Chapter 22
FAYE
The low sun paints the sky in orange and pink, descending behind the trees in a slow burn that should be restful. But I’m the opposite of calm.
What do I wear to meet Ryder without announcing my new motto has become save a horse, ride a cowboy?
My room looks like a clothing store exploded on my bed. Discarded options are piled three deep, casualties of my spiraling indecision.
I fling another sweater onto the mountain of rejected clothes—too formal. Then a sundress—trying too hard. A pair of skinny jeans and a blouse—still too uptight.
Panic rises at the back of my throat. I’ve spent twenty minutes tearing through outfits and hating every single one of them.
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes.
This is ridiculous. It doesn’t matter what I wear. Either he wants me or he doesn’t. A skirt or pants won’t change his mind. I might as well go as myself. This isn’t a casual summer fling that’ll be over by fall.
And I want it to be real. With Ryder, I want to be the me that eats nachos in bed and then has a fight with the crumbs. The version that doesn’t smooth the edges to be easier. Or that is guarded, poised, careful, proper. I’ve been that person in the past and ended up miserable.
I turn back to the bed, surveying the damage.
At the bottom of the pile, half-buried under a cardigan I bought two years ago and never wore, I spot my favorite oversized Super Mario T-shirt. Faded from a hundred washes and soft as butter.
Perfect. Nothing is more me than this.
I grab it, pull it on over my head, and pair it with light leggings and a baggy gray cardigan.
I catch my reflection in the mirror.
This is me: comfortable. A little quirky, definitely not trying too hard.
I lift my arm and sniff my armpit. Despite having just taken a shower, the closet overhaul hasn’t helped. Body odor is where I draw the chill line. I dart to the bathroom and snatch up the deodorant, swiping on a second layer for good measure. Then I study my hair. Do I leave it loose?
Ryder seems to like the high ponytail. And I want him to pull on it again.
I loop a scrunchy around my hair, securing it on top of my head in a tight hold.
Out the window, the light is fading fast. I need to go, now.
I don’t even take my keys; I bolt out the door without locking it behind me.
I hop down the path from my cottage to the lake as my mind spins in frantic circles. What will he say? What will I say? I hope I won’t word-vomit a novel’s worth of mortifying feelings and ruin everything before it starts.
I jog a few more steps, and the tree line opens up.
The lake spreads out before me in shades of deep blue and burned orange.
The dock stretches into the water, and at the start of the pier…
Ryder is leaning against the railing, one boot hooked on the lower board, shoulders easy, eyes on the horizon.
He has changed since this afternoon. The gray T-shirt from the farm is gone, replaced by a dark blue flannel with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. No baseball cap. His hair is combed back, still damp at the ends like he just showered. In the warm light of the dying sun, Ryder is breathtaking.
He turns as if sensing me.
And whatever valiant effort my heart was making not to throw itself at him fails spectacularly.
His smile is brighter and freer than I’ve ever seen it, stripped of all taunts and all caution, leaving just unfiltered joy.
“You came,” he says.
The relief in his voice cracks my chest open.
I walk toward him. “You left me on a cliffhanger this afternoon.”
I’m not sure if he gets the bookish joke, but my brain forgets to care as he pushes off the railing and closes the distance between us.
He catches my wrist and pulls me to him. My other palm lands flat on his chest, right over the rapid thud of his heart. He loops the hand he’s holding behind his neck as his other arm comes around my waist, solid and possessive.
“I would’ve been crushed if you hadn’t come,” he whispers.
I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you.”
I must wince or make a face to give away my disappointment, because he tilts his head, his smile turning playful.
“Not interested in talking, Miss Rose?”
I open my mouth to respond, but words won’t come. My nervous system is caught somewhere between the beat of his heart under my palm and the way his thumbs are drawing slow circles on my hips.
The mental fog worsens as he leans in and brushes his nose against my neck.
“Don’t worry. If we talk half as well as we dance,” he whispers against my skin, “we can skip to the good part later.”
A shiver runs through me, head to toe. My knees buckle, and his hands tighten on my hips, steadying me.
If he keeps this up, I won’t be able to get a word out. Not coherently, anyway. My vocabulary has been reduced to whimpers.
Ryder pulls back, tilting his head in a question. “Come sit on the dock with me?”
I nod because words are still beyond my reach.
He takes my hand, the one that was on his chest, and threads his fingers through mine, leading me down the pier to where the wooden planks end and the water begins.
We sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge, suspended over the lake.
I concentrate on the view. The sun has almost disappeared now, and only a thin line of gold clings to the horizon. Above it, the sky deepens from purple to blue, stars pricking the darker stretch. The lake mirrors it all, making the world twice as big.
I can feel Ryder’s eyes on me. The press of his attention.
“I’m into you,” he says.
I turn to look at him, shocked by the directness. By the simple, unadorned honesty.
“But…” he continues, and my stomach drops.
Here it comes. The reason this can’t work. The inevitable letdown.
I brace myself.
“My life isn’t entirely my own,” Ryder says, his focus dropping to our joined hands. “I have Rhys to care for. And he has to factor into my decisions.”
“How?” I ask gently.
He meets my gaze head-on. “I went to therapy for a solo session. To ask Rhys’s psychologist how I should approach a new relationship in my life.”
My eyebrows lift. He did that? For me? “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, a little self-deprecating. “Dr. Agard said it doesn’t matter how enamored I am with a woman. I need to take things slowly for Rhys’s sake.”
The word “enamored” catches behind my ribs, loops back, refuses to let go. Everything else loses meaning. And after weeks of wanting to, I give myself permission to brush aside that rebellious lock of hair that always falls into his eyes. It’s soft under my fingers as I smooth it in place.
Ryder stills. He looks like a big cat ready to head-bump my hand.
“Are you enamored with me, Ryder Evans?” I ask, lowering my arm. He catches my wrist, guiding it upward until his lips graze my knuckles. The contact unleashes tiny sparks that skitter over my skin, rippling through me.
“I thought that was clear,” he murmurs.
I shake my head. “No. You’ve been sending me mixed signals the entire time.”
He laughs, the sound low and a little rueful. “There’s nothing mixed about how I feel.” His grip on my hand tightens. “From the day we met, you’ve lived in my head, Faye. I haven’t thought straight since.”
Guess I’m no longer Miss Rose. Nor I’ll ever be again.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss your pouty mouth from the first dressing down you gave me,” he continues, his eyes locked on mine. “And I’ve imagined doing to you everything that Ashren does to Sarina. And more.”
Every inch of me goes warm at once. I take my hand back to bury my face in them while I die of embarrassment.
“Oh my gosh,” I groan. “You’ve read my fairy smut?”
“I’m on book three of the series.” Even if I’m not looking at him, I hear the grin in his voice. “I find the material very instructive.”
I peek through my fingers. Ryder is watching me with that devastating smile, eyes crinkling with amusement and a darker heat.
Then his expression shifts. The teasing fades, turning into a more serious vulnerability.
“How do you feel about me?” he asks.
Ah, we’re no longer playing games. This is the boss level.
I drop my hands from my face.
“Your mating dance worked,” I admit. He’s already read my fairy smut; the bar for dignity is underground. I might as well confess everything. “I’ve been pretty obsessed with you since you apologized at the Moonshine.”
His smile returns, slow and satisfied.
“But you were the parent of a student,” I continue. “And I couldn’t go there.”
Ryder leans in, eyes searching mine. “And now?”
The question carries the weight of everything we’ve been circling for weeks.
I thought I was ready to answer. But the words catch in my throat.
This is the moment when I choose. When I decide if I’m brave enough to take this leap with a man who has a son and a farm and a life that’s complicated and messy and nothing like the safe, solitary existence I wanted to build for myself.
But staying alone forever would only be another victory for my ex. Shane stole enough from me. He robbed me of everything that mattered before. I won’t let him take my future, too.
Ryder waits patiently, giving me the space to decide.
That patience shatters my last paper-thin barrier, and an unexpected clarity sweeps over me.