, Gin.” Ryan chuckled and leaned in again, softly kissing her cheek. “Okay. It's a date.”
Ginny and Ryan joined the party. Ryan, jovial, but quiet, sauntered into a conversation with Ginny’s brothers-in-law, joking about one thing or another and jumping quickly into a debate over college football.
Ginny tried to have a good time. Tried to enjoy the night filled with s’mores and music and laughter. Tried listening to Blaire and her sisters discuss motherhood. But the fact that Ryan Hood had kissed the living daylights out of her a couple of yards away from where she stood kept her eyes shifting to his car. To the fire. To the sky filled with stars. Anywhere but at him.
Blaire disentangled herself from the group and waddled her way to Ginny, wrapping her arm around Ginny's waist. “So, you and Ry?” she said slyly.
“Hmmm?” Ginny questioned, conveniently shoving the better half of a s’more stuffed to the brim with double marshmallows—she was in crisis after all—into her mouth. “Don’tknowhatyoumean,” she mumbled with her mouth full.
“Oh, Virginia… that man was starin’ at you in every single photo I got for the time capsule. Every one of ‘em.” Blaire tskd tskd , tongue to her teeth. “And then you’re caught neckin’ in your sister’s yard, and you’re not even gonna fess up to it? Come on,” Blaire nudged her. “Spill. Are y’all together now? Is this finally happenin’? Am I finally gonna get to sing A Night to Remember at Ryan’s wedding?”
“High School Musical?” Ginny asked with very little surprise. Blaire was nothing if not consistent.
“‘Course. He’d hate it. And love it, ya know? So what’s the deal?”
Ginny felt suddenly hot and sick and shaky. “I, um…”
She noticed Lake take Georgia in his arms to sway with her under the stars, dancing to the music overhead but seeming to be in a world all their own. Griffin grabbed Caroline to join them. Ryan caught Ginny’s eye across the flames of the bonfire. His face glowed in its light and appeared far more intense than it had been in the car.
“Gin?” Blaire asked. “You okay?”
Ginny felt her temperature rise. She clenched her hands into fists, and Ryan began to step around the others dancing, making his way towards her. Intention clear.
She broke eye contact, feeling like a squirrel jumping in and out of traffic as her eyes jumped from person to person, looking for a way out. From Ryan to a confused Blaire to Chloe… Chloe who took one look at Ginny, beat Ryan to her side, and pulled her into a hug.
“Do you need to get outta here?” she asked, making it look as if she were greeting Ginny, and not rescuing her from her own cowardice.
Ginny could only nod. She sniffed, pulled away, and turned to Blaire. “I, um… Please tell my sisters I just wasn’t feelin’ well. I don’t wanna ruin the fun, but I… I have to go.”
She turned, with Chloe—keys in hand—and fled.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Chloe asked after a silent ride back to Good Start. One where Ginny had plenty of time to stew in the stream of awful choices she’d made.
“I did something really, really crappy, Chloe. Something I can’t take back, and I probably ruined exactly what I’ve wanted for years, because I wasn’t brave enough to just tell the truth.”
“And you can’t tell the truth now?”
“Oh, I can.” She wiped tears from her cheeks and looked up at her loft window where the lamp she’d left on glowed in the darkness. “I know I have to, and I intend to. It’s just big, and I'm… scared. I’m afraid I ruined things.”
Chloe hummed her agreement and to Ginny’s surprise, grabbed her hand like her sisters or Sadie would. “There’s never a wrong time to tell the truth, Ginny. Never anything you walk yourself into that the Lord—in His strength—can’t pull you out of. But I sure know how hard it can be to face something that feels insurmountable, and I hope you know you don’t have to walk through it alone.” She gave her hand a squeeze. “Why don’t I pray for you right now, and then we can meet up next week and talk. If you want? If you don’t want to, I’ll hand you an iced americano with one pump of pistachio syrup, a sprinkled cookie, and send you on your way.”
“I’d love that.”
“Good. Me too.”
“Do you have plans now? You could hang if you want?” Ginny offered, not entirely feeling like company but not necessarily wanting to go inside alone.
