Chapter 13 Ryan
“How’s the new junior chef working out?” I ask Nia, my sous-chef back in Chicago. She’s been running everything while I’m away, and normally, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, worrying about all the ways my kitchen will be run into the ground while I’m gone, but with her in charge, I know I have nothing to worry about.
“Slow. But he’s learning.”
“How many times have you made him cry?”
“Only three.”
I smile and switch my cellphone from the car speaker back to my phone as I pull up out front of June’s house on Friday morning. “Well, that’s an improvement.”
I cut the engine and look out my window. June’s not expecting me, so I don’t think she’ll be too happy to see my face. I’ve realized that she likes to be 100 percent in control of every aspect of her life. Which is why I make it my life’s mission to uproot her finely tuned plans.
“You’re coming back Sunday night, right?” Nia asks as I open my car door and get out.
I pause, taking in June’s white bungalow and teal front door. The wooden porch seat looks lonely. Sure, it has a sunshine-yellow pillow on it, making the whole scene look happy, but when I picture June sitting in that chair all by herself, I get the urge to drive straight to Home Depot and pick up another matching one to plop down right beside hers. I’ll put a dark-blue pillow on it. It’ll be my pillow.
I make a half-hearted grunt noise into the phone. “Yeah, Sunday.”
Nia laughs, misinterpreting the cause of my disgruntled sound. “I feel ya. Sunday is too many days away when you’re ready to get back to your kitchen. Don’t worry, though; I won’t let it burn down.”
Yeah, ’cause that’s really my problem: wanting to get back sooner.
I think if Nia called me tomorrow and said, So sorry, but I accidentally spilled gasoline all over the restaurant and then lit it up like the Fourth of July, I would only feel relief. What does that say about me?
Just then, movement catches my eye, and I see June’s front door open. She doesn’t see me across the street when she tiptoes out with bare feet to grab a package off the front porch. It’s only about fifty-five degrees outside, and her spaghetti-strap tank top and PJ shorts provide little in the way of warmth, so she crosses her arms across her chest and shuffles her feet quickly to retrieve the box by the stairs.
June is all curves, tan skin, and wild brown hair. She’s real and soft, and suddenly, I want to wrap a big parka jacket around her because I don’t want anyone else looking at her. Mine. Not sure when I became the jealous type, but here we are.
“Nia, I’ll call you back,” I say, keeping my eyes on June and ending the call before she replies. She’s going to add extra salt to my famous hollandaise sauce because she hates when I hang up on her like that.
June must have heard my voice, because when her hands land on the box, her eyes shoot up to me. And then she frowns, those brows pulling so tightly together they are practically touching. I smile and cross the street.
She backs toward her door, saying, “No, no, no! Why do you keep showing up at my house at the crack of dawn?”
“We need to go to the store to get the food for tonight. But, June”—I’m rushing up the front steps to catch her—“I swear, if you shut another door in my face . . .”
“Go to the store without me, Ryan!” She turns around quickly before I can look at her face.
June is the physical embodiment of Katy Perry’s song where I’m concerned. Hot and then cold. She’s telling me to get lost, but she leaves the door wide open after she storms inside. One minute she seems into me, texting me she was jealous of the girls I’d bring around in high school, and the next, she’s running away like I’m coming at her with fangs bared.
“I don’t want to go to the store without you,” I say, stepping through the front door and closing it behind me.
She turns around again and tries to dart to her room, but my voice stops her. “June! Wait. Please.” She slowly turns to face me, but zeroes in on the floor. Apparently, it’s the most interesting floor in the world, because she won’t turn her attention from it. “Look at me, June.”
“No.”
“Why? I don’t get why you’re so skittish around me sometimes.” I understand that there used to be bad blood between us, but that’s gone now, and I know it. We had a good time making donuts together on Wednesday. She smiled. We flirted. There’s a different reason she’s so hot and cold.
“Because you’re always showing up when I don’t want you to. Would it have killed you to give me even just a five-minute warning?”
“Surprise is the spice of life.”
She scoffs at my joke. “I disagree.” Now she’s shrinking—physically shrinking—under my gaze. Her shoulders are slumping in, and she’s crossing her arms and tucking her chin down. It’s so opposite from the strong June I know. “Are we done with this chat? Because I need to go.”
“Go where?”
“I don’t know, Cabo?”
“June.”
She finally looks at me—or rather, lets me look at her. Her eyes are literal daggers. “I just want to go put my makeup on, okay? Quit being such a jerk all the time.”
“I’m being a jerk? By trying to get you to look in my eyes instead of the floor?”
“You can clearly tell I don’t want to, and you’re pushing it! So yeah, that makes you a jerk.”
