Chapter 10
Ryder had been trying not to think about Ivy since she’d walked out of the hangar that morning. Useless effort. She kept slipping in anyway—her laugh, her smile, the easy way she’d fit with Ellie.
So, he dropped Ellie at his mom’s—baking cookies—and headed into town for a truck part.
He needed the distraction.
Mitch’s garage was its usual chorus of banging metal, muttered cursing, and oil thick enough to taste.
“Hoped you might have changed your mind about coming.” Mitch didn’t look up from under the raised hood of a snow-streaked Toyota. “You gonna limp that truck through another winter instead of letting it die with dignity?”
Same old mix—burned rubber, welding smoke, and the scorched-dust stink of the space heater that refused to die.
“Dignity’s a luxury,” Ryder muttered, flipping up his collar against the draft that always found a way in. “That truck’s still got miles in it.”
"So do I, but you don't see me hauling ass through sleet at dawn without complaining." Mitch’s grizzled face emerged grinning to show his teeth through his beard. He wiped his hands on his green coveralls and headed toward the cluttered office nook at the back. “C’mon.”
Ryder followed. Inside Mitch rummaged through a battered cardboard box. “Hah!” He held a small box aloft. “Tensioner. Install it today, or she’ll seize before the weekend.”
Ryder took the box. “Thanks, Mitch. Put it on the tab?”
“You bet. You still owe me for that fan belt from ‘23.” He squinted at Ryder. “How’s that brother of yours? Heard he and his wife had a baby?”
“Caleb and Grace are fostering little Josie.”
Mitch whistled. “Ain’t that just sweet.” He waggled a wrench in Ryder’s direction as he stepped around a teetering stack of dented boxes. “And you?”
Ryder grinned. “You know me. There's only room for one girl in my life.”
“When they’re as cute as that, I can’t blame you. Your dad brought Ellie in last week—cute as a button and whip-smart, that one.”
Ryder’s smile pinched at the edges. He was happy for his brother, but the memory of Caleb, Grace, and Josie curled together on the couch last Sunday cinched through his chest like wire.
He adjusted the box under his arm, suddenly needing fresh air on his face. “Thanks, Mitch.”
“No problem. Get that part in quick, or you’ll be thumbing a lift with me.”
Ryder waved his thanks and headed back through the garage bay toward the lot.
The wind caught the edge of his jacket as he stepped onto the cracked concrete, boots crunching past Mitch’s tow truck gleaming by the curb.
He tossed the tensioner onto the passenger seat of his truck and climbed into the chilly cab.
He reached for his seatbelt and stopped, his hand frozen mid-air. Across the street, Ivy walked stiff against the sleeting wind.
He glanced at the tensioner beside him. It needed to be fitted. And he had to collect Ellie from his mom’s.
Ivy wasn’t his problem.
Ellie was his priority.
He gripped the steering wheel. Her arms hugged that damn useless coat around her like it could hold her together.
Should have made her keep the damn flight jacket.
He wasn’t her keeper. He didn’t have the space for this—not with Ellie, not with everything he kept locked tight just to stay upright. But his chest wouldn’t loosen. And that ache behind his ribs—the one he hadn’t felt since after Ellie was born—
Hell. It’s just coffee. Not a damn wedding proposal.
He slammed the door open and vaulted out, boots crunching. “Ivy!”
She slowed, nose pink above the lie of her scarf.
“Ryder.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Long afternoon?” He stepped closer. Tiny lines of strain bracketed her mouth. The woman who’d laughed with him and Ellie this morning building a Lego airyport, had vanished.
“Just…” She waved a hand in the air. “Work stuff.”
She gave him a look, lashes stuck with sleet. “England may be damp, but at least the rain doesn’t travel sideways at fifty miles an hour.”
He grinned. “That’s the Alaskan upgrade—comes standard.”
“Lucky me.” She lifted her chin, but her eyes were bloodshot, and he didn’t think the wind had much to do with it.
“You look like you need pie.”
She blinked. Then a faint smile. “What makes you think pie is the solution?”
“In this town? It’s the only solution.”
He nodded toward Benji’s diner. “Come on.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already sliding his arm through hers. “And I’m buying.”
“You’re freezing.” Ryder brushed snowflakes from her shoulders.
He opened the door to Benji’s and waited for her to step in first. Warmth and noise spilled over them.
The hiss of the griddle, the rattle of cutlery, the soft murmur of voices—he’d grown up on those sounds.
The air smelled of fresh coffee and frying bacon, undercut with the cinnamon rolls that had been Louisa’s Sunday special since he was a kid.
Ellie loved those rolls just as much as he did. Some things didn’t change.
Louisa appeared as the bell over the door chimed, pink gingham apron tied at her waist, coffeepot already in hand.
“Ryder Meyer,” she drawled, grinning like she’d caught him skipping Sunday service. “Well, it’s been too long. How are you? And where’s that sweet girl of yours?”
“Hey, Louisa. I’m good. Ellie’s with my folks, getting spoiled rotten.”
“As is a grandparent’s sacred duty.” Louisa lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“My Harold thinks I don’t see him slipping extra toffees to the little ones, but I see everything.
” She straightened. “This place has been a madhouse today—baking half the county into pies and cakes for the pre-school fair this weekend. But we always have space for you.” She gave Ivy a twinkling glance.
“And who’s this lovely lady you’ve dragged in out of the snow? ”
“This is Ivy,” Ryder said. “She’s here with her brother—”
“Oh, the Englishman in talks with the drilling outfit?” Louisa nodded knowingly, as if she’d already read tomorrow’s paper. “Well, welcome, sugar. Coffee for both of you? And I’ve just pulled fresh pies—apple and cherry. Come with ice cream.”
Ryder turned to Ivy. “Apple or cherry?”
“Apple would be lovely, thanks.”
He took Ivy’s coat and hung it by the door before guiding her into the nearest booth. The vinyl squeaked as she slid in, cheeks still pink from the cold.
Louisa poured two steaming mugs of coffee. “I’ll be right back.” She winked at Ryder before bustling off toward the counter.
Ivy tucked her hands around one of the mugs Louisa had left behind. “Does everyone in this town know my business already?”
Ryder leaned back, deadpan. “Only the parts you haven’t figured out yet.”
She huffed, half a laugh. “In London, you can live next to someone for ten years and never learn their name. Here I sneeze once and the waitress knows my blood type.”
“That’s Aurora Cove.” He wrapped his hands around his own mug. “We don’t do strangers for long.”
Her gaze met his over the rim of her cup, a new softness in her expression. “No, I can see that.”
Louisa reappeared with two generous slices of pie. “Apple for the lady, cherry for you, Ryder. Don’t say I never take care of you.” She slid the plates down and vanished again.
Ivy ducked her head with a smile. “I could get used to this kind of hospitality.”
Ryder forked a slice of pie and watched in amusement as Ivy did the same.
She closed her eyes, lashes skimming her cheeks as she savored the taste. “Oh my God,” she murmured. “This is amazing pie.”
The way her shoulders eased on the first bite, the tiny sound she made when she swallowed. Like she hadn’t let herself stop for days.
He nodded, swallowing his own bite. “Told you. You needed pie.” He stabbed a cherry. “You’re different from what I expected.”
Her eyes lifted, curious. “Different how?”
He leaned back, searching for the word. “Flimsy? That’s what I figured when you showed up yesterday in that coat and heels. Thought you’d flounder.”
“Maybe I will.” But her smile tugged sideways with no heat in it.
He shook his head. “The way you handled Sinclair on the rig says otherwise.”
She’d stood her ground without posturing, rock-solid where others might’ve folded. Stronger than he’d initially given her credit for.
“Thank you. It’s been a long road to get to this point. I have the battle scars to prove it.”
He could believe it. Against his better judgment, he wanted to know more. “What’s your gut say about all this drilling business?”
Ivy’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “My gut?”
“Yeah. Forget the surveys and lawyers. What does your instinct tell you?”
She was quiet for a long moment, stirring sugar into her coffee with mechanical precision. “Something doesn’t add up. The geology looks solid, but the baseline data’s full of holes. There are gaps where there shouldn’t be.”
“What kind of gaps?”
“Subsidence readings. Seabed composition reports. Basic stuff. Every time I ask, I get told the equipment was down or the results are still being processed.” She sipped her coffee and sighed at the taste. “I’m not trying to kill this deal. I just want to make sure it doesn’t kill anything else.”
Ryder set down his fork. She was fighting uphill and refusing to quit. “And?”
“And it makes me want more information. And maybe more time.” She met his eyes across the table.
“You’re not wrong to ask questions.”
Something in his tone made her study him. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
“Small towns have long memories. We’ve seen what happens when people rush into things without thinking them through.”
She nodded slowly. “George is under a lot of pressure. The investors want answers, the company wants the deal, and everyone wants it done yesterday.”
“And you’re caught in the middle.”
Her smile was wry but tired. “Story of my life.” She held herself straight but her eyes said something else.
“You ever let anyone else share the load?”
Her lips parted—caught between a truth and the fear of it. Her eyes flicked up, wide and raw, the kind of look that only came right before someone finally let go.
Ryder leaned forward, heart thudding.
The radio on his belt crackled to life, loud and brutal in the hush between them. “Coast Guard unit, stand by for rescue call-out—”
Ryder froze. Not now.
He stood slowly, stalling.
Ivy drew a breath. The moment was gone, sealed behind her lashes. “Oh my goodness.” She fumbled for her scarf, already backing away. “I should go too.” The words came too fast—a retreat.
Ryder reached out, hand brushing her wrist, anchoring her for one second longer. He swallowed the words he wanted to say—Stay. Tell me. Let me help you.
“Thank you.” Her eyes met his. “For the pie. And the chat. It helped more than you know.”
He let her go, though everything in him howled not to. “Anytime.”
The radio barked again, and with an effort he headed toward the door. Freezing air met him as the door banged shut behind him, the warmth of her skin still clinging to him.