Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Beverly
I’m flitting about the old country house like a butterfly starved for nectar, glancing through the ancient windowpanes for signs of Ridge’s arrival every few minutes.
The rains have finally stopped, and that special golden haze of autumn floods the countryside, shining through the last stubborn orange, red, and yellow leaves still clinging to the trees.
The guest cottage is ready, with a private space for Ridge to call his own during his stay.
I’ve moved my things into the main house, the trundle bed in Joey’s nursery a sad excuse to sleep on when I know my dreams will be filled with images of snuggling next to the man I’ve been pining for these last few weeks.
But I can’t go back on my promise to myself.
I won’t. We can spend every waking minute together on the farm.
We just can’t sleep together. He understands.
Madison enters the family room carrying Joey and watches me fluff the throw pillows on the couch for the millionth time. She giggles.
“What?” I ask, standing at attention.
“Nothing.”
I tilt my head and frown. “I can’t help it, okay? I’m… nervous. I haven’t seen Ridge in weeks.”
“I can tell you this much: the man isn’t going to care one iota about fluffed pillows. He’s gonna take one look at you and swoon.”
“Really?” My face lights up and I palm my sweater, the soft material in dark pewter accentuating my figure.
I took a little extra time getting ready for his arrival, curling my hair and adding just a smidge of makeup to my face.
I even dabbed perfume on my pulse points, knowing how much Ridge said he liked the scent.
“Totally. You look wonderful, Bev. I promise.”
I blush and twirl a strand of curled hair around my finger. “Thanks, Maddy. I know I’m not like those models or celebrities he usually dates, and that’s okay. I’ve made peace with it.”
“Girl, it’s more than okay. You’re the real deal. Ridge Wilson is lucky to date you. You have more to offer him than anyone else.”
I pucker my lips to the side and pause. “What do I have to offer him exactly?” I spent most of last night tossing and turning, trying to come up with an answer to that same question myself.
“Pumpkin pie,” Madison states with a deadpan look stretched across her face.
We both break out into a bout of laughter, her honest response filling me with relief. She’s right. I’ll bet none of those other celebrity women have ever offered Ridge homemade pie. Kale, maybe. But not made-from-scratch pie.
Madison’s focus shifts to the window, and she gasps. I turn and follow her gaze, the sight of an unfamiliar black car causing me to hold my breath. The man who exits the vehicle is anything but unfamiliar.
“Ridge,” I whisper. And then I squeal like one of my kindergartners before snack time and skip to the front door. “Don’t watch us from the window, Maddy.”
“You know I will.”
I step out onto the porch and fold my arms against my middle to fend off the chill in the air. Watching my handsome guest exit the car, I firmly press my lips together to keep my mouth from gaping. I can’t believe he’s here.
Ridge, in his effortless celebrity splendor, sees me and does a double-take, his face splitting in half with a gigantic smile.
I can barely contain my excitement and screech again before I quickly trot down the porch steps to greet him.
My shoes crunch over fallen leaves littering the path until our bodies meld in a warm hug next to the car.
His manly scent immediately opens up a primitive part of my brain, my yearning for him an emotional craving I can’t describe.
In a feather-soft voice, closer to a whisper, he murmurs against the shell of my ear. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
I’m giddy knowing he’s missed me, my knees doing the wobbly thing.
His fingers comb through the sides of my hair, and our eyes lock, a thousand words stuck in my throat.
How many times have I fantasized about our reunion this way—his hair tousled in the wind, his dark eyes holding mine captive, the velvet warmth of his baritone voice rumbling through me, soft lips kissing my cheek, and gentle fingers touching my skin?
He pulls me in for another long hug, and I look up at the sky. I swear it’s the color of love.
From the first moment we touch, we’re like two stars exploding in the atmosphere. Burning fingers and surges of pleasure so incredible, I feel like I’m flying through space. Free. Filled with unmitigated joy.
This man… this classically beautiful, sensitive gentleman, who captivates me with his relatability while possessing an aura of idealized romance, literally makes my heart throb in my chest. He has the talent to incite lust without even trying.
He’s charming without being snobbish. He’s grounded despite his fame and stylish without seeming contrived.
Thank goodness he’s down-to-earth outside of his celebrity status; otherwise, there’s no way he’d be holding someone like me in his arms.
“I want you to meet my family,” I say. My voice is husky, and I’m wide-eyed, staring up at him. What is happening to me?
“I think I already have,” he says with a chuckle. He motions with his head toward the picture window overlooking the front porch.
I turn to see George and Madison grinning back at us. Maddy is waving Joey’s little hand in the air. I nervously laugh out loud, mortified I’ve put Ridge on display.
“I’m so sorry. They’re probably just curious because I’ve never invited a man to Jamison Farm before, especially someone as famous as you.
You’ll have to forgive them and their odd behavior.
When y’all formally meet and they realize you’re just a normal guy, they’ll settle down.
And I promise, you’re gonna love them both. You’ll see.”
