“You’re doing an amazing job.” Her voice is fierce. “Taking on the work of two parents isn’t easy, but Rhys adores you. He lights up when he talks about helping with the animals on the farm, and he’s constantly bragging that his dad can fix anything and makes the best Pancake Sundays.”
I raise an eyebrow. “He’s given them an official name?”
“Yep.” The smile is back. “Our class gets weekly updates on what shapes you make.”
“This morning it was pirates.”
Her grin widens. “He’ll be telling us tomorrow first thing.”
I nod a silent thank you and turn to lock the filter and grate back in place.
The spare bedroom is next. I walk down the hall, stopping on the threshold. “The one in this room might be dustier. This side of the house gets the wind off the fields, so the filter clogs faster?—”
I turn to get inside and stop short.
The twin beds that come with the other cottages have been removed, replaced by a wide, sleek desk set up with three high-end monitors.
A leather gaming chair shaped like a sports car seat is angled toward the screens. On the built-in shelf beneath the desk, a PlayStation, an Xbox, and an older console I don’t recognize are stacked next to each other. A headset hangs from a hook beside the monitors, cables coiled neatly.
I turn and find Faye hovering in the doorway behind me, looking caught.
“Into gaming much?” I ask.
9
FAYE
My heart stops for two full seconds as Ryder Evans stands in my spare bedroom staring at my deepest, darkest secret. Gaming gave me everything and then took it all away. And now my past is laid bare for the last person on earth I want knowing anything real about me.
And he’s taking up too much space. Physically, yes, with those shoulders that barely fit through doorframes. But also emotionally. Standing in my house—his house, technically, since he owns the cottage—calling bullshit on my lies like he’s the lead in a rom-com. Matthew McConaughey in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days has nothing on Ryder Evans. He probably hasn’t even seen that movie. The quote wasn’t intentional. He’s just naturally romance hero material.
And he’s still staring at me, waiting for an answer.
“Mmm, yeah,” I manage, my pitch too high. “I’ve always been into gaming.” I hover in the doorway, arms wrapped around myself as if the self-hug can protect me from his scrutiny. “I was in a nasty car accident when I was a teenager. Multiple fractures. Surgeries on my pelvis and legs. I spent several months bedridden.” I give him the part of the truth I’m ready to share. “Video games and books were the only available distractions. They kept me sane when I couldn’t walk.”
His gaze flickers again to the expensive setup, as if he knows I’m not saying everything. But he doesn’t call bullshit this time. Still, when his eyes snap back on me, their intensity—concern, sympathy, recognition—presses against me like a truth I’m not ready to hear.
“Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
That “shit” somehow makes it better. It’s the opposite of the polite pity I’m used to when I share the story as I did a thousand times in past interviews. It’s instinctive, honest, almost protective.
“It was ages ago.” I wave him off, uncomfortable with the weight of his sympathy. “Ancient history. But the passion for gaming stuck.” I gesture at the room. “Obviously.”
He nods slowly, still watching me.
Ryder might not call bullshit this time, but I still hear him say it in my head.
This is getting too personal too fast. I need distance.
Time to retreat.
“I’ll let you do your job.” I back out of the room. “I don’t want to hover and distract you.”
I flee before he responds.
In the kitchen, I pour myself another coffee I don’t need with shaking hands. I should switch to chamomile, or water, something calming, not add more caffeine to my system. My heart is already racing from having Ryder Evans in my house, discovering my secrets.
I’m mid-sip when I realize he’s going to my bedroom next, and I have no idea what state I left it in this morning. Did I make the bed? Have I left clothes scattered everywhere?
