“Hey, you okay?”
I look up and see Ridge standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets and a frown on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“You told me you were coming over here to clean out his closet. I thought I would come help.” He moves closer.
“You didn’t have to.” I sniffle, hating the emotion in my tone.
His eyes soften. “I wanted to. What’s that you’re holding?”
I look back down at the jacket as he sits on the edge of the bed, his hip touching my knee.
“It’s a jacket my dad used to wear when I was a kid,” I admit softly.
“Tell me about it.”
A small smile fills my face as I replay the story for him that just played in my own head.
“That’s awesome. He never told me about that,” he tells me.
“I’m not surprised. It’s just a jacket.” I shrug.
“Babe, your dad wore it every day for years. He kept it in the closet. It clearly meant something to the both of you,” he reassures me.
A spark of love rushes through me. “You think so?”
“I do.”
Sighing, I set the jacket carefully on the bed, away from the donation pile and fully in the “mine” pile. It might be old and worn, but I will keep it until the day I die.
“You’ve made some progress,” he says, changing the subject.
“Yeah, I’m almost done with the closet. I didn’t realize how much shit he had shoved in there,” I say, making him chuckle.
“Hey, don’t hate. Your dad liked to keep stuff. He was sentimental that way.”
I shoot him a glare. “Yeah, including T-shirts riddled with holes that are so thin I can’t even tell you what color they originally were.”
He tips his head back and laughs, and for some reason, I have the urge to lean forward and run my tongue along his throat.
Jesus Christ.
Get it together, Rain. Your dad’s room is not the place to get turned on.
“I’d love to know what you were just thinking about,” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“That’s for me to know and you to maybe find out, if you’re lucky.” I stand and move back to the closet.
“Have you checked his dresser yet?” he asks.
I shake my head and call over my shoulder. “Have at it.”
A few seconds later, rock music starts to play quietly throughout the room, and I hear a drawer slide open.
For a little while, we work with only the sound of hair bands playing.
“Hey, is this yours?”
