Chapter 12
Ryder
“You’re up early,” Tiago says as he wanders into the kitchen the next morning. “Let me guess, you can’t stand being apart from your woman, so you’re heading into town to visit her at her bakery.”
I grin, not even bothering to deny it. “Yep. Then I have to be back here to get my stuff unloaded before they come to pick up the truck.”
“Ah. See? You should travel the country in an RV. Nothing to unpack.”
I shudder. My brother lives a nomadic life, traveling around the country in his motor home. He doesn’t even own a car. He finds a place he likes, stays for a while, creates masterpieces from anywhere he feels like setting up an easel, and sells his paintings to cover his expenses.
Tiago has been an artist since he was a little kid. His favorite medium is painting. And he looks the part. He has long dark hair that reaches his shoulders. He often wears it in a man bun. He marches to the beat of his own drum, and I’ve never had a problem with it. He’s four years older than me, and we’ve always gotten along.
“Have you talked to Mom and Dad yet?” I ask Tiago as I set my coffee mug in the sink. I’m afraid to do more than that and mess up Gretchen’s system in the kitchen. It’s early, so she’s not here yet.
Tiago winces. “No. I guess you haven’t either?”
“No. We should probably call them and tell them where we are.” I’m not looking forward to that.
Tiago rubs his temples. “I’ll call them this morning. I’m not sure how Dad is going to feel about us dropping everything and moving to Wilde. He left here for a reason, and though he never shared much with us, I’m betting it was a good reason.”
I nod. “Based on what we’ve learned, I bet Dad had a fairly normal childhood until his mother died. Sounds like that’s when things started to decline. Maybe Amos Wilde went downhill after his wife passed and never recovered. He chased off his own kids and left the town in a gradual decline.”
Tiago nods. “That’s my suspicion, too.”
I clap my hands together and grin. “Well, I’m going into town to flirt with my girl and win her parents over. I’ll be back in a while.”
Tiago laughs. “You’re serious about this girl.”
“Yep. She’s the one.”
“You’re twice her age.” He says this as a matter of fact without judgment.
“Yep. When you know, you know.” I shrug.
“Did you move all your stuff upstairs into the pink room?”
I chuckle. “I did. She picked it out.”
Tiago laughs harder and wipes tears from his eyes. “You’re really whipped.”
“Not going to deny it. I’m claiming the room next to it, also. Maybe I should put my name on a sticky on the door in case a cousin shows up and decides to stake their claim.”
“You want two rooms?” Tiago stares at me, confused.
“Yep.”
He starts laughing. “Let me guess. Your biological clock started ticking.”
“Yep.” I grin. I don’t give a fuck if he thinks I’m funny. “You just wait. When you meet the right woman, your clock will tick, too. You’re older than me.”
He groans. “I think I’ll move into my RV if you two are going to play kissy face all over the house. If you’re going to rock that pink bed against the wall all night, it’ll probably collapse.”
I ignore his comment, wave at him, and leave the house.
It’s a fifteen-minute drive into town. My grandfather really did like living apart from the town he founded. I wonder why he built his estate so far away. I wonder which came first—the town or the estate.
I easily locate Claire’s parents’ business: Kennett’s Bakery. As I park on the street, I find myself nervous like a teenager. I haven’t been nervous about a woman in two decades, but I’ve never met one who meant as much to me as Claire, nor have I had to meet her parents.
A bell rings over the door as I enter the shop. Two old gentlemen are sitting at a window table, sipping coffee. I get the feeling they do this every day. They look comfortable, but they eye me suspiciously, which isn’t a surprise. I doubt many strangers come into the bakery.
There’s a good chance they suspect who I am, though, and I smile and nod in their direction before approaching the counter.
A woman behind the impressive display of baked goods has her back to me, but she quickly turns around. After a slight hesitation, she gives me a warm smile. “You must be Ryder.”
Blessed angels. Whatever Claire told her mother didn’t make the woman want to stab me. At least, I assume this is Claire’s mother. I extend a hand. “Ryder Wilde.”
She wipes her palm on her apron and reaches for mine. “Joyce Kennett.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
She releases my hand and waves hers dismissively. “Please, call me Joyce.”
This is going well.
Joyce turns toward a door that leads to the kitchen and calls out, “Roy, Ryder is here.” Apparently, they were expecting me. Where’s Claire?
