Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
noia
I wake up in a tangle of sheets to sunlight peaking through the cracks in the curtains, painting golden stripes across my rumpled bed.
Reaching over, I find nothing but a cool empty space where Ryder’s warm body should be.
“Ryder?” I sit up and wince at the delicious ache between my thighs.
Memories of his mouth on me, his body moving against mine, the way he grunted my name into my neck when he came. Heat floods my cheeks, and I bury my head in my hands with a groan.
After pulling on a T-shirt and shorts, I pad downstairs, following the scent of coffee and something sweet that makes my stomach growl.
Ryder is sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone. The muscles in his back flex as he reaches for his coffee mug, and I take a moment to appreciate the view—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his dark hair still damp from the shower.
The counter is covered with plates of steaming food—a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, a bowl of scrambled eggs with melted cheese, and a plate of crispy bacon.
“Wow. You really are a cook, aren’t ya?” I say as I head toward the coffeepot. “What do you have planned for today?”
When he looks up at me, the heat in his eyes almost makes me drop my mug. He gives me a slow once-over, more than obvious he’s remembering every detail from last night.
“My motorcycle was sitting next to my truck when I went outside this morning,” he says, voice rough. “I have today off. So I figured we’d go for a ride.”
I suck in a breath at the news, nearly choking on my coffee. “Your motorcycle?”
“Yep.” He spears a piece of pancake with his fork.
“So first you, then your truck, then your clothes, and now your motorcycle. What’s next, a pet tiger?”
He laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “God, I hope not. But I wouldn’t put it past the universe at this point.”
Taking a bite of pancake, I moan. “These are amazing.”
“I know.” His eyes darken. “Those are the same noises you made last night.”
My cheeks flush. “Stop.”
“Make me,” he challenges, leaning close.
Setting down my fork, I reach over and grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. He tastes like maple syrup and coffee.
His hand cups the back of my neck, holding me in place as his tongue tangles with mine before he pulls back abruptly. “Guess you showed me, huh, kitten?”
Mortified, I pick my fork back up and take a bite of cheesy eggs.
“Hey, you okay?”
I shrug. “Why did you pull away so fast?”
Ryder shoves his empty plate aside and grins. “Because I can’t have you distracting me. Or be out in public all day with a hard on.”
“Oh.” I smile and take another bite.
“We’re going to take a road trip to the coast.”
“It’s too cold to go swimming.”
“We are not going swimming,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “Just riding up the coast to a great little seafood place where we can have lunch.”
Thirty minutes later, after changing into jeans and a light sweater, I’m standing in the driveway staring at a vintage black 1976 Triumph Bonneville gleaming in the sunlight.
Ryder runs his hand along the seat with such reverence, I almost feel a twinge of jealousy. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Okay, maybe not almost.
“I guess. If you’re into potential organ donation.”
“Put this on,” he laughs as he hands me a helmet. “Safety first.”
I eye the helmet dubiously before shoving it on. “Helmet head, my favorite.”
“If you want, I can mess it up even more when we get back,” he promises with a wink, sending a flash of liquid heat to my core.
“I found this in the closet, too,” he says, handing me a small leather jacket.
“This was in your closet?”
He nods at me with a small smile as he puts on his helmet.
I shrug on the jacket. The leather is soft and it fits me perfectly.
“Ready?” he asks, patting the seat behind him.
I take a deep breath and climb on, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Hold tight,” he orders and kick-starts the engine. The bike roars to life, vibrating between my thighs in a way that’s not at all unpleasant.
“I’m going to die,” I mutter into his back.
Not only can I hear his chuckle, I can feel it vibrate deliciously against my breasts and it makes my nipples hard. “Trust me.”
Before I can protest any further, we’re on the move. The wind rushes past as he navigates the winding roads and after a few minutes, the initial terror fades, replaced by an exhilarating sense of freedom I’ve never felt before.
My world blurs as forests give way to rolling hills, then farmland, and finally, the first glimpse of the ocean in the distance.
I tighten my grip around Ryder’s waist, pressing my cheek against his back.
When we finally pull into a small coastal town, my legs are numb and my lips are wind-chapped, but I’m grinning like an idiot.
“You good?” Ryder asks as he helps me off the bike, steadying me with his hands firmly on my waist.
“Surprisingly,” I laugh, legs wobbly as I remove my helmet. “That was actually kind of amazing.”
His answering smile is so bright it makes my heart skip. “I knew you’d love it.”
We’re parked in front of a weathered building with faded blue paint. Letters peeling in the salty air, the large sign over the door reads: The Salty Dog.
The scent of fried seafood and ocean air makes my stomach growl.
“Best seafood in the Pacific Northwest,” Ryder says, taking my hand as he leads me toward the entrance. “You’re going to love their lobster roll.”
Inside the restaurant is exactly what you’d expect—rustic wooden tables covered in brown paper, fishing nets hanging from the ceiling, and the smell of garlic and butter thick in the air. It’s packed, almost every seat taken.
The hostess has sun-bleached hair and freckles scattered across her nose. “Two?”
Ryder nods, and she leads us over to a corner table by a window overlooking the water. Waves crash against the rocks below, sending sprays of white foam into the air.
