Chapter 16 June
“No,” I whisper, staring longingly through my car window at the keys lying innocently in my front seat. “No. No. No.” I haven’t locked my keys in my car since I was sixteen.
How could this happen? Then again, the tears bubbling up behind my eyes remind me I have had just a tiny bit on my mind lately. And I tend to turn into Space Cadet June when I’m overwhelmed. Don’t think about how overwhelmed you are, June. Don’t think about Stacy moving. Don’t think about Ryan leaving. Don’t think about how you’re going to have to run your business with someone other than your best friend.
I’m thinking about all of it.
Oh god,now my eyes are stinging and my nose is tickling and I just want to get into my car, where I can let it all out in peace.
I lightly pound my fist against the glass—begging it to let me in. “Please just open up,” I say in a wobbly voice. “If you do, I promise I won’t let your seats get all crumby anymore.”
“That’s a big promise.”
I scrunch my eyes shut. Dammit. Of course Ryan would be out here right now while I’m locked out of my car and tears are clinging to my lashes. I didn’t want to see him anymore tonight. My heart is all twisty and achy, and spending more time with him is only going to make it worse.
I feel him approach at my back. “You okay?”
“Fine!” I say, not turning around. “Apparently my keys are mad at me and have locked themselves in there.”
I’m trying to sound happy and cute, but my voice is cracking with emotion and Ryan doesn’t even pretend to miss it.
“June?” I feel him approaching me. “Look at me. Or do I need to carry you into a shower again?”
This pulls a little laugh from me as I turn around to face him. “I swear I don’t cry this much normally.”
His eyes are soft as his brows pull together. He’s unfairly handsome when he’s tender. “It’s okay if you do.”
I have to wiggle my toes to keep the sob building inside my body from leaking out.
“Are you crying—”
“Almost crying,” I correct, making Ryan grin.
He chuffs out a short laugh. “Are you almost crying because of your keys? Or did something happen?” There’s an edge to his voice there at the end. Something that tells me if something happened and it was the result of anyone at that rehearsal, he’s going to plow back inside and exact revenge on my behalf.
I’m still struggling to accept this Ryan 2.0. I don’t know what to do with him. Well . . . I know what I’d like to do with him, but that’s beside the point.
I sniff aggressively. No more emotions. “Compounding issues. The keys put it over the top.”
He nods slowly, diving his hands into his pants pockets in a move that only stresses his elevated good looks. The man is too beautiful. Might have stepped right out of a Banana Republic catalog for all anyone knows. “Can I help?”
“Do you have magical abilities to pass through glass and metal?”
He pulls his phone from his pocket. “No. But I have roadside assistance and can get a locksmith for you.”
“Oh.”I blink. “You’d let me use your roadside assistance?” For some reason, this is shaking me more than if he would have admitted to having special powers.
A sad smile curves the side of his mouth. “I don’t want to dignify that ridiculous question with an answer.”
I adjust on my heels that suddenly feel four sizes too small for my feet. I want to be home. Snuggled up in sweatpants and a blanket, trying to block out anything that makes me feel anxious and funky—aka blocking out Ryan until I know what to do with him.
I glance back toward the church and consider asking anyone else in there for help—but Stacy and Logan are busy entertaining their guests, Jake and Evie already left, and . . .
Ryan groans and rolls his eyes, smiling. “I’m calling them, June. You can fight me about it later.”
I don’t protest as he paces a few steps away, bringing his phone to his ear, but I do shoot my car one last mean-mug. “Expect extra curbs from here on out,” I whisper.
Not even two minutes later, Ryan is pocketing his phone and striding over to me. “Good and bad news. Good news, they’re sending a locksmith. Bad news, he’s got a couple of calls before ours, so we’ll have to wait around for him.”
I narrow my eyes and hold up my finger. “You keep saying this funny word. We. But I think you mean they’re sending someone for me. And I’ll have to wait around for him.”
Ryan’s grin is outrageous. “Nope. We have to wait for him. It’s my roadside assistance account and they will only service my family members or someone I’m currently riding with. So for tonight, we’re pretending I’m your passenger princess.”
GREAT. Just super.