“Nah. I think you better take some time for yourself. But why don’t I check in on you in the mornin’? Y’all have the pumpkin patch pictures tomorrow, right?”
Ginny had forgotten all about their family photos, meaning Dakota and Sadie would be home tomorrow afternoon. “Yeah. The morning would be great. Thanks again, Chloe.”
“‘Course.” She smiled gently and then prayed for clarity and strength for Ginny in whatever it was she was facing. She didn’t ask for details or press for more information. She was simply there . Available and close. And because of that—knowing she could call Chloe, her sisters, Sadie, her parents or Dakota, or most assuredly, that she could approach Jesus one on one and know He was nearer than them all—Ginny didn’t feel alone as she entered her quiet studio.
She showered and dressed in her softest jammies, keeping the lights low and letting a Civil Wars record play softly in the small space. Just as she slipped under her favorite, coziest blanket on the couch, resigning herself to pray through the night, a knock sounded at the door.
Ginny smiled to herself, betting Chloe had decided to come up after all, and whipped open the door. “I didn’t think—”
Ryan stood toe to toe with her, hand frozen in the air, still wearing the fitted black joggers and purple-sleeved baseball tee he’d had on all night.
“Hi,” he said, concern etched across his face. “Blaire said you were sick, and I wanted to check in on you.”
“I, uh… I wasn’t… feeling well.” She fumbled with what to say, too caught up in Ryan’s scent and the way she didn’t know whether to jump into his strong arms or to confess everything, then and there, before another word was spoken between them.
“Are you okay now?”
She nodded, wordlessly.
Tell him. Ginny pumped herself up silently. Tell him now.
Before she could act, Ryan moved forward and tugged lightly on her wet curls. “Your curls drive me crazy. You’re… you’re so beautiful, Gin.”
My, my, my wasn’t Ryan Hood suddenly quite the talker tonight.
Tell him!
“I wanted to dance with you. At the wedding,” he confessed, kissing her cheek. “And tonight.” He kissed the other side.
“You did?”
“I really did. I’ve regretted not dancing with you so much. That night, I talked myself out of stealing you from Captain America—”
“Liam.”
“I don’t care what his name was Ginny. Only that he wasn’t me.” He took her arms and wrapped them around his neck and let his hands trail down the length of her sides, landing on her waist. “I wanted to dance then. I want to dance with you at Homecoming next week. And… tonight… I wanted to dance with you under the stars and in front of everyone tonight, Ginny, but you left, and I’m thinkin’ maybe we should rectify that right—”
He paused, looking up and somewhere behind her. “Is that… the Civil Wars?”
Ginny gulped. A giant air bubble lodged itself in her sternum. “Ryan, I… I need to talk to you.”
His grip on her loosened, and he stepped past, over the threshold to her apartment. “I can hear…. That’s… that’s a record.”
“Yeah. It is,” she said, admitting one tiny truth.
Ryan looked around the apartment with fresh eyes. “It’s clean in here. You… you’re neat,” he declared, like an accusation.
Her voice shook. “I…”
He walked tentatively towards the record player with Ginny at his heels and her hand around his wrist, hoping she might hold him back—protect him—from the hurt she was sure to impose. Ryan’s eyes skimmed the room until they landed on the friendship bracelet only a few feet away, laying on top of a stack of letters in Ryan’s handwriting.
Ryan’s hand shook as he picked up the letters, grasping them so tightly, the papers crinkled with the action. “You—”
“I wanted to tell you, Ryan. I’m so sorry… that’s why I—”
“It was you… You showed up… You let me think…” He dropped the papers on the table and briskly turned, taking a step away from her and disengaging himself from her grip. “You lied.”
“I’m sorry. If we could just talk, I’ll explain everything.” Rapid, hot tears fell down her cheeks. She grabbed for his hand—his arm—anything to keep him close, but Ryan whipped out of her reach.
He ran his hands through his hair as a sheen of moisture and emotion reddened his eyes. “I have to get out of here.”
“Wait! Ryan!” She chased after him. “Please, let’s talk.”
But without another word, Ryan turned his back on her and walked out of her loft, not bothering to slam the door or stomp down the stairs in retaliation. His silence speaking loud and clear.