“My wife’s mother, Rebecca. You can tell by the scowl she’s a lawyer.”
Grace laughs and points to a woman in a wheelchair. “And this?”
“My sister, Allison,” I explain. “Cora is named after her. My sister Allison is also a lawyer, oddly enough, but she has no connection to my wife’s mom.”
“I’m glad I decided against stealing your identity while I waited for you,” she says. “Too many lawyerly types in the family.”
I laugh. “You won’t get Allison to come after you. She’s a high-powered LA entertainment attorney. She does weird stuff. Intellectual property, contracts, stuff like that. And she hates leaving the West Coast. She insists, even though we were born and raised in Ohio, that she’s allergic to rain.”
“Can I ask about the wheelchair?” she asks. “I mean, I guess I just did. I don’t want to be insensitive, though.”
“Nah, nah. It’s fine. Allison would prefer people just ask and be open about their questions. It’s like when people stare at your tattoos. I’m sure you’d rather them just say something than look at you funny and leave you both feeling weird.”
“True,” she says. “True.”
“Allison was hit while she was crossing a street on foot. She was in college at the time, and so was the driver. The kid who hit her didn’t have insurance on the car, and his parents had nothing. No money, no assets. Allison had always wanted to be a lawyer, so after she got through the recovery and rehab, she picked up right where she left off and went on to become the Elle Woods she always wanted to be.”
Grace smiles. “That’s awesome. Are you two close?” She asks the question gently.
I shake my head. “Allison has always been super independent, even before the accident. She is my half-sister. My mom married three times but only had two kids. We have different dads, and there’s an eight-year age gap between us. She’s a super-supportive older sister, but…” I shrug. “We lead very different lives. I became a high school teacher and stayed close to home. She doesn’t visit often, but we video chat once a month so she can see my kids.”
“I can’t imagine not being close to my family,” she says. She flips to another page in the photo album. “I still live at home with my parents and one of my brothers. I moved out for a short time but ended up deciding to come back.”
She grows quiet, and I wonder what happened to make her move home. She looks like she’s about to open up, so I wait and let her share what she wants. But then she pivots.
“My family is huge,” she says. “Cousins and second cousins. My parents both come from big families, so reunions and weddings and stuff are jam-packed with people.”
I lean back against the couch and loop my arm over the back of the cushions.
Grace looks up at me and gives me that brow. “Are you trying to cozy up to me, Ryder? Are you making a move?”
I am sure I blush eight shades of red. “I’ve been dying to touch you since you came through that door.”
Grace gives a hilarious little huff and scoots closer to me, tucking herself under my arm. “I’ll allow it,” she says playfully. “So where are your parents now? And your wife’s parents? Did you move to Star Falls alone?” She looks up at me and shrugs. “Sorry if I sound like a journalist. I just want to know your story. All the details.”
“Okay,” I say. “I was born in a little house outside of Columbus…” I’m teasing her. I’m not really going to tell her my life story from the beginning, but as I talk, I stroke the ends of her hair. My arm is over her shoulder so I can easily reach the soft strands. When I touch her, she presses her head back against my arm and breathes deeply. I smell lavender and something sharper, but I don’t know what it is. “Grace,” I murmur, lowering my face to her ear. “You smell freakin’ amazing.”
She rests a hand on my knee and squeezes. “So do you,” she says. “Good enough to eat.” She tips her head against my chest and stabs a finger against the photo album. “Stories first. Making out later.”
“Making out?” I echo. “Will there be making out?”
“I think I’m owed, don’t you?” She lifts her face to mine, her full lips pursed into a smirk.
“Do we have to wait?” I lower my face to hers and press a kiss against her forehead.
She looks at me, and her eyes sparkle. “Ryder,” she breathes. “If I start kissing you now, I won’t want to talk anymore.”
I swallow and lift my head after taking one long, delicious breath. Her hair, if it’s even possible, smells even better up close. I stroke the silky strands between my fingers but then pull away, trying to put maybe an inch of distance between us. Even though I really don’t want to.
I groan. “All right,” I tell her, scooting away just a bit. “You want my life story, you’ll get it. But before you leave tonight…”
Since I’ve shifted my weight, her hand moves from my knee, but she manages to reach the muscles of my left thigh. “Keep going. Before I leave tonight, what?”
Her touch is gentle but firm. She kneads the tight muscles of my leg with a knowing hand.
“You were saying?” she teases.
Oh fuck. This is worse. I may not be touching her, but her hand on me… The blood floods my dick, leaving my mouth speechless and my brain completely empty.
