“Well, I don’t have condoms for starters. So, we can’t—you know…”
He laughs now. “Oh, sweetheart.” Ryder nuzzles my neck. “You think sex is at the top of my list?” He kisses and bites and licks the skin of my neck until I forget what I was saying. “You have no idea.”
“I—I’m catching up.” I whimper.
Ryder takes a step back. “How about dinner on Sunday night? I know a place in Osage Beach that’s quiet and with great food. Few people from Blue Crescent Harbor go there.”
I smile like an idiot. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Ryder smirks back. “Are you saying yes?”
I nod.
He gives me a final peck on the mouth and walks backward for a few steps, eyes still on me. I’m leaning against the doorframe, hair wild, lips swollen, not positive I don’t have a hickey on my neck.
“Sunday,” he says again.
Ryder strolls out of my garden—he must’ve parked down the street—but at the last minute, he turns to look at me over his shoulder.
I wave, and he blows me a kiss before disappearing behind the trees. When I step inside and lock the door, my hands are shaking. My lips tingle with the memory of his kisses. And my skin feels branded wherever he touched me.
Sunday can’t come fast enough.
But for Ryder—I can wait. Two days, a year, however long it takes.
I change into pajamas, knowing it’ll be impossible to sleep. I could blow off steam with a game, but screen time before bed would jack me up even more. Instead, I grab the paperback we’re reading this week for book club.
My phone pings with a text message before I open the novel.
Ryder (Rhys’s father)
Made it home. You have no idea how hard it was to walk away from that porch. Next time I decide to be a responsible adult, please bash me on the head. Sweet dreams, trouble
Faye
I’ll keep a frying pan by the door. Sweet dreams, cowboy
I hit send and change his contact to just Ryder.
25
RYDER
I drive toward Faye’s cottage with both hands on the wheel and a knot of guilt sitting heavy in my chest. I tell myself it’s okay to take the night off. I spent the entire weekend with Rhys. Saturday at the farm, Sunday morning with pancakes and cartoons, and the afternoon throwing a football in the yard until his arm got tired. And his bedtime is soon, anyway. Mom’s got him. He’ll be fine.
But still… Am I a terrible father for ditching story time to take a woman out to dinner? Why does it have to feel as if I’m choosing Faye over my son, even if it’s just for a few hours?
Will the remorse ever go away?
The overcast sky matches my mood. Gray and hazy with heavy, humid air that clings to everything. Wind from the lake picks up as I turn onto the winding road to the cottages, rattling the windows and swaying the tree branches. Thunder rolls in the distance, a low growl that promises rain. I hope Faye and I can make it to the restaurant before it pours.
Another rumble of thunder breaks, closer this time. The windshield freckles with fine droplets, a silvery sheen that is more mist than rain.
I turn into Faye’s driveway and park, killing the engine. I grab my baseball cap from the passenger seat and pull it on as I get out of the truck. Backward, the way she said she likes it. I wouldn’t wear it on a date, but Faye is into it—and I took the good one.
The door swings open before I even knock.
And every cloud in my mind dissipates.
