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“Ruby!”
I turn and find Bellamy walking toward me with a huge smile on her face and her arms wide. Before I can say hello, she’s wrapped me in a tight hug and squeezed me half to death.
I like how quickly she’s welcomed me into the fold.
“Boyd said you might be coming to today. I’m so glad you’re here.”
She steps back then loops her arm in mine, designating herself in charge of our twosome as she leads me across the deck and over to look out at the lake.
“Yeah, he texted me this morning. I thought it was going to be mostly family, though. I had no idea it would be such a big party.”
Bellamy laughs. “Well, there’s definitely a lot of family here. A lot of Mitchells do live in Cedar Point, but in a small town like ours, the word family takes on a different kind of meaning, I guess. Neighbors and friends fall into that category, too.”
I nod, my lips tipping up at that concept. I assumed when Boyd said family, he meant his siblings and parents, but thinking back to our conversation on the plane, he did say he has a really big family.
What must that be like? Having a family big enough to throw a party like this? Caring enough about the people around you to consider them family, too?
It makes me yearn for something intangible, something I can’t quite put my finger on.
I’ve always taken pride in the fact that it was just my mama and me, the two of us against the world, not relying on anyone but ourselves. Then I took that mentality and applied it to my life as well, opting out of most relationships that would result in something significant.
Maybe there is something to be said for leaning on someone every once in a while, for believing that the people in your life will come through for you.
Maybe I’ve been wrong.
* * *
Bellamy and I shoot the shit for a little while longer before she runs off to help her mom with something and I’m left to my own devices.
Even though I was here yesterday, I allow myself a chance to appreciate the Mitchells’ beautiful home.
The partially covered wooden deck leads off of the living room and kitchen, and there’s a built-in outdoor kitchen area with a barbeque and countertop space that Boyd told me they use to clean up the fish they catch each weekend.
Right now, everything is out of the way to make room for the crowd, but when I was here yesterday morning, they had a massive table right in the middle with twelve chairs around it. Potted plants are strewn along the edge of the wooden deck, giving visual separation between it and the half-step down to the grass.
The yard space is slightly inclined and rolls down to the long, L-shaped dock that stretches out into the water. A boat has just come to a stop at it, unloading a group of men. I can see Bishop and Boyd in the mix, and I smile knowing he’s here.
Maybe I should play harder to get, but I can’t help but watch Boyd as he makes his way to the house from the dock, a big cheesy smile on my face. He moves slowly through the crowd, his attention constantly distracted by another person saying hello or giving him a hug or handshake. I wonder if he knows I’m here until I see his eyes flit up to mine, like he knew exactly where I was standing and waiting for him all along.
In that very moment, I decide to rationalize breaking some of my rules for Boyd Mitchell.
What happens on vacation, stays on vacation, right? I should be able to spend all the time I want with him, should be able to talk with him about whatever comes to mind and daydream about this continuing in Boston.
I can deal with the consequences of it later, when I’m heading back to the east coast alone.
Right now, I’m just focused on him and the way my heart rate picks up as he steps onto the deck, walking straight toward me.
When Boyd gets to me, he wraps his arms around my waist and I lift mine to circle his neck, allowing him to squeeze me tightