Chapter 10 Ryker
RYKER
What the hell, brother? I was trying to catch you after practice.
Everything okay?
Emmie wants to have you and Delaney over for dinner.
Get in line.
What?
Nothing.
You doing okay?
I’m getting married and hopefully not going to jail.
Basically, living the dream, brother.
—Text from Maverick to Ryker
The gravel crunches under the Rover as I swing into the spot next to Mom’s little red Audi, my thumbs tapping restlessly against the wheel, not the least bit surprised she beat us here.
Eleanor Beneventi treats time like a weapon.
Five minutes early is on time.
On time is late.
And late is unacceptable.
I kill the engine and glance over at Delaney. Her fingers move anxiously to the high neck of her black, sleeveless sweater. Her gaze drifts past me, out over the vineyard. Row after row of grapevines stretch into the distance, glowing gold under the setting sun. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” I smile. Her ASL is getting better. Not perfect, but better. And damn if that doesn’t mean more to me than I want to admit. “It is.”
She turns back to me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Is your mom here?”
I nod toward the Audi. “Mom’s an if you aren’t five minutes early, you’re late type of person.”
“I wasn’t expecting her to be quite so . . . enthusiastic about this wedding.” Her shoulders sink back into the seat. “I spoke to her earlier today, and she sounded almost excited to show us everything.”
Because Mom’s already falling for Delaney. And I get it. Just looking at her now . . . the way the sunlight hits her face. It softens her. She’s beautiful in the most natural, unassuming way. No pretense. No ploys. Just her.
“You ready for this?” I ask and don’t move until she nods.
Then I’m out of the car, rounding the front, and opening her door, holding my hand out for her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“If it gets to be too much, tell me. We’ll leave.
No questions. No arguments.” I bend my knees, bringing us eye to eye. “All right?”
“Ryker . . .” she sighs, sliding her hand into mine and steps out.
“I’m not made of glass.” Her chin lifts, defiant and fierce.
Even now, after the hell she’s been through, I still see the woman I met last spring.
The one who gave me hell instead of falling all over me like most of the women I’ve met over the years. “I’m fine, and we’re doing this.”
“Yeah, I know.” But still . . . I don’t let go of her hand.
This is all so fucked. Six months ago, I couldn’t get Delaney Rousseau to go on a date with me.
How the fuck did we end up here? “Wait,” I say, tugging her gently before she can take a step toward the vineyard. “I’ve got something for you.”
Freckles scatter across her nose as it scrunches, suspicion written across her face when I pull the small black velvet box from my pocket.
“What is that?”
Okay, I wasn’t exactly expecting her to be excited, but I wasn’t expecting that level of revulsion either. But then again, I’m quickly learning Delaney Rousseau never does what I think she will, so I shouldn’t be surprised. “Olivia said you needed a ring.”
My heart beats like the ball’s about to snap on the first play of the game as I crack it open. “I figured it was about time I officially ask you to marry me.”
“Ryker . . .” Her voice raises, and her gold-flecked eyes lock on the diamond like it might explode in my hand. “That’s not a ring. That’s . . .” She gestures wildly, spiraling. “That’s the freaking Hope Diamond. It’s too much. I can’t—I can’t accept that.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.” Taking her hand in mine, I slide the brilliant-cut, colorless diamond down her finger and twist it in place.
It fits perfectly. Of course it does. I made damn sure it would.
I may have gone a little overboard, but it looks beautiful on her finger.
And that’s what I wanted. “I’m not taking it back. It’s yours.”
She stares at it, horror etched in her eyes like I’ve attached a literal ball and chain to her hand.
Got to say, this isn’t the reaction I ever imagined when I figured I’d propose to my future wife one day. Not that I’m some teenage girl who sat around daydreaming about it or anything, but I always knew I wanted a wife. A family. Something solid. Something real.
I want what my parents have.
What my brother has.
But the few times I’ve thought about it, it sure as shit didn’t look like this.
Even if the wife may have looked like Delaney once or twice.
“Ryker . . .” The warm breeze whips her hair into her face as her cheeks pink, and my God, my fiancée is so damn pretty.
Long black lashes frame gold-flecked eyes that refuse to look at me.
“Come on, Bambi. You already said yes. You told the detectives. You’ve said yes to the dress, according to your social media. If we’re doing this, we’ve got to play the part.”
Her lips part as her pulse quickens.
Electricity dances between us as I lift my hands slowly, giving her time to back away, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t back away. Doesn’t back down. She lets me gather her face in my hands. “And if you were mine, I’d want the whole damn world to know it. Consider that ring me telling the world.”
