She swatted his hand off her back, hating that she immediately missed the feel of him touching her. “Stop that.”
His mild look only made her want to spit nails. “I’m being polite.”
“Your version leaves a few things to be desired.” Mainly the “polite” part.
They followed the perky redheaded hostess back to a corner of the restaurant. Bri couldn’t help wondering if he’d purposely picked the restaurant on the farthest edge of town and called ahead and requested a spot where they were guaranteed to melt into the background and avoid every other customer in the place. He must really not want anyone to see them together.
Ryan held her chair out for her, and the suspicion that he was having one over on her only solidified. He’d spent their short time together insulting both her looks and her profession, and now he was being courteous?
It didn’t help that her body responded to him in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She wanted to blame it on the candlelight glinting off his strong jaw and those wonderful shoulders, wanted to believe the lie of intimacy created by the shadows and the way he rested his perfectly muscled forearms on the small table between them.
Because she wanted to believe it so desperately, she clung to the only ammo she had against him. “I might be a mousy librarian, but we can’t all be juvenile delinquents with firebug tendencies.”
His jaw hardened, sending a ripple of something through her lower stomach. “Too much excitement for you? Playing it safe is just another way of hiding.”
The barb struck too close to home. So what if she liked to play it safe? There was nothing wrong with wanting her adult life to have the security and roots her childhood had lacked. Maybe she’d missed a few opportunities for excitement as a result, but she regretted nothing. For him to sit there and judge her for that… “Better that than running away the first opportunity you had. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t up and join the circus and cement the cliché.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’ve heard enough.” As soon as she’d moved to Wellingford, she’d been entertained with stories of past events, many of which Ryan starred in. Most of those came from Drew himself, but there always seemed to be someone nearby to chip in with more when he got going.
“You and every other person in town. You’re all old maids, sitting around and telling tales of the glory days.”
Bri flinched. She’d grown up dreaming about a town like Wellingford, a place where family meant more than blood and it was finally safe to let down her guard. To have him so blatantly dismissing it—and dismissingher—stuck in her throat. “Just because you’ve seen a bit more of the world doesn’t mean you can look down on the people who live here.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’m not the only one looking down on someone here.”
“Yes, well, your opinion is pretty clear, don’t you think?”
Ryan glared. “No, I don’t think. You’ve been here about a year, am I right?”
“Fourteen months.” Not very long in the grand scheme of things, but she’d managed to put down small roots, to instate a successful children’s program in her library, and to finally start to feel like she’d found somewhere to belong.
“Exactly.” Then he lifted his menu, obviously done with the conversation.
Well, that was too damn bad. She wasn’t. “Explain, please.”
“It means Wellingford is still a novelty for you. It’s new and cute and you’ve got stars in your eyes. I don’t. I see a place where everyone is in their neighbors’ business, and you can’t make a stop at Chilly’s without everyone in town knowing about it and speculating if you have an alcohol problem.”
What?Bri made a conscious effort to close her mouth before she spoke without thinking. Why would anyone assume that he’d have an alcohol problem? She knew for a fact Drew stopped by the local bar most days after work to have a beer, and there had never been a whisper of anything like that.
The waiter approached, all smiles and cheer, giving her the much-needed break to figure out how she was supposed to respond. She ordered a red wine while she considered, while Ryan ordered Drew’s favorite locally made beer. For all his negativity toward this town and its people, he’d obviously maintained a few roots of his own.
As soon as the waiter walked away, the charm he’d conjured up fled from Ryan’s face. Before she could say anything, he charged on, “And that’s not even getting started on how every single person here is so integrated in the past that they can’t step into the future.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having an appreciation of the past. It defines us.”
“Some of us don’t want to be defined by a drunk asshole of a father, or things we did when we were snot-nosed kids.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, it took her half a second to process his words. A drunk father? She’d known Drew for nearly a year and he’d never once mentioned anything like that. All she knew was that both his parents were gone, just like hers, but he never went into the details.
She unfolded her napkin, moving slower than normal as she processed the information and held it up to what she knew of Drew and Ryan. Maybe his leaving Wellingford had more to do with leaving his father behind than leaving the town? “I’m sorry.”
He frowned, as if waiting for her to say something else. But what else could she say? She hadn’t had the easiest of childhoods, either.
The line between his brows deepened when she didn’t jump in. “Whatever you’re thinking, knock it off.”
She laid her napkin in her lap. “I was just thinking that you and I aren’t that different.”