I didn’t want to spend more time with Ryan. Because more time with Ryan means more time to like him. And I don’t want to like him. He’s literally leaving in two days. Plenty of people make long-distance relationships work—but I’m not one of those people. My trust is paper thin. Almost nonexistent.
Suddenly my stomach gives the loudest grumble of my life. It shakes the earth.
Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did you not eat dinner?”
I grimace lightly. “I was too nervous.”
Ryan’s face goes utterly serious, and I think he’s about to comment on my lack of dinner, but suddenly Logan calls to us as he’s walking out of the church. “I thought y’all left a while ago!”
“June locked her keys in the car because she was so eager to see me.”
I turn and glare at Ryan even though I know for a fact Logan won’t believe a word of that. (Even if it’s a little true.)
Logan makes his way to us. “Shoot. They’re locked in there?”
“Yeah, but a locksmith is on the way,” I say, trying to sound more cheery than I feel.
Logan nods slowly, glancing back toward the building for a half second. “We were getting ready to head out, but Stacy and I can wait with you if you need us to.”
I don’t get the chance to tell Logan I’ll be fine, because Ryan interjects. “Nah—she’s hungry. I’m taking June to get some food while we wait.”
“You are?” I ask, but Ryan doesn’t acknowledge my question or my incredulous tone.
Logan nods with a loaded look that could be interpreted a hundred different ways. “Okay. See you guys tomorrow then. I gotta pull the car around to the other side of the church and pick up Stacy.”
The moment we’re alone, I whirl on Ryan. “You don’t have to take me for food. I’ll be okay until later.”
“Sure—but I want to.”
“But what if the locksmith shows up while we’re gone?” I’m grasping for an excuse that will keep me from being locked in close quarters with Ryan Henderson.
“We’ll be back in enough time.”
“What if we’re not?!”
“I’ll know.”
I frown. “How? Are you suddenly all-knowing and I didn’t realize it?”
“Yes. I’m omniscient. Get in the car, June.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Okay, listen. If I get in that car with you . . . I don’t . . .” My gaze drops and I shift on my feet again because these heels are really cutting into my skin now. “I don’t want you to talk about being into me or us going on a date or anything that feels as if it belongs in an alternate universe than the one I’ve known all these years, got it? Because I just . . . I’m having a lot of feelings tonight and I can’t take more stress to my nervous system.”
Ryan smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Okay, I promise.” And then he drops to one knee in front of me.
“Oh my god, Ryan, I just said no feelings and you’re proposing!”
The look he gives me—so very flat before he reaches forward and takes my calf in his hand, lifting my foot off the ground. “I’m taking your heels off. I can tell they’re killing you.”
“They’re not—” I start as he works the clasps, but then pause when he pulls off the heel and we both see the blisters where the shoes were cutting into the tops of my feet. And this, my dears, is why you should never wear new heels to an event without breaking them in first. I can’t help but wiggle my toes with their new delicious freedom. A fresh wave of feelings strikes me with the force of a monsoon. Ryan noticed I was uncomfortable before I even said anything.
It’s unacceptable for him to be sweet and attentive before he drives off after the wedding and leaves me behind again.
As he stands, my black high heels in his hand, I glare at him. “Next time, maybe just suggest I take them off instead of doing it yourself.”
He smiles and leans in closer to whisper in my ear, “No way, June Bug. Get in the car.”
In his rental car, we’re silent as we pull out of the church parking lot. I expect us to turn onto the main road and drive until we hit some place that Ryan deems suitable to eat, but nearly die of shock when instead, he crosses the main road and drives right into the parking lot of a Taco Bell.
My gasp is over-the-top loud. “His Supreme Chef-ness is taking me to get fast food?”
He cuts his eyes to me briefly. “Just because I make gourmet food doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good drive-through taco every once in a while.”
“I’m literally stunned.”
“Quit.”
“I can’t wait to watch you eat this. Can I take pictures?”
He grunts a laugh as he steers us into the line, guided by the neon glowing sign. “Out of context, that sounds extremely dirty.”
I lean back heavily against the seat and eye him. “It’s just so shocking. What kind of fast-food taco does a Michelin chef get, anyway?”
