Instead of answering, he grabs my left hand. His fingers wrap around mine, warm and sure, and he takes that step forward. The one I was trying to prevent.
We’re almost chest to chest now.
The closeness allows him to reach behind my back with his free hand. He grabs my ponytail and pulls, only once.
The tug travels down my spine like lightning. Sets everything on fire.
“I’m smiling because you didn’t say you don’t want to,” he murmurs.
He’s right. I didn’t. It wouldn’t be true.
He brings my hand up to his mouth, and his lips brush over my knuckles, soft and rough at the same time. The scrape of his stubble against my skin shoots a cascade of tingles up my arm.
“And first grade is over in two weeks, Miss Rose,” he says against my hand.
Then he releases me. Steps back. Puts a normal, appropriate, maddening amount of space between us.
“It’s been quiet,” he says, in a conversational tone. “The kids must be sleeping.”
I wish I could speak or think. But my entire system is in overdrive: body hot, pulse out of control, thighs clenching together in a futile attempt to ease the ache building between them.
“Right,” I manage.
He tips his head. “I guess this means goodnight, Miss Rose.”
Ryder turns and walks toward Cabin 18 with measured, casual steps as if he didn’t just scramble every brain cell I have.
He stops on the threshold, hand on the doorframe. Then he looks back at me, lifting two fingers.
“Two weeks,” he mouths.
And then he’s gone. The door closes behind him, and I’m alone in the dark with my racing heart and the echo of his promise still caught in my chest.
I blow out a raspberry and fan myself.
Everything is fine.
Super-duper.
20
FAYE
Two weeks fly by. Every sunrise pulls me closer to the last day of school, and with it, the end of whatever professional excuse is keeping Ryder Evans at a safe distance.
I’m excited. I’m scared. But most of all, I’m despondent. I’ve seen him only twice since we came back from the field trip, at pickup on the days he and Rhys have therapy, but it’s been a wave from afar and a mouthed bye. Not enough.
Pathetic as I am, I went to the Moonshine Friday night, hoping to catch him. But he was a no-show.
And he hasn’t texted. It’s been radio silence for fourteen days.
Typical Ryder. Almost kissing me under the stars and then, poof, he disappeared.
Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed the whole thing. Except I didn’t imagine the way he pulled my ponytail. The brush of his lips against my knuckles. That promise—two weeks—delivered with enough heat to melt asphalt.
Maybe he changed his mind. I should walk away. I’ve already had a man turn my life inside out; I won’t hand someone else that kind of power. Opening my heart is scary enough without doing it for a cowboy who runs hot and cold. Ryder is kind, steady, worlds away from Shane, the ex who broke me. But I shouldn’t award points for basic decency. Gosh, my last relationship really left me screwed up.
The thoughts circle me like vultures, picking at my confidence.
