Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
SATURDAY
THADDEUS
I woke early, the curtains functioning more like a large-bore light sieve than any substantial defence against the cruelty of the morning sun. Within seconds of the fiery bastard poking its head over the horizon, the bedroom was awash in golden light, and I was wide awake.
I checked my phone, groaning at the numbers staring back at me: 6:30.
Not that I had anything to complain about.
I’d slept ridiculously well, which was oddly disappointing.
Okay, so maybe I’d hoped Ryder would rethink his boundaries and come knocking on my door, but he didn’t.
The man was clearly a gentleman, an honourable trait even if my dick considered it a highly overrated one.
Ryder might think he’d only be a distraction to my break-up—quite rightly so—but what was wrong with a little distraction?
Even Ryder seemed to see the value in that, just not with him.
All in all, an epic disappointment. The guy cranked my shit; there was no denying it.
Then again, Judd had for a while as well.
And there went my morning semi down the fucking drain.
I rolled onto my back and studied the room for further clues about the man across the hall, but there wasn’t much to see.
The décor was eclectic, the bed comfortable, the linens mid-range if I had to guess.
Everything cosy and in its place, just like the rest of the cottage.
There was nothing personal on the walls or the dressers, and no photos or artwork. The room was simply a guest space.
I tugged the bedcovers up to my chin and listened for any sign the cottage was waking up.
The hush was unnerving. Thick and heavy, it filled the room and the hallway outside like a silent witness to the dawn.
Nothing stirred on the wooden floors, no footsteps, not even the clickety-click of Ziggy’s nails.
The only sound to break the peace was the refrigerator compressor cycling on and off in the kitchen.
A compressor or a condenser? Fucked if I knew.
Either way, it was altogether far too serene for a dyed-in-the-wool city boy who lived in a downtown apartment built on a pier over the harbour.
The regular trumpet-like booms from ferry horns and cargo ships vied with the cawing of seagulls that commandeered the ridgeline of my penthouse on a regular basis.
I found the constant hum of traffic provided a comforting backdrop to life, even if it was punctuated by the regular wail of police and ambulance sirens.
Silence was a rare and unnerving commodity in my life, and I wasn’t at all sure I was comfortable with it.
A cool breeze licked at my cheeks, and I tracked the source to a window whose curtain puffed in and out like it was catching its breath.
I frowned at the thing. I never left windows open at night.
My odiously expensive apartment had a security rating that would’ve given Fort Knox a run for its money, something Judd was forever teasing me about.
Had teased me about. Past tense. Just like the man himself.
Judd.
I thought about my cheating rattlesnake of an ex and pulled a face.
I hated what Judd had done to me, but my anger circled more around Phillip, a realisation that gave me pause.
Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Hadn’t I loved Judd as much as I thought I had?
Had he known or felt something was missing? Was that why he’d done what he’d done?
I mentally slapped myself because, oh my God, I was sounding like my mother, and none of it mattered. Even if there were elements of truth in the idea, you didn’t cheat on your boyfriend. You talked to them like a damn grown-up.
But Phillip? He’d been my best friend my whole life. The one person I’d have sworn would have my back. It’s why I’d offered him an equal share in the company, after all, and we’d made a great team. We complemented each other, and we’d been successful because of that.
Before Phillip took over the sales and negotiating side of things, I’d been doing okay.
But it was his sociable charm and impressive list of contacts that really got our name out there.
It rocketed us from one of many prosperous start-ups to a potential market leader.
I’d sounded sure enough of myself on the phone, but without Phillip at my side, I wondered if I really could do it all over again.
What’s more, he knew that. The same as I knew he’d have trouble replacing me.
The incessant beep of an alarm sounded from the bedroom across the hall, and an unbidden image of Ryder sprawled in his bed popped into my mind.
That long, tightly muscled body stretched across the sheet, eyes fluttering open, that clean, earthy scent rising from his hot skin.
Skin that begged to be tasted. A body that yearned to be coaxed from slumber into the heights of pleasure by yours truly.
Yum.
Just the thought of crawling over his body on a mission to do just that had me half-hard and hungry again.
Which was exactly why I should never have stayed the night.
And now it was longer. Why had I accepted?
Because the man was sexy as shit, and because I was an idiot.
But mostly because I didn’t want to break this cosy bubble of avoidance that I was currently wallowing in.
Being in the cottage felt good. It felt safe.
And it felt oddly right. No one knew where I was.
There were no demands to make immediate decisions.
No confrontations with Phillip, or Judd, or my mother.
Only Ryder, a man who knew very little about me other than what I’d chosen to share.
He’d clearly not bothered to google me, which was refreshing, but there was no telling how long that would last. When he did, I might have some questions to answer, but I might also be gone.
We’d never see each other again, and that would be fine.
I’d get over Judd and Phillip’s betrayal and move on with my life.
In the meantime, I could be anyone or, more importantly, no one.
Certainly not the Thaddeus Grey so many others wanted a piece of.
The crazy thing was that rather than pretending to be something I wasn’t with Ryder, or maybe in spite of that, I felt more real and seen by him than I had by anyone in a long while, and I wasn’t ready to let it go, not yet.
A couple more days and I’d head back to my life, meet my obligations, and do what needed to be done.
But right in that moment, all I wanted was to savour the freedom of anonymity and enjoy the experience of being a no one briefly passing through Ryder Nelson’s interesting life.
Ignoring the million or so messages on my phone, I threw the covers aside and pulled on the sweats and T-shirt I’d worn the day before, even though my own clothes were perfectly dry.
Shivering in the chilly dawn, I searched for a jersey or sweatshirt, eventually settling on a light jacket hanging in the closet.
Feeling much warmer, I headed for the kitchen via a quick stop in the bathroom, only to find it still empty.
Ryder clearly wasn’t the early bird I took him for.
With time to kill, I crept outside, donned Ryder’s boat-sized jandals, and set off for an early morning stroll around the garden.
But before I’d even made it down the stairs, Ziggy was yapping at the glass, and I had to rush back to let him out.
Clearly delighted, he peed against the first bush he came to, then barrelled through the garden foliage like a velociraptor, straight toward the chicken shed.
The chickens. I could feed the chickens. The thought popped into my brain, and suddenly, my morning walk had a purpose. I followed Ziggy at my leisure, the sun warming my cheeks like the press of a welcome hand.
A blackbird froze at my approach; a worm nestled in its beak.
He or she warily watched me pass, then quickly hopped back into the garden and out of sight.
I scanned the forest canopy and listened for a moment, surprised by the insistent chorus of bird calls.
They registered one by one, like the sections of an orchestra.
When I set off again, the birdsong thinned, returning to strength only when I stopped.
I grinned. Action and reaction. Input and output.
I kept walking, making my way toward the sound of Ziggy’s excited barks.
Taunting the chickens, no doubt, or vice versa.
Dew soaked my feet, but I didn’t care. The spring buds hung heavy with it, so why not me?
There was an onslaught of fragrance carried on the crisp air, but I recognised only the cloying scent of jasmine—my mother’s favourite.
Guilt niggled at my belly, but it quickly passed.
The closer I got to the chicken shed, another scent stormed my nostrils.
The pungent but not unpleasant aroma of warm manure, chicken feed, compost and decaying leaves.
Arriving at the shed, I was struck by all that had happened since I’d taken shelter there just two nights before.
I exchanged morning pleasantries with Myrtle, who gave me a beady-eyed glare in return.
That changed to almost a beaky smile when I used Ryder’s measuring container to fill the feeders.
Too busy eating, the ten chickens, including Myrtle, happily let me collect their eggs, of which there weren’t as many as I’d expected.