“Just tell me what you want.”
I order three soft tacos with no lettuce, and Ryan orders a Beefy Crunch Burrito. I’m floored even just hearing those words come out of his mouth. When our food is in hand and he’s pulled into a parking spot that faces the road (with a clear view of my car in the parking lot) he sorts through the bag of delicious goodness to hand me my tacos.
“Told you I’d know if the locksmith arrived or not.” He grins, gesturing out the window.
I take a huge bite of taco, feeling my nerves and sadness settle into something more comfortable and bearable. I want to say it’s the food and my blood sugar rising back to normal levels, but I don’t think that’s it. It’s Ryan. The man I don’t want to admit I like as much as I do.
He notices my smile. “Will you tell me why you were crying earlier?”
For a minute, there are only the sounds of our crinkling wrappers in the car, and Ryan doesn’t rush me. I look out at the church, where, in less than twenty-four hours, my best friend will get married—completely changing her life and mine as a result. “I’m selfish.”
“Try again,” he says in a soft tone.
“I am, though. I’m selfish because I don’t want Stacy to get married tomorrow. And I don’t want her to move away or sell her portion of our business.” I leave out that my heart is also wrenching at the thought of him leaving after the wedding. “I want her to stay here and keep showing up every day to the shop and run the business side by side with me.”
Ryan’s brows pull together. “Yeah, Logan told me Stacy is selling her half of Darlin’ Donuts.” I nod and he falls quiet for a minute. “Who is she selling it to?”
“Not sure yet. I’ve had a few meetings already with potential buyers, but I’d rather live in a smelly shoe than own a business with any of them.”
“Why don’t you buy it then and run it yourself?”
Again with that question.The same one Jake asked me and that I’ve been asking myself on repeat ever since Stacy told me she was selling her portion. I shrug and ball up my wrapper, going for taco number two. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Someone has a lot of questions tonight.
“Because I can’t. Can you hand me my second taco?” He moves the bag out of my reach. “Ryan.”
“No, I’m serious. Why can’t you?”
I meet his bold dark eyes. “Because I’ve tried owning my own business before, and . . . it didn’t work out.”
“What business?”
I don’t want to stroll down this memory lane, but I don’t think he’s going to let up until I do. “I sold bouquets out of a cute flower truck. It did well for a while and then . . .”
He leans a little closer. “And then what?”
I shoot him a look that says he’s prying too much and I don’t like it. Ryan doesn’t give a shit, though. He keeps that bag of tacos out of reach.
“And then,” I grit out through clenched teeth, “Ben cheated, and I spiraled into a bad place for a while, and basically gave up on my business. I had to sell the truck, and it was honestly so embarrassing. I don’t feel like going through that again.”
I make gimme fingers toward the bag of tacos and Ryan sets it in my lap. “You’re allowed to go through rough patches, you know. Those moments . . .” He pauses and swallows. “They don’t define the rest of your life. They’re just that: moments.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. Tears will spring out faster than a jack-in-the-box.
He lets me eat my taco in peace for all of thirty seconds. “Want to know a secret?” This has me peeking over at him. “I got fired from the first kitchen I worked at out of culinary school.”
I choke on my taco and cut my eyes to him. “WHAT!”
He’s grinning—that statement having the desired effect, apparently. “Yep. I showed up, cocky as shit on the first day, and tried to overstep the head chef by wowing the kitchen with my unique flavor pairings—which were opposite of how he’d developed the dishes. He fired me before the end of the day.”
“Ryan,” I say absolutely gobsmacked.
He’s nodding, chewing a bite, and then wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. My gaze is drawn to his lips, and I find myself wanting to lean over and kiss that perfect mouth of his more and more by the minute.
“My point is,” he begins. “I learned a lot from that day. And you’re smart, so I don’t need to state the purpose of this story. It’s your life, June, and if you want to sell Stacy’s half, then do it. But if you don’t”—he gives me the softest, most understanding smile I’ve ever seen—“then don’t. Because you have what it takes to run it yourself. That one moment in time doesn’t define your future.”
The air is full of salty Taco Bell aroma, but my heart is nothing but syrupy sweet mush.