12. Vanessa
12
VANESSA
It only takes half a second for my body to go from warmed with happiness to chilled with dread.
I sit up in my seat, wrapping the blanket tighter around myself. “Ryder…”
I’m too frozen to decide if I want him to backtrack on his comment, to somehow eliminate the awkwardness now floating around us, or if some part of me, some part hidden by all my fear, wants him to double down.
To push for something more with me. To say, out loud, that he wants more.
“Fuck, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he hurries to say, his cheeks pinkening. “That was way too much. I don’t know why I said that.”
If there was any doubt about how I feel about Ryder, it disappears in a poof when disappointment sinks into my bones at his comment. One that I know was supposed to make me feel better.
“It’s okay,” I mumble, scooting away slightly and avoiding looking at him as I arrange the blanket around myself.
It isn’t until he doesn’t say anything back, doesn’t break the tension with his usual lightheartedness, that I realize something is different. I feel his gaze on me for a long minute.
It takes me that long to find the strength to look at him.
He doesn’t seem angry, or hurt, or anything beyond the sweet, understanding Ryder I’ve come to know. He’s simply trying to read me.
“We haven’t really talked about what this is, though,” he says carefully.
My eyes widen, spine straightening. Part of me is surprised he just came out and said it , when I’ve clearly been skittish about the topic.
Okay. This is fine. This has been long-overdue anyway. I can have this conversation.
And yet when I open my mouth, the need to protect myself gets there before the truth can.
“I didn’t think twenty-five-year-olds were capable of the what is this conversation,” I tease with a tight smile.
He doesn’t return it. He sees right through me.
Twisting his body toward me, he tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear as he says, “I don’t want to push you. I know you’re still trying to figure out who you are without another man’s ring on your finger. And I need you to know I’m not asking for anything, and that we don’t have to have this conversation if you really don’t want to. But…” He pauses to take a breath, and I hear a slight shakiness in it. “But I want you to know where I stand. Because we haven’t talked about any of this.”
He's right. I know he’s right. Part of the safety in these past few weeks has been the unspoken nature of it, and I’m self-aware enough to know I’ve been hiding behind that.
But that doesn’t mean it’s enough to tamp down on the fear simmering below the surface.
Ryder must see it, because a small frown creases his lips. “I guess I assumed I’d made my feelings clear. But maybe I shouldn’t have.” His eyes move over my face, cataloguing every detail before he says, “You know I’m crazy about you, right? This isn’t just some summer fling for me. Without putting any pressure on you, I want you to know I’ll take as much as you give me.”
And God …he’s so strong. For feeling that way, for saying it—for putting himself out there even without knowing how I’m going to respond.
I’m in awe of him.
But for some reason, in the same moment that my feelings deepen for Ryder, that fear wells up. The fear that I do feel the same way Ryder does, and that saying yes to him would put me in the exact same position that I just crawled out of. The one where I let myself be with another person, and through that relationship, I lose everything that makes me… me .
And that fear threatens to swallow me whole.
“I can’t,” I say quietly. Shamefully. Because a small part of me hates myself for being too weak when Ryder was just so strong.
Ryder studies me, his hand moving over my hair in a soothing touch that warms me from the inside out. After a moment, he swallows roughly and nods. Accepting.
He looks down as his hand falls from my hair to the back of the couch, but not before I can see the flash of hurt in his eyes.
“Is it because I just tried to put a label on us?” he asks. “Did I push too soon?”
My heart splinters. “No, Ryder, it’s not that.”
His eyes meet mine, letting me see the full weight of his feelings.
“Is it my age?” he asks. “I know we joke about it, but I didn’t think it was actually an issue.”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes. “No, it’s not that either.”
There’s a desperation in his gaze as he asks, “Then what is it? Is it me?”
“No,” I gasp out. I hate that he even thought that. “No, of course not. If there was anyone I’d?—”
I cut myself off, swallowing the garble of words before I can give myself away.
But it doesn’t make a difference. Ryder knows the rest of my thought anyway.
Understanding dawns. Now he knows how I feel about him, and yet?—
He also knows it’s not enough to make me take this step with him.
