“You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
This was why she should have stayed on the couch. Every interaction they’d had fell to extremes—they either ended up fighting or throwing themselves at each other.
Not that she needed those particular memories at this moment. Bri took a tie off her wrist and pulled her hair up, mostly to give herself a moment before she went off on him. The extra five seconds didn’t help her temper any, but at least she wasn’t ready to throw something. “My friends are terrible people.”
Ryan glanced up from where he was dumping the mix into an eight-by-eight pan. “You’ve known them for a year and you’re just now figuring it out?”
“They haven’t exactly made a habit of stranding me in deserted cabins with strange men before now.”
“I hardly think I can be considered a ‘strange man’ since I’ve been inside you.”
She choked, air not quite making it to her lungs. “I can’t believe you just said that.” Even worse was her reaction to his words. Her nipples pebbled, rubbing almost painfully against her bra as she shifted, and her thighs clenched together, as if that would do anything to ease the unnameable feeling centering between them.
As she’d found over the last week, the only way to easethatfeeling was to utilize her buzzy friend. It hadn’t helped that he seemed to know she’d been doing just that. He’d completely called her on it the day of Avery’s birthday party. Of course she’d picturedhisface above her andhishands on her—he was the first man she’d been with in years. Her being borderline-obsessed with him was a perfectly natural response. She hoped. Because any experience she had from here on out would be compared to how things had been with him, and like it or not, he’d set a high bar.
Oh God, what if he reallydidruin me?
Seeming oblivious to her mortification, he put the pan into the oven and then used a wooden spoon to stir the pot. “It’s just sex. What’s the harm in talking about it?”
When he put it like that, he made her sound like a frightened virgin. They needed to talk about something—anything—else. So she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m worried about my fish.”
Ryan frowned, his mouth twisting as if he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “Your fish?”
“Mr. Smith. What if he starves while I’m gone? I didn’t get a chance to feed him today.”
He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bri, your fish isn’t going to starve.”
“How do you know that? I’ve never left him alone for this long.”What if he gets lonely?Sure, she’d put the mermaid statue in the tank with him, but a statue wasn’t going to check in on him or read to him. She managed to keep that last bit inside. There was no reason to give him more ammunition to make fun of her.
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Fish are hardier than you give them credit for. Drew and I had a goldfish when we were kids. That thing went six years without being fed and it still managed to survive.”
“Six years?”
He shrugged. “We were kids. We left it bread crumbs when we remembered, but it wasn’t a regular thing.”
She should have been horrified at the neglect he’d just admitted to, but instead, she had to stifle a smile. “That’s terrible. That poor animal.”
“He had a good life. We took him on a few adventures, so he didn’t get bored.”
“How thoughtful.” They may not have remembered to feed it, but they made sure he wasn’t wasting away from boredom? It was such a little-boy thing to be concerned about.
Bri shook her head. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Ryan being cute. “How long will you be in town?”
“I fly out in ten days.”
So soon. She couldn’t say why the news sent a pang of regret through her since she’d known all along Ryan wasn’t staying—and didn’t want him to, even if he changed his mind about Wellingford. This wasn’t one of her romance novels, and Ryan wasn’t the Prince Charming she’d always dreamed of. It just seemed strangely difficult to picture her life going back to what it’d been before he barreled into it. But she couldn’t afford to think like that right now—or ever. He was leaving.
End of story.
…
Ryan wasn’t sure what had brought about that lost look in her eyes, but he didn’t like it. Not when they seemed to finally have found a topic that didn’t lead to them fighting. Her damn betta fish, of all things. He’d buy her twenty more if it kept that smile playing at the edges of her lips.
As soon as he’d told her he was flying out next week, her eyes had dimmed and she’d picked a spot on the kitchen island to focus on. Even knowing he should leave well enough alone, he couldn’t help asking, “You love this town, don’t you?”
She shifted her gaze to him and smiled, the expression so sweet, it hit him in the chest with the force of a Mack truck. “I have a place here. It’s only been a little while, but it already feels like it’s become home in a way I’ve never had before.”
He wished he could see Wellingford through her eyes, but the thought of being forced into the role he’d grown up in, of seeing the pity in people’s eyes when his dad got in another fight at the bar or was found passed out somewhere public, made the walls feel like they were closing in. Having a place obviously mattered a lot to Bri, so he choked back his issues and rounded the island to stand before her. “I’m glad you like it.”