He walks over to his bike and gets on as I jump into the truck. I wait for him to pull out in front of me, and I follow behind him. It takes fifteen minutes to get to the clubhouse. When he jumps into the truck, the cab instantly feels smaller.
“Your truck is a mess,” he says as he kicks a wrapper on the floorboard, and I start to drive toward the resturant.
“Hey, if you are going to judge me, we can cancel this marriage now.”
“No going back now,” he murmurs.
“Not wrong,” I mutter, knowing the lawyer has likely already filed the marriage certificate.
“So when do you want to move in?”
I cringe at the thought of moving in with him. It’s weird thinking about moving in with another man, especially so soon after losing my old man.
Then again, maybe after I move into his place, I’ll actually be able to get some sleep. No one talks about how hard it is livingin a house when you know a loved one died in those four walls. I almost feel as if his ghost is haunting me. What’s a bigger mind fuck is that some days I’m perfectly fine. I can walk through the door just like I did when I was a kid. But then, on other days, it’s like my feet are weighed down. It sounds so ridiculous that I don’t even know how to properly explain it, so I keep it to myself.
“Rain, you with me?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, sorry. I zoned out. When do you want me to move in?”
“I mean, you probably should soon in case Mr. Cohen comes around, but if you need a little bit of time, I can probably come up with an excuse to buy you some time.”
I want to tell him that I want to prolong it as long as possible, but don’t. I might as well get this over with as soon as possible.
“No, you’re right. We should just do this. I’ll pack some things, and I’ll bring them over.”
“Cool. It won’t take me long, but I’ll need to make a trip to the store before you come over. I’ll make you a key while I’m out…”
“Stock up on your things. Smart.” I nod.
“Well, that, but I want to pick up some of your favorite things as a thank you for doing this.”
“You want to pick up my favorites? Like what?” I ask, heart racing.
I don’t know the last time someone bought me something other than my dad. Does he really know me that well to know what I would buy?
“Those mini Reese’s you like, the Kettle Krinkle Cut dill pickle chips, chocolate-covered nuts, and a shitload of fresh fruit,” he says as I pull into the resturant parking lot.
“Wait, you know that I like those things?” I ask as I put the truck in park.
“Well, yeah.”
“How?” I ask in disbelief.
Ridge raises an eyebrow. “I’ve known you for years. I know you.”
“You know you don’t have to do that, right?”
He shrugs. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”
“What else do you know?” I ask, turning to face him.
“You have horrible fucking cramps and will drink a whole jar of pickle juice to ease the pain. Your dad used to laugh about the fact that you take short showers. He said you were the only female he knew who didn’t spend an hour or more in the shower each day.”
“I like to get in and get out. There’s no point in just hanging out in there,” I murmur.
How? How does he know all of this? I try to think of something I know about him outside of what beer he likes, but my mind comes up blank.
“Exactly. Like I said, I know you,” he says as he reaches for the door handle.