She sucks in a breath as her eyes darken.
“So yeah . . . Consider that ring me telling the whole world.” My thumb brushes along her cheek just under her stitches. “Consider it a claim.”
“A what?” she whispers, stepping closer instead of back.
“It was either that or a brand. I figured the ring would hurt less,” I tease and press my lips to her temple. “Come on, wife,” I murmur against her skin. “Let’s go find Mom before this wedding turns into a three-day event.”
“I’m not your wife yet,” she challenges with a pretty smile. “Husband.”
And why is that word one of the best I’ve ever strained to hear?
The crunch of the gravel fades under our steps as we make our way along the path.
Signs pointing us to the enormous barn apparently called The Arbor at Cherry Creek.
It’s a massive, rustic, reclaimed wooden barn with wisteria climbing the columns of the wraparound porch like something out of a movie.
Delaney’s hand tightens in mine, and I squeeze back. “We good?”
She doesn’t look at me, but her grip relaxes, and she nods.
The front doors swing open, and Mom steps out, beaming. Tailored cream slacks, a black silk blouse, and her long hair pulled back. Her gaze lands on me first, then softens. “Delaney,” she says, stepping forward. “You look beautiful.”
Delaney freezes for half a second, then recovers because she’s that good. I get the feeling she’s had too much experience curating her reactions to people. “Thank you so much for setting this all up, Lenny.”
Mom wraps her in a gentle hug before pulling back and taking Delaney’s hand in hers. Her brows lift, and her eyes come to mine. “Oh, Ryker.”
Shit. This could be bad.
“It’s beautiful,” she tells Delaney, softer now. “Truly.”
My wife-to-be looks down at her finger again, like she still doesn’t quite believe she’s wearing an engagement ring.
“He did well,” Mom murmurs.
“He did,” Delaney agrees, blowing out a breath.
“Well, okay then,” Mom says, already turning toward the barn. “I hope you’re ready because we have so much to go over.”
Of course we do.
“Ryker, Delaney, this is Ryleigh Chase. The event planner for Cherry Creek.” Mom steps aside, and Ryleigh smiles.
“It’s so nice to meet you both.” She opens her arms, guiding us toward a table. “I’m so glad you’ve chosen Cherry Creek. We’ve got a lot of work to do to hit your timeline though.”
I pull out a chair for Delaney at a large round table covered in books and fabric samples, and the look she gives me is half plea, half warning.
Got it. Don’t leave her alone.
With a quick nod, I drop into the seat next to hers and take her hand back in mine.
“Maybe we start small,” I cut in as Ryleigh opens the first binder, hopefully stopping whatever color-coded nightmare she’s about to drop on us. Mom’s brows lift as Ryleigh’s narrow, but I don’t give either of them time to argue as I turn to Delaney. “Is there anything you know you want, Lane?”
“I’d like to design the flowers myself,” she says softly, looking right at me. “Wildflowers. Pinks and purples and blues and yellows. I’d like everything else neutral.”
“Does that work for everyone?” I ask both women before looking at Mom, who looks surprisingly thrilled.
Ryleigh closes the binder. “That’s perfect. Are we doing a rehearsal dinner the night before?”
I look to Mom, who nods. “Looks like we are.”
Delaney exhales slowly, then turns to the table. “Okay, what else?”
We spend the next hour going over the remaining options line by line.
The band.
The food.
The timing.
Lexie will do the desserts and cake.
Love In Bloom will do the flowers.
Delaney and her bridesmaids will get ready here at the bed and breakfast.
The ceremony will be in the vineyard and the reception in the barn.
And it will all happen in three weeks.
Delaney
The apartment feels smaller tonight. Not in a bad way. Just . . . full. Like Ryker’s presence here fills the space in a way I wasn’t ready for. I guess maybe it’s the vineyard. The reality of what we’re doing settling in deeper than I expected.
Or who knows . . . maybe it’s just him.
He drops his keys in the small ceramic dish on the kitchen counter, the soft clink echoing louder than it should. Tori trots over immediately, her tail swaying with her back legs like she’s shaking her ass just for him. I used to be her favorite person, but I think her loyalty may be wavering.
“Hey, girl.” He crouches down and scratches behind her ears. “Do you want a cookie?”
I watch him for a second. His shoulders loosen. His whole body softens. And I’m not sure why, but it does something to me seeing him this way—with my pig, in my space.