She stomps away, and I’m not too proud of it, but my eyes catch on her perfect butt for three full seconds before I go after her. Tiny pictures of Nick Lachey are printed all over her shorts, and he’s never looked so hot to me. “You don’t need makeup.”
A mirthless laugh escapes her. “Gosh, I hate hearing lines like that from men. They’re so untrue. You heard it in a romance movie, so you’re repeating it.”
“Not true. Stop walking for a second,” I say, but she doesn’t even slow a bit. I’m forced to jog to catch up with her as she races through her room toward her bathroom.
“Ughhh, Ryan, you’re like an annoying puppy following me around everywhere!”
“What’s gotten into you since Wednesday? I thought we were getting along better.”
She puts her hands over her face and sounds way more frustrated with me than the situation warrants. “Ryan, I swear to Dolly Parton that if you do not get out of my bathroom right now, I will burn you with my curling iron.”
“That’s it.” And that’s the last thing I say before I scoop her up in my arms. She squeals as I carry her into the walk-in shower.
“What the hell are you doing?! Put me down!”
I get us both in the shower and position us under the showerhead, one hand on the nozzle. “Tell me why you’re being so rude or else I blast us both with cold water.”
I don’t particularly want to douse myself in icy water, but I will if I have to. I have a feeling that everyone in June’s life lets her hide away, keep all her secrets pinned up inside so she can hurt privately. Not me. I’m not as nice as them.
“You’ve lost your mind,” she says, but she’s not squirming anymore.
“Tell me, or we both freeze.”
Her green eyes bounce up to mine, and I see her stubbornness lurking like a shield. She lifts her chin and wraps her arm more firmly around my neck like she’s settling in for battle. “Do it. I’m not afraid of a little cold water. And there’s nothing to tell. I’m just annoyed that you keep showing up as if I want you around!”
I gave her a chance. I really did.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors call the cops from the scream that June releases when the ice water hits her skin. Unfortunately, she’s not the only one getting punished, because I’m the one standing under it holding her.
“Okay, you doused me! Now, turn it off!” She’s reaching for the faucet, so I turn us around so she can’t reach it. Except—super—now I’m taking the brunt of the spray.
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
“You’re infuriating.” She beats my chest as water drips down both of our faces. She’s getting heavy, and I realize that my grip on her is soft enough that if she wanted to, she could easily escape. But I don’t think she does. In fact, one of her arms is still wrapped tightly around my neck. She’s not going anywhere, and part of me wonders if she’s hanging on because she wants me to get the truth out of her.
“Please just tell me, June. What happened? I want to know.” I look at her eyes and notice that it’s not just water rolling down June’s face.
Her body sags against me. The final thread of her resistance toward me snaps. “My ex posted on Instagram this morning that he’s getting married. I guess it . . . triggered some old wounds. Are you happy now?”
I cut the water off and slowly set her feet on the ground, expecting her to bolt, but she doesn’t. We are both freezing, our bodies shaking and miserable, but neither of us moves. Her hair is wet and clinging to her face, much like her clothes are clinging to her body, but I don’t look. Because that’s not why I pulled us in here.
“Do you miss him?” I ask, but I’m not sure I actually want to hear the answer.
“No. I miss who I was before him, though.” She pauses, but I get the feeling that she’s not done, so I stay quiet. June chews the side of her lip, wrestling with something. She looks torn between the urge to run or stay. She folds her arms up tightly in front of her, and her knuckles turn white as she grips her arms. Finally, she shifts on her feet, and her eyes shoot up to mine. They are giant green pools of tears. “Ryan . . . I . . . I called off the wedding because”—another agonizing pause—“he cheated on me.”
Those words act as a detonator in my mind. The name BEN flashes before my eyes, and suddenly, my target is set. I hate this guy.
And I hate him even more when June continues: “And do you know what happened after I called him out for it and broke off our engagement? He sighed with relief. He audibly sighed, and then he said it was probably for the best because . . .” She looks down at her folded arms, shame coloring her expression. “Because he wasn’t even attracted to me anymore. Said I’d gotten too comfortable around him.”
And there it is. The truth. It sets all the pieces into place, and suddenly, who June is now makes more sense to me. My heart splits for her.
I rub my hands up and down her arms to warm her. She looks at me with water clinging to her eyelashes and her cheeks rosy from the freezing water. And then she shakes her head. “No, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Pity. I feel small enough for letting his comment affect me like this for so long, I don’t need a look of pity too. I mean, so what? He didn’t like my body anymore. I wasn’t pretty enough to attract him anymore. Who cares, right?” I can see that she’s trying to strap that armor of hers back on, but I won’t let her. Not yet.
