Of course, every night ends with a session on the piano. I almost feel normal again. I haven’t had any panic attacks, partly because I’ve been able to recognize the symptoms and nip them in the bud. I slow my breathing and grip Galileo in my palm, letting his sharp corners ground me back to reality. And having Ryder’s steady presence calms my nerves more than anyone else.
“Aram, this is”—I chew and swallow—“the best food I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.”
“Ah, there’s nothing like eating the meat straight off thefire,” he says proudly, turning the skewer of lamb kabobs on his grill. “Now, if you want to complete the experience, I can get you a shot of vodka.”
“No, no,” I say with a laugh. “I’m only nineteen. Almost twenty!” I hold up a finger. “But still. Not legal yet.”
“Fine.” He huffs and turns to Ryder. “You like the kabob?”
Ryder nods enthusiastically, holding his piece of lamb kabob wrapped in pita bread. “I have never eaten like this in my life.”
“Armenians make the best food,” he says, puffing out his chest.
Two little girls rush out of the kitchen and past us, squealing and laughing.
“Ani! Mari! Careful!” Aram calls out. He looks at us apologetically. “My granddaughters. They’re a little wild.”
“Isn’t it late for them to be awake?” I ask, double-checking the time on the clock on the wall—ten thirty.
“Eh. It’s a special occasion.” He winks at me and turns back to his grill.
I smile to myself and take a big bite of rice pilaf.
“Happy?” Ryder asks next to me.
I nod and grin. “I want to eat this every day for the rest of my life.”
He chuckles and keeps eating, too.
I’m so confused about Ryder. He asks questions all the time and listens, reallylistens, to my answers. I feel so special and important when I’m around him. But this past week, he’s pulled away. He hasn’t intentionally touched me since wiping the frosting off my face, even though I’ve touched his forearm or shoulder here or there. He’s not pushing me away, but he’s not inviting my touch, either.
So I’m stuck accepting my reality, even though I thought there really could be something between us. I’mhis best friend’s little sister. He probably still sees me as a little girl who needs to be babysat.
Blech.
I refuse to let my imagination run wild. This is where I went wrong with Tristan. I took any morsel he fed me and turned them into an entire meal, hoping for a future with him where I’d get to create the family I’ve always dreamed of.
I can’t do that again.
So I fight my attraction to Ryder. Not only is he kind, handsome, and rugged—hello, stunt man!—I know better than to believe my fairy tales and rom-com movies can actually come true. The bodyguard doesn’tactuallyfall for the girl he’s protecting. The guy doesn’tactuallyfall for his best friend’s little sister.
This is the real world, and I need to accept that.
“My nieces and nephew are visiting next week,” Aram says, breaking my thoughts. He has a mischievous glint in his eyes. “My nephew, Garen, and his two sisters. Have you heard of him?”
I shake my head, not sure how I would have heard of him.
“Garen Nazarian. He’s a professional video game player. I thought with your brother’s company maybe you’d know him.”
“Ah. No, I’m not as involved in the esports scene.” I furrow my brow. “But that last name—Nazarian. How do I know that?”
“Maybe Emma?” He grins at me with a hint of pride. “She has a TED Talk on YouTube. ‘Exceptional Emma.’”
I gasp and cover my mouth. “Emma is your niece? I love her!”
The smile on his face stretches even wider. “As do I. She just needed a little time to love herself.”
“Who’s Emma?” Ryder asks quietly next to me.
