Chapter 25 Ryder
RYDER
Ispend three days in bed with Eve while she recovers, the storm raging outside.
Although I hate that she’s sick, I don’t hate that we have this time together.
Because while there are multiple times I want to kiss her and tug her underneath me, I grab onto the little nuggets of knowledge I learn about her that I’d otherwise never know.
Like how when she was little, her grandmother would jokingly put a dot of moisturizer on both their noses for a fast recovery—and it wasn’t until a few years ago that she realized her grandmother was just making sure her nose didn’t get too dry.
Or that she loves the feeling of thunder because it’s like a reminder that we’re all just little gremlins taking up space in mother nature’s world.
That sometimes she feels like she’s not up to the task of taking care of the sunflower farm because she feels like the person who does that has to be happy all the time, and that she wouldn’t consider herself a sad person, but one with a wide range of emotions that are not easily expressed through flowers.
I learn that she likes sleeping with one foot outside the covers.
That she thinks snacking is more fun when you can have one bite of a million different things, rather than all the bites of one thing.
That she knows exactly what’s happening in Schitt’s Creek even when you think she’s not paying attention whatsoever.
That she melts into a little puddle the second anyone does something for her, despite insisting that she can do it all herself.
That she shows love with glares and goading, and that the second she knocks you with her elbow, it’s a stamp of approval on your general existence.
I spend three days in bed with Evie Harper, and by the time I wake not to a sneeze or a sniffle, but her gentle smile, wide eyes watching me, I feel like I’ve learned all of the little things you learn about someone when you’ve found your person and they’ve found theirs too.
“You snore,” she accuses, her voice soft.
“So do you.”
Her nose crinkles. “I do not!”
“You sure as hell do,” I say, turning and pulling her close. “It’s cute though. Like the sound a baby lawn mower would make.”
“Oh!” She shoves my arm lightly as she turns over, and I take the opportunity to tug her in close again, my nose grazing the skin of her neck and inhaling the scent of her soap that still clings to her after a late shower last night.
She’s in a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top—a very similar outfit to the one she wore underneath her sweats and overalls.
Except now that she’s feeling better—the right amount of color in her cheeks and a little bit of energy in her limbs—they look a lot different to me. I can feel each of her curves against me, the warmth of her body as she presses herself against me.
“Yeah, well, you sound like a full-grown tractor trailer,” she grumbles, but I hardly hear her over the feel of her hip underneath my palm.
“Honk, honk,” I joke, leaving a small kiss at the base of her neck.
And of course, her phone chooses that moment to ding. Her friends have been checking up on her constantly, texting and calling to make sure she has everything she needs even though she repeatedly tells them that I’ve been taking care of her.
And I kind of love that she’s not afraid to name me as Caretaker of the Sick.
She props herself up on her elbow to grab it from the nightstand next to her, and I take the opportunity to sit up against the headboard.
My mind was getting a little carried away, anyway, having her pressed against me and suddenly feeling so much better, but now is not the time to be making moves on her.
Even if she's healthy now, there’s no saying what sort of time she needs to feel like herself again.
Especially considering there’s a good chance she’s not just recovering from a cold, but burnout too.
She snorts as she checks her messages. “Izzy is very glad to know I’m feeling better, but she would really like to know whether she can tell people we’re having a party tonight.”
“What?” I ask, wondering what sort of information I’m missing to make this all make sense.
Eve rolls onto her back, her head pressing up against my side as she holds her phone above her face.
“The Last Sunflower. We have a party every year at the end of the season. Easy way to say thank you to all of the employees, hand out bonuses, get a little drunk and silly and send everyone home feeling like they had a good season.” She texts Izzy back rapidly.
“I’m going to tell her I might not be up for it but they’re welcome to go on without me.
” She gives me a quick grin. “Maybe I’ll send you out to give everyone their bonuses. ”
“Whatever you need me to do, Evie,” I say as she hits send and drops her phone down to the bed. She sits up, grabbing a tissue from the TV tray next to her and blowing her nose.
When she’s done, she takes a deep breath in through her nose. “Wow.”
“Feeling good?”
She blinks, repeating her breath. “I’m not congested at all. I can breathe. I can talk. I’m not dribbling from anywhere.” She lets out a huff of a laugh. “Nurse Blackwell, you did a good job.”
I give as much of a bow as I can, all tangled up in her sheets. “It was an honor and a privilege.”
“Do you still feel okay?”
I nod, throwing my arms above my head to stretch and not at all oblivious to the way her eyes dip and snag around my waistband. “Guess a little bit of preventative medicine did the trick. Thank god, because something tells me I’m way better at nursing than you.”
“Oh please, I would nurse the fuck out of you.”
I snort. “Is that a promise?” I sniffle, clearing my throat overdramatically. “Because I’m really, you know, not feeling so great after all.”
She rolls her eyes, sitting up and stretching just like I did. Her shorts are bunched up around her hips and her shirt rises, exposing that perfect stomach.
Shamelessly, I stare. She’s been a puddle of mucus and blankets over the past few days, and seeing the brightness return to her has all sorts of inappropriate thoughts running through my mind.
My eyes are glued to the curve of her waist, the way her back arches to her ass.
Her hair is tied up on her head, but little tendrils escape around her face as she turns it to the ceiling.
She pushes her chest out as she stretches, and I want nothing more than to lift her shirt and feel her skin against my palms.
I look away, adjusting myself so she can’t see what she does to me.
Keep it together, Ryder.
She checks her phone as she stands, rolling out her neck and stretching each arm across her body.
She laughs as she locks the phone and tosses it back on her bed.
“Party is tonight. Izzy is taking care of all the setup, so people might be running in and out today. And she says she’s stopping by beforehand to make sure I’m not faking.
” She snorts. “Better practice my sniffle.”
“Why would you pretend to be sick for your own party?”
She sighs, sitting down on the bed again. “Because I’m tired. I just got over being sick and if I’m being totally honest, what I’m looking forward to most is showering and getting right back in bed.”
While I trust that she’s doing her best to take care of herself, I have to wonder whether this is the sickness talking or her burnout. If Izzy has already threatened to drag her to the party, it doesn’t seem all that unlikely that perhaps she's been caught faking before.
And it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if this is Izzy’s way of trying to ease Eve’s existence after a long, hard season.
I move closer to her and pull her back into the bed between my legs, just like we sat when I pulled her in from the storm.
“Don’t you think it might be fun to go, if you’re up for it? You’re likely not contagious anymore—and it’s outside anyway, right?”
She grumbles, moving like she’s going to stand. “Ugh, god, I haven’t even looked at the farm in days. I hope it’s not a mess.”
I grab her, keeping her on the bed with me. “Be my date to the party.”
She’s quick to answer. “Be my date to bed.”
I pause. “You make a very convincing argument.”
She raises an eyebrow, thinking she's won.
“And it also kind of makes me think you absolutely can handle a party.”
She huffs, crinkling her nose. “Dammit, that one backfired.”
“Come on. Go with me for an hour. Let’s have a drink and celebrate the end of a great season. All of your hard work and everyone else’s too. You deserve that.”
She rolls her eyes.
“They deserve that. Abby and Vic and everyone who works so hard for you.”
She flops facedown into bed. “I hate that you know me.”
And god, I can’t resist. I slap her ass because it’s there and it’s beautiful and I’ve touched it but I haven’t touched it like that and, fuck, do I want to.
She turns over, the hint of a dare in her eye as her leg brushes against mine.
And fuck, I’m not going to be able to get either of us out of this bed if I let things go any further.
So against every fiber of my being, I tear myself out of bed and stick myself in a cold shower.