I cocked my head curiously. “What did you think it was going to be like?”
Ryan looked a little sheepish. “A lot more dramatic. I thought you’d wake up in the middle of the night and chase down your laptop to write down your ideas.”
“That’s what my phone is for. You know I hate getting out of bed. But it’s always interesting to see what delirious Willow thought was a good idea at three in the morning.”
“I have to admit, I didn’t realize how clinical it is. I thought you’d have a cloak and write with a quill pen by candlelight, or clack away on a typewriter.”
“You’ve seen how I travel. Typewriters aren’t exactly conducive to my lifestyle.”
“I loved watching you work on it. And I can’t wait to read it.”
“Aftercopious amounts of editing and polishing,” I said. “No one’s allowed to read my first drafts.”
He kissed me again, soft and slow. The last few days had been . . . odd. I wasn’t sure if it was because Ryan knew I was planning on moving soon, but he had been holding me closer. Being even gentler than he already was.
I loved it. But the closer I got to the day that I needed to turn in the keys to Bev, the more I thought about what was next.
I had been so insistent that this was a farce. That I was being dragged into the ploy, kicking and screaming. But the truth was, I had loved every minute I had gotten to spend with Ryan Ford.
I loved standing in the check out line, bantering about seltzers. I loved having a road trip partner. I loved the way he thought he had better taste in music than me, even though we both knew that was a lie. Our structures complemented each other. We were both used to being self-employed and working from home. Not everyone understood or respected the discipline required to do that, or the fact that you were never really “off work.”
I loved going on adventures with him, even if it was just for cookies or to find places to donate books.
I loved falling asleep and waking up in his arms. I loved the middle of the night moments when he would drag me into his chest if I had rolled away.
I loved when he held my hand and gave it a squeeze; the silent reassurance that he was by my side through the wins and the losses.
Today was a win.
Coming home to him waiting was better than writing “The End.” Because Ryan Ford felt like every magical beginning.
“Thank you,” I said as I wrapped my arms around his waist and settled into his chest. The hug was strong and safe. “I’venever had someone to tell in person before. If I tell anyone when I finish, it’s Whitney and Wander. But they’re always far away.”
He combed his fingers through my hair and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Thank you for letting me be here for it.”
I pecked his lips once more. “You still haven’t explained what the candles are for. Are we having a spa day?”
“No, but I’ll remember that for next time. I enjoy a good face mask now and then.”
I laughed as the oven timer went off. “What’s that?”
Ryan let me go and grabbed the oven mitts. “Pierogies. Not as good as New York, but the freezer section will do.”
My stomach growled. “Did you have a craving?”
He set the baking sheet on top of the stove, then grabbed a mug from the cabinet and filled it with hot water from the kettle on the stove. “Not exactly.”
“Pierogies and hot chocolate,” I observed. “So this isn’t chance?”
“No. I was just thinking about the day we went out for pierogies. It was the first day we actually talked. Before that it was banter, or jabs, or me sending you an obnoxious room service spread to piss you off.”
“Aha! So you admit it was a game!”
He grinned. “It was a game that day. But after we met up and actually had a conversation . . . It wasn’t a game after that. It hasn’t been one for a long time, Wills.”
My cheeks flamed with heat as prickles of awareness clawed up my skin.
Were we . . . were we about to havethatconversation?