After we order a lobster roll for myself and a massive seafood platter for Ryder, he leans back in his chair and studies me.
“So,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. “We’ve known each other for a few days now, and I still don’t know much about your family.”
I fiddle with my napkin. “Not much to tell. It’s just me and my mom.”
“What about your dad?” he asks softly.
Something in his tone tells me he already knows the answer.
“He died when I was nineteen.” I look out the window at the crashing waves. “Heart attack. It was completely unexpected. He was only fifty-two and seemed healthy. He went for a run one morning and just... never came home.”
“That’s rough.” His eyes soften as he reaches across the table to take my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It was,” I admit. “But, of course, my mom took it even harder. They were high school sweethearts. They had this epic love story that spanned almost three decades. After he died, she just... shut down.”
“How so?”
I trace patterns into the condensation on my water glass.
“She stopped eating and barely slept. I would come home from college on the weekends to find her sitting in his chair, wearing his sweater, staring at nothing. It was almost like she disappeared, too. So I moved back home for a while to take care of her.”
I’m grateful for the interruption when the waitress brings our food. This isn’t something I’ve talked about with anyone in a really long time.
“It took almost a year before she started acting like herself again,” I continue after another bite of my lobster roll. “She joined a grief support group, started teaching again. She even dated a little, though nothing serious has come of it yet.”
“Is that why you write romance?” Ryder asks. “Because of them?”
Surprised by his insight, I think about it for a minute.
“Maybe, a little? I never thought about it that way, but yeah... I think seeing how they were together showed me what real love looks like. The kind worth writing about. I’d always wanted to be a writer, though.
Since I was a kid. I was a voracious reader, too. Still am.”
“And what about after college?” he asks gently. “How were you discovered as an author?”
“Okay.” I pick up a fry from my plate and wave it in the air. “The truth is, I started out as a professional ghostwriter. I wrote dozens of love stories for other people before I was brave enough to admit I wanted my own name on the cover.”
“Dozens?” He takes another sip of his beer.
“Yeah.” My voice catches when I look up to see him looking at me intently. “Writing has always been a way I could feel like I fit in without actually taking up space, you know?
“Growing up, I always felt kind of invisible. I got good grades, but I kept to myself. I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere. When I was twelve, we moved to Portland because of my dad’s job, and I met Sasha. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“It’s good that you have her in your life.”
“It is.”
He takes another sip of his beer, and I watch in awe. The memory of what that mouth touching the rim of his glass did to my pussy last night is making my inner walls flutter.
My next question almost comes out as a squeak. “What about you?”
“I don’t really talk about my past.”
“All I know is what I’ve already plotted out, which isn’t much. So I’m just wondering if it’s any different now from what I came up with before.”
His brows furrow as he spins his nearly empty glass a couple of times before he speaks.
“My parents split when I was ten.” Setting the glass aside, he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Once I reached junior high, I got into a lot of fights. My mom told me that if I didn’t get my shit together, I’d wind up in jail.
So, I joined the Marines right out of high school.
Figured if I wanted to fight, might as well pick something worth fighting for.
“I did two tours before I was honorably discharged. After my last deployment... shit got real messy. PTSD and anger issues basically took over my life. I met Claire at a meeting and she became my sponsor. Eventually she offered me an apprenticeship at a shop she was working at, told me I had a steady hand and a weird knack for listening to people’s stories. ”
He glances up at me and the look on his face is so vulnerable I want to go over and wrap my whole body around him. “That was the first time I felt like I belonged. Like maybe I was worth something outside of wearing a uniform.”
“I’m so glad you found your place,” I say softly.
“Kinda feels like maybe I’m still looking for it.”
Those words hit me hard. It’s my fault he’s here. My fault he has to relive his past.
His gaze flicks toward the ocean, watching the waves as they crash against the shore.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s my fault you’re in this mess.”
His sharp gaze snaps back to mine. “Don’t be sorry for creating me, Noia. I’m not.”
“But you were supposed to have a happy ending. That’s my job, it’s what I do—write happily ever after’s. And instead, you’re... stuck. In limbo. With me.”
Ryder’s expression turns dead serious. “Who says I’m not going to have a happy ending?”
The question, loaded with meaning I’m not ready to unpack, hangs in the air.
My cheeks flush as I fiddle with my napkin.
“Besides,” he continues, a small smile playing at his lips. “I think we’ve established I’m not exactly ‘stuck’ anywhere.”
I swallow hard. “What if all of this stops? What if tomorrow I wake up and—”
“And what? I’ve disappeared?” He shakes his head. “I honestly don’t think that’s how this is supposed to work. If anything, I’m becoming more anchored in this world, not less.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
Reaching across the table, he takes my hand, tracing circles on my palm with his thumb. “I can’t. But I’m not going to waste whatever time I have worrying about it. And neither should you.”
The intensity in his eyes makes my heart stutter. Before I can respond, the waitress appears with our check.
“You two make such a cute couple,” she says with a smile. “Been together long?”
Ryder’s eyes never leave mine. “Feels like I’ve known her my whole life.”