That hand, that comforting hand, returns to my hair. It brushes gently over the strands as he asks, “Will you tell me why, then?”
My eyes squeeze shut, my heart pounding like a steel drum against my ribs. Feeling carved out and raw, I whisper, “I’m scared.”
That hand never stops. His presence never wavers. He simply waits, ever the silent support.
Taking a deep breath, I look up at Ryder and let the truth tumble free.
“I’m scared of making the same mistake twice,” I exhale in a rush. “The last time I gave myself to someone, I lost myself. I’m scared of that happening again. Because I love who I am right now, the person you’ve helped me discover, and I’m scared shitless that saying yes to you will result in the same thing.”
His eyes widen. “I would never ?—”
“Not because of you,” I hurry to reassure him. “Never because of you. Because of me. I’m not ready.”
I watch as he takes in my words. I should have told him all of this in the beginning, but I think a part of me didn’t want to give power to the worry by saying it out loud.
Finally, he nods sadly. “I get it. It’s—” He swallows roughly. “It’s hard for me. To see you, and be with you, and not want more. I forget that it might be different for you. I don’t know what it’s like to be scared of all of that.”
I smile and place my hand on his cheek, giving in to the urge for more contact. “I know. It’s one of the things that makes you you . This fearlessness, and knowing what you want, and then going for it. It’s what I like so much about you, Ryder.”
Something sparks in his eyes, something that looks suspiciously like hope. And I realize my words may have been too much after what is essentially a rejection.
I drop my hand into my lap, the smile sliding from my face. Clearing my throat, I force myself to say, “I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. Since I can’t give you what you want.”
A small frown creases his forehead. “Vanessa…” he says carefully. “I just want you . In whatever capacity I can get. That won’t change.”
The breath whooshes from my lungs, a whole new fear racing to the forefront. The idea of not seeing Ryder again makes me a little dizzy. What is a day like without Ryder in it? Less laughter? Less sunshine?
When he looks away, it seems I might very well be about to find out. Because in a tight voice, he says, “I might just…need a little time. To adjust.”
I look down and nod, my chest tight and my eyes burning. “Of course,” I choke out. “I understand.”
And then I feel his hand cup my face and lift it to his. He doesn’t kiss me, but he touches his forehead to mine.
For a moment, he just holds me. Then he whispers simply, “I’ll call you. I promise.”
I nod, my eyes sliding closed, my hands coming up to clutch his shirt—trying to anchor myself to him, to this moment. Especially when he lifts my mouth to his.
I don’t know what I expect him to say when he pulls back. I don’t know what to say.
But then he leans back with a heavy exhale. His gaze tracks over my face one last time before he stands.
I want to call after him as he walks away. I hate that my voice—or my brain, or my heart—doesn’t work enough to do it. I can only watch as he leaves.
Leaving me with only my scrambled thoughts and the phantom feeling of his kiss.
I barely get a wink of sleep that night. I toss and turn, my conversation with Ryder running on repeat in my head.
I tell myself I made the right choice. That I’m not ready, and that my reaction to him admitting his feelings out loud is proof enough.
So then why hasn’t my gut stopped churning?
I try to stay busy. I make myself a cup of coffee, followed by a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls. I tan on the patio—in a two-piece bathing suit, my muffin top be damned—until it’s time for my pole dancing class. By the time I leave, I’m sweaty and buzzing from adrenaline, and I need a cold beer and a naked dip in the pool to cool down. When that doesn’t work, I throw on a silk nightgown that makes me feel sexy and settle on the downstairs couch with my iPad.
Working on the designing apps takes my mind off things for a little while, but not for long. I want to design something for real . I’m sick of just playing at this thing that I’m good at.
And I am good at it. Maybe it’s the glance around my house that makes me admit it, maybe it’s being raw from everything that happened with Ryder, but for the first time, I let myself believe that this is something I can do. Something I should be doing, for real, not just hiding behind apps and excuses.
Taking a sip of my beer, I absentmindedly swipe through my apps, too distracted to land on any one of them. It isn’t until I accidentally click on my email that my focus zeroes in.
