“You’re up early,” I said as I padded into the room. Spud, Ryder’s half chow, half border collie doofus of a dog, came over from where he’d been sniffing around for toast bits and sat in front of me.
I gave him a good scratching behind the ear and a face rub. “Morning, Spuddo. Where’s my toy?” He wagged and wiggled, then bounded off toward his box of toys by the fireplace.
“Morning, Delaney.” Ryder stood and pulled his coat from the back of his chair, the timing of his escape carefully planned.
“Busy day?” I nodded toward the thermos and coffee.
He had the good grace to look at his travel mug a little guiltily. “This build is a pain in my ass. No one can get their damn act together. If I’m not there, I’m going to get fined and sued for half a dozen code violations.”
“Sure,” I said, walking toward him.
He hadn’t looked up, his gaze and hands going to the zipper on his Carhartt jacket.
The problem with knowing a person for almost your entire life is that they can’t hide what they’re feeling. Not really. Not for long.
He was nervous.
I stopped in front of him and there was this moment where we were both waiting for the other to reach out. Time hung suspended.
Then he turned toward me, almost unconsciously, smoothly, like we’d been this way all our lives, like we’d always been.
Together.
His arms lifted, and those eyes, the shadow green of a forest in winter, came up to meet my gaze.
The question lingered between us.
Were we still good? Should we be worried? Should we talk?
Just like every morning for the last month, I moved forward into him, needing contact. Needing to tell him with my body what I couldn’t say with my words yet.
We were good. We were everything.
We fit, our arms finding their familiar positions, my head turned sideways so I could smell the sweet sawdust and deep woodsy notes of his soap mixed with that scent that was his, only his.
I inhaled deeply, and he tipped his face down, burying his nose in my hair. I felt him inhale, exhale, felt his arms shift and tighten, as if he didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to let me go. “Miss you,” I mumbled.
He hummed. “Build’s not gonna last forever.”
Spud arrived and bumped his head between us, trying to wedge his way in with whichever stuffy he had clamped in his mouth.
I could feel Ryder’s smile. “I’ll be home late,” he said, letting me go and moving toward his coffee in one smooth move, eyes averted again.
He snapped his fingers for Spud, who dropped the toy donut I’d bought him for his birthday at my feet. The dog rushed over to Ryder.
“I’ll be out of town today,” I said.
“God mail?” Thermos in one hand, travel mug in the other, he was already halfway to the door.
“Yup. Thursday,” I said. “Do you want to meet for lunch?”
He stopped. “I’m meeting with the…investor today. Sorry, Laney. Raincheck?”
He looked back at me. Hopeful and apologetic.
He was hiding something.
“Raincheck,” I agreed.