I pull her tightly to my chest. “No. You didn’t deserve that from him. From anyone. And it’s okay to admit he hurt you, June.”
She surprises me by melting into me and resting her face on my chest, curling her hands up between us so that I’m fully holding her. I feel her shoulders shake with more tears. “The girl he’s marrying now is a blonde and, like, six feet tall.”
What June means is, she’s exactly the opposite of me. There’s so much insecurity in her voice, and I can hear the unspoken question of What does she have that I don’t?
I hold her a little tighter and kiss the top of her head as I try to find the right words. “I could bash on that woman with you right now if that’s what you want. I could also list a hundred different ways I think you and your body are perfect. I could tell you that I check you out from head to toe every time you walk away from me, and that, last night, I had a dream about you that would definitely make you blush.” She chuckles against me. “But I think what you need is to hear that your ex was a self-serving ass. You’re beautiful, June. His words had nothing to do with you and everything to do with his teeny-tiny—”
“Ryan!”
I laugh and squeeze her. “He was a jerk. End of story. It was wrong of him to cheat on you and even worse to make it seem like you were to blame for it. It’s not your fault he cheated. It’s his loss.” I look down and push some of the hair clinging to her face back behind her ear. “But I can’t say I’m not glad he’s out of the picture.”
Her emerald eyes look up at me from beneath her lashes, and for a split second, I think she’s going to give in to me. That her heart will melt right into my hands. I hold my breath and look down at her lips. Just as I do, I see her beautiful mouth frown. “I’m not ready yet, Ryan.”
“That’s okay,” I say gently.
She pulls out of my arms softly this time and walks out of the shower. She grabs a towel from the hook beside the shower and wraps herself in it before tossing another over to me. Telling me to hand my wet clothes to her after she leaves, June steps out of the bathroom and closes the door.
As I spend the next five minutes trying to wring the water out of my clothes, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running out of time. She’s not ready yet, and I’ve got a life to get back to in Chicago soon. What if when she’s ready, it’s too late? I’m not asking for marriage or a pledge of her heart. I just want a chance. A chance to see if we are as good together as I think we’ll be.
A few minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom with my wet clothes in my hand and the towel wrapped around my waist. I open the bathroom door at the exact moment that she steps, fully dressed, out of her closet. Her eyes land on me, widen to the size of saucers, and her lips part.
She scans me up and down like she’s trying to memorize every bit because she plans to paint a portrait of my body later. I clear my throat, trying so hard to keep the cocky smile off my face, but it’s useless. She’s practically drooling, and I’ve never been happier.
“Hey, so . . . I’m sorry I pulled you into the shower. Probably wasn’t the best way to go about getting information from you.”
“Uh-huh.” She sounds a million miles away. She couldn’t care less about the shower fiasco right now.
I get a little closer and hold up my clothes. “You said for me to give you my wet clothes.”
I watch her swallow before her eyes finally make their way back up to mine. She gives me a tilted smile and shakes her head slowly with narrowed eyes. “You play dirty, Henderson.”
I can’t help but laugh at the look on her face. “What are you talking about?”
“I tell you I’m not ready for whatever it is you’re wanting yet, and then you parade your rock-hard body around my house in the buff? Just rude.”
“I’m not in the buff. I’m wearing a towel. And you’re not exactly turning away to give me privacy.”
Her eyes fall to my abdomen again, and then she emits a noise somewhere between a groan and growl and turns to flee the room faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move. She’s The Flash.
Once she’s out of sight, she yells, “The freaking dryer is down the hall on the right!”
I smile and make my way out of her room when my eyes catch on a tiny piece of yellow paper tucked into the corner of her vanity mirror. It’s half hidden behind a picture of her and Stacy, but I recognize it right away. I check the door to make sure June isn’t watching before I go pull the paper out of its hiding place.
My stomach clenches when I verify that it’s the note I think it is. Seeing it again immediately jolts me back to that day, our tenth-grade year, when I wrote it during homeroom. June had spilled a soda on her white sweater, and everyone teased her endlessly all day. There wasn’t any actual bullying, and the teasing was only coming from her friends and boyfriend, but I could still see the humiliation behind her I’m-being-a-good-sport-about-this laughter.
So I passed her this note: You look cute covered in soda.
It was the only outright compliment I ever gave her in high school. At the time, I didn’t think it meant anything to her. She read it, crumpled it up, and rolled her eyes like she thought I was still just messing with her.
But apparently, it meant more to her than I thought. Enough to smooth it back out and hold on to it all this time.
And now I’m thinking maybe we won’t run out of time . . . maybe we’ll get it right this time.