Dad chuckled, pouring sugar into his coffee like there was some kind of shortage coming. “You’re a good boy, Ryder,” he said.
“You’re a good boy, Ryder,” I mocked, making both of them laugh. “You want me to leave you two alone? Am I in danger of losing my boyfriend to my dad?”
I couldn’t believe I’d just said the wordsmy boyfriendout loud.
The thing was, I’d never actually had a boyfriend before. It wasn’t as though I’d had a lot of girlfriends—despite everything, I’d stuck with Liz for a few years after college, and then she’d found the actual love of her life and I just…
Hadn’t dated.
At all.
After that point.
What if Dad told Ryder that? I’d never live it down.
“It’s good to see Ward dating again,” Dad said, as though he’d read my goddamn mind. “How long’s it been Ward? Six, seven years?”
Perfect.
I could feel the look Ryder was giving me without so much as glancing in his direction. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Disbelief.
The tips of my ears felt like they’d just taken a tropical vacation by themselves and forgotten the sunscreen.
I sipped my coffee and didn’t look at either of them.
Under the table, Ryder’s hand slipped into mine. He laced our fingers together and squeezed, which was sweet.
But it also meant we were going to talk about it. Which was the last thing I wanted.
“Oh,thatlong,” Dad teased with a glint in his eye. “Well. Ryder’s worth the wait, I bet.”
“He is,” I said, because of course he was. Anyone would be lucky for Ryder to even notice they were alive, and here he was sitting next to me and holding my hand and okay, we weren’t really dating, but this was the closest I’d ever get.
Maybe I should’ve been thinking about enjoying it.
When I risked a glance at him, he was looking at me weird. Not like I’d said something wrong, just… weird.
Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe he was tired. MaybeIwas tired and imagining things.
Either way, breakfast came, and Ryder made appreciative noises like he hadn’t eaten in a week and stole one of my pancakes, and for just a precious handful of minutes it was exactly like coming back from one of my Saturday morning football games.
The ones Ryder had never missed a single one of. Dad had always taken us to breakfast—in this same diner—after, and Ryder had given a full, dramatized, blow-by-blow account of the whole game with the cutlery and sugar packets and retold it as though I was the hero of every play, even the ones I was benched for.
I’d been a middling-at-best football player, but in Ryder’s eyes I was up there with all the greats, a candidate for the Hall of Fame.
Just like in my eyes he was Hollywood’s next favorite leading man, destined for a bookshelf full of Oscars and a star on the Walk of Fame.
“I’ve missed this,” Dad said. “The three of us together. Always felt like family to me.”
Ryder opened his mouth to respond just as his phone vibrated on the table.
I shouldn’t have been looking at the caller ID, but it was hard to miss at this distance. Astrid.
His agent.
“I’m sorry about this,” Ryder said, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer the call.
Dad and I shared a look. His look saidyou take care of him, mine saidalways.
