Heat floods my face. My chest. My belly.
How do I reply? I don’t trust myself to say anything that won’t sound desperate or needy or unhinged.
He saves me with another text.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Got to go read Rhys his bedtime story. See you tomorrow
A second later, a wink emoji appears on my screen.
My hands shake as I set the phone down. Every nerve ending in my body is firing at once. I’m still smiling as I get ready for bed. He’s been counting the days.
I slip under the covers and lie on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. My brain runs through a thousand scenarios of what tomorrow might bring.
Will he ask me out? Or just flirt? Is he a first-move kind of guy? I’d bet on yes.
I toss and turn, punch my pillow, but nothing helps.
At midnight, I give up on sleep and open my phone. I reread our text exchange. Study each word for hidden meaning. Over-analyze the wink emoji until it loses all context.
I haven’t moved cities for romance. After my last relationship, I thought I’d be off men forever. I’d sworn off the entire gender and committed to a life of solitude and emotional safety. I persuaded myself that wanting less was the same as needing less. But it’s not.
I know I spiraled earlier, let my fears convince me he was playing games. But that’s old wounds talking, not reality. The truth is simpler than my anxieties want to admit.
I can trust him. Ryder is honorable, a man who’d respect my choices. And he shows up for the people he loves. He has proven that with Rhys, with his family, and his business.
I couldn’t wish for a better person to give my heart to.
The thought is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
I fall asleep somewhere around three, my phone still clutched in my hand. I dream of dancing with Ryder at the Moonshine. His hands on me, his smile close to my ear, the feel of his heart beating against my palm.
When I wake, sunlight is streaming through my windows, and I’m still jittery. I shower, change clothes three times, and settle on jeans and a lightweight, wrap-style T-shirt that I hope will be farm-chic without being too posh.
At school, I forget about Ryder for a few hours and enjoy the last day with my students. These are the kids who brought me back from a dark place. They let the joy return to my life. And it is bittersweet letting them go. I’m thrilled we built so much together this year, proud of how they have grown, but also sad they won’t be with me for the next term. I savor every minute we have left until it’s time to leave for Hollow Creek.
The kids pile on the school bus, loud and excited, talking over each other about the animals they’ll see and the games they’ll play.
The calm I’d found in the morning evaporates. A fifteen-minute drive, and I’ll see him.
I shift in my seat, nervous I’ll show up with two giant patches under my armpits. I should’ve worn something different, a sweatproof shirt.
The Hollow Creek wooden welcome sign comes into view first, with the big red barn standing proud behind it. And beyond the gates, Ryder is heaving a sack of grain into the bed of his truck. The gray T-shirt he’s wearing pulls tight across his shoulders, then loosens as he straightens and wipes his arm over his forehead. Sunlight cuts through the dust he’s kicked up as he glances toward the bus.
We roll to a stop close to him, and the easy half-smile he gives takes my balance with it.
That T-shirt is worse than the Henleys and the flannels. It leaves his forearms bare and adds the bulge of his smooth, defined biceps to the problem.
I’m not ready. I thought I was, but I’m not. The kids file out, and I let them go first and crowd around Ryder, bouncing and shouting his name, creating a buffer zone I desperately need while I spy him from the window.
Rhys’s grandmother stands nearby, silver hair gleaming in the sun. She waves at the kids, smiling.
I’ve never felt self-conscious around Mae before. She’s been nothing but kind every time we’ve interacted. But today, it feels like I have to make a good impression on my boyfriend’s mother.
Which is ridiculous. Mae doesn’t know anything is happening between Ryder and me. Because it isn’t. He’s not my boyfriend.
Bettany Harlow is stationed near Mae with two other parent volunteers, positioned like sentries guarding her kingdom. She has her phone out, already taking photos, her expression one of supreme organization and control.