Specifically on my Drafts folder. Because there’s only one email in there, and I’ve been sitting on it for a week.
When I first moved here, before I met Ryder, I was walking around town when I noticed new oceanfront condos being built. I stopped to look, lingering for long enough that someone noticed my presence. I just got lucky that that someone was the owner.
We got to chatting, and she told me about how construction would be done this fall and how eager she was for that phase to be over. She asked me if I knew anyone looking to rent a condo next summer, and if I lived around here. When I told her I was new to the area, and she deduced which house I had just moved into— small towns, I guess —her eyes went big. She said she’s always loved driving by my house because it’s so beautiful.
Even thinking about it now, I’m not sure how she got it out of me that I designed it. Because the next thing I knew, she was pressing her business card into my hand and telling me to email her if I had any interest helping with the condo design.
I’ve been holding on to that card ever since.
At first, I didn’t let myself think about it too much, because no way she actually meant that. But every time I pass by that construction area, I remember her wide eyes and the sparkle of awe in them when she found out which house was mine. And each time, I can’t stop thinking about what if .
Last week, after a particularly empowering class—and an even better night with Ryder—I found myself typing up an email to the condo owner. I wasn’t planning on sending it, not yet at least .
But now that I’m staring at that email again, a thought hits me:
Sunbathing topless and picking up new hobbies is all well and good, but they don’t mean much if I’m not going after the things that really make me who I am.
Before I can second-guess myself, I pull up my email. And I only stare at the draft I wrote up for a moment before I hit Send .
My heart starts pounding so hard, I can no longer hear the waves crashing in the distance. I can’t believe I just did that.
I don’t know how long I stare at my computer screen, spinning the cheap bracelet around my wrist, but it’s long enough that it gives the recipient a chance to respond back.
Hi Vanessa,
I’m so glad you reached out. I’ve been hoping you would. Are you available to chat this week sometime? I’d like to discuss my ideas for the building and what a contract with us would look like.
Please let me know at your earliest convenience. Thank you!
Olivia
Owner of Beachfront Condos
It takes a minute for the email to register—actually, it takes several. But when it does…
I let out a shriek .
The sound echoes off my high ceiling, filling the space with my excitement and pure joy. With pride.
Holy shit. I did it. I actually did it.
It’s only the first step, but it’s such a big step that I can barely contain my emotions. Hugging my iPad to my chest, I kick my feet in the air with a squeal.
I can’t wait to tell Ryder .
The thought is so sudden, such a gut reaction, that it freezes me in place.
I know exactly how he’d react, too. He’d probably yell louder than I did and hug me hard enough to bruise. He’d tell me how proud he is of me, and then he’d insist we celebrate.
So…why did I think that would be so terrifying?
Did I really think he’d do the opposite? That he’d tell me I didn’t need to work, that I shouldn’t work, and that I should just go and get a martini with the other wives? Did I really think he’d be anything less than supportive and inspiring?
And I realize…I was so wrong.
I haven’t gotten lost in Ryder. I’ve found myself with him.
I’ve been so scared of falling into old patterns, of getting wrapped up in someone and losing the little identity I’ve scraped together since the divorce, that I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.
Everything we’ve done together, all the things we’ve tried, they’ve all been my choice. They’ve all been things on my list, that I wanted to discover. He’s never once pushed anything on me. Every line I’ve drawn, he’s honored. And I’ve never had so much fun, been so myself around anyone.
I’ve been so scared of letting someone back in for fear of what they’ll take from me, and all this time, Ryder’s simply been giving . His support, his optimism, his praise.
He’s not holding me back; he’s lifting me up. He’s helping me spread my wings so I can find out exactly what it feels like to fly.
Tears fill my eyes as I suck in a big breath, my heart racing. I need to see him.
It’s only been two days, and I miss him. I don’t want to push him away anymore.
I glance at the clock and realize he’s currently at the restaurant, setting it up for tonight’s dinner crowd. I don’t even stop to text him, I just grab my purse and rush out the door.