His eyebrows rise as if he’s pleased. “I’m the first guy you’ve ever invited here?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He widens his stance with purpose and presses his palms against my cheeks, his pleased expression obvious. “Well then, we might as well give them what they want, right?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Because I’m the first guy you’ve ever invited here, we should give them a moment they’ll never forget. You know? To remember your first?”
I’m about to respond, but Ridge doesn’t give me any time.
Instead, he presses his lips to mine and I melt into his welcome kiss, my entire body buzzing like bees under glass.
He’s gently teasing me with his tongue, and his playful touches across my face with the tips of his fingers lure me into a tingly sensation of pure bliss.
When I hear Maddy whoop from behind the window, I pull back with embarrassment and press my hand over my mouth to stifle a shy smile. I’ve never kissed a man like that in front of my sister before.
Ridge takes it a step further, linking his arm around my waist. “Time to take our bow.”
I laugh, and we both bend over in tandem, Ridge looking more like a prince and me like a beloved ragdoll. When I look up from my bent posture, I can see George and Maddy clapping.
“I guess my family appreciates our performance.”
“Oh, I wasn’t performing,” Ridge says.
I look right at him. “You weren’t? I thought that was just for show. You know, doing what you do best.”
“Which is…?”
“Acting,” I tease.
He flicks his eyes to mine, and the sight of him gazing adoringly at me is almost too much for me to handle.
“Sweetheart, if that was me acting, then I deserve another Academy Award.”
***
After a boisterous, official introduction with my humorous family, Ridge and I unload his luggage from the car, and I show him to the guest cottage.
“It can get awfully quiet out here in the country at night. Except for the occasional hoot of an owl, or the howl of a coyote.”
“Coyote?” He stops in his tracks, feigning elaborate fear.
I laugh. “If you need a little white noise while you sleep, you can always turn on the ceiling fan.”
Ridge hoists his suitcase onto the cedar chest at the foot of the bed. “Believe me, I like the quiet. I need the quiet.”
I try not to read between the lines but can’t help myself. “I guess Whitney wasn’t too thrilled with you ditching her on Thanksgiving for me, huh?”
He sits on the edge of the bed, made up in a patchwork quilt hand-sewn by the late Rosie Jamison herself. “Oh, she doesn’t know where I am.”
“She doesn’t?” Now I’m confused.
Ridge pats the empty space next to him. I sit, and he immediately links his fingers through mine. “It’s none of her business. Whitney and I aren’t a couple.”
“Still, she’s the mother of your child.”
“Yes, and she makes sure to remind me of that every single day of my life.”
We’re both quiet, Ridge’s frustration obvious.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
He exhales an irritated sigh. “I promised myself I wouldn’t dump this on you when I arrived.” He lets go of my hand and reaches into his pants pocket for his phone. “But the woman called me no less than twenty times while I was en route to Atlanta.”
“Wow. Did you call her back? Is everything okay?”
“I called her the minute my plane landed. Do you know what she said?” He looks right at me, the space between his brows furrowed with aggravated frown lines.
“What?”
“She wanted to know why my location tracker was off. Like I want Whitney tracking my every move, right?”
“That’s intense,” I agree.
“Her mom flew in from Kansas and is staying through the holidays. Whitney wants us to have this huge family thing to celebrate Roman’s first Christmas. But I don’t know…”
“What don’t you know? I think it’s great she wants to include you during the holidays with your son.”
“Sure, if that’s her only motive.”
“What do you mean?”
Ridge stands and walks over to the window overlooking the dormant lavender fields. “She wants us to be a legit couple and raise Roman together. She wants us to get married.” His voice comes out clipped, conveying his irritation.
I’m taken aback by his comment, my body stiffening with unease. I nervously tug at my fingers in my lap and watch him, one hand on his hip, the other massaging the back of his neck. When he turns around, his face is softer, his tone apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay. You know I’m a great sounding board.”
He sits next to me again. “You really are. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ridge inhales a deep breath. “I’ve told Whitney point-blank we will never be a married couple. I told her it will never happen because… my heart belongs to someone else.”
My stomach does the fluttery thing again, and even though I appreciate Ridge’s honesty, I wish he hadn’t said anything. The thought of Whitney’s wrath is terrifying. Strangely, I feel like I’m the “other woman.”
“Enough about me,” he says, changing the subject. “Tell me about you. What have you been up to since I saw you last?”
My smile is flirty as I glance at him. He takes the bait. “Baking pies.”
“Mmmm, pie.”
He wraps his arms around me, and we fall backward on the bed.
We’re nose to nose, and he pins me with his sexy-as-sin, movie star stare.
Something warm ignites in my chest, catching fire and spreading all over me.
I want to remember this moment for the nights back in Atlanta, when I’m all alone again.
His eyes. His mouth. His entire face. The way the natural light in the room brings out the gold in his hair.
The way it might feel to sleep next to him on this bed.
“I want you, Beverly. Only you.”
My cheeks heat, and my entire body swoons. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want too.