A man I assume is Claire’s dad, emerges through the door and comes around the counter. His brow is furrowed. He’s slightly more skeptical of me than his wife, but he’s smiling as he offers his hand.
“Ryder Wilde,” I repeat for his benefit.
“Roy Kennett. My daughter speaks highly of you.”
I smile. “Good. I’m rather fond of her.” That’s an understatement.
Roy nods over his shoulder. “Come on back to the kitchen.”
I’m kind of surprised by this, but I follow him.
There’s a small table with three chairs along the wall. Roy points toward it. “Sit. Have you had breakfast?”
“No, sir.”
“Roy,” he says.
I’m slightly unraveled by this experience, but it’s necessary. Where is Claire? I take a seat.
“Can I make you a breakfast sandwich? Anything you don’t like?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you. I’m not picky.”
“Claire ran upstairs when she saw you pull up,” he tells me with a wink. “I assume she’s primping.”
I chuckle. This is surreal. Roy is being so direct with me.
Joyce opens the door and leans into the kitchen. “Did you offer him breakfast?”
“Yes, dear. Working on it now,” Roy responds with a loving smile.
“Oh, good.” Joyce returns to the front.
Roy bustles around at the grill, cracking eggs and flipping bacon. He opens a croissant and toasts it against the grill.
A door on the other side of the room opens, and Claire rushes in, winded. “Oh, hi. You’re here.” She tries to sound nonchalant as though she had no idea I arrived. I don’t call her out on it because she’s adorable, and I’m speechless as I look at her. Her hair is down in long waves, draping over both shoulders. She’s wearing slightly more makeup than yesterday. Mascara and lip gloss, at least. Her jeans hug her body deliciously, and she has on another tank top like the one she wore yesterday. This one is red.
The only thing out of place is the cardigan she’s wearing on top of her tank top. It’s fucking hot out today and even hotter here in the kitchen. Why the hell is she wearing a sweater?
I stand and hold out a hand. When she sets hers in mine, I pull her close and give her a brief kiss. I told her I would. I’m confident her father isn’t going to have a fit. I missed the hell out of her. I’m not going to hold back my affection and pretend what we have is casual. She might not fully believe me, but I want her parents to know I’m serious.
She’s even more flustered when I release her lips. I keep a hand on the small of her back as I pull out a chair and then push her up to the table when she sits.
I catch her father’s expression in my peripheral vision. He’s grinning. There is a God.
I lean down and whisper in her ear, “You cold, baby?”
She shrugs. “I’m fine,” she murmurs.
As I resume sitting, I eye her speculatively. She doesn’t meet my gaze. In fact, she fidgets with the salt and pepper on the table as though they need straightening. Something’s up with her, and it has nothing to do with her parents.
Her mother returns. “Goodness, where are my manners? Can I make you a coffee, Ryder?”
“That would be lovely, Joyce. Thank you. Black is fine.”
Joyce nods and returns to the front.
Roy sets a plate in front of me. On it is the most delicious-looking breakfast sandwich, and it’s still steaming.
“Thank you. That looks amazing.”
Claire sits taller and looks at me, finally. “My father makes a mean sandwich.”
I lift it and take a bite, moaning around the flavor.
Roy sits in the open chair. “Claire told us a bit about the will and what your plans for the town might be.”
I nod as I swallow my bite. “Yes. I think it’s best if my brother and I meet with the town and hear everyone’s concerns. It seems as though some things need to be dealt with immediately. Tiago and I want to know what those are and address them.”
“Is it true that there are funds available that are separate from your inheritance?”
“Yes. I don’t have a grasp on how much, but I get the feeling that it is more than enough. Are there some older folks around who might be able to make sense of what happened with my grandfather and when?”
Roy chuckles. “Plenty, and I’m sure they have stories to tell.”
“That might help.”
Roy leans his elbows on the table. “Don’t your parents know more than anyone, Ryder?”
I shrug. “Probably, but my father never spoke much about why he left town. None of his siblings did, either. It’s like they made a pact to walk away and never speak of their lives here. Tiago and I haven’t even told our parents we’re here yet.”
Roy nods slowly, but he’s frowning. “That’s sad.”
“Yes. I never realized there was much to tell. Kids have disagreements with their parents, leave home, and don’t go back. But this seems bigger than that.”
“I agree.” Roy stands and pats Claire on the shoulder. “I better get back out front to help your mother. Take your time, Claire. The early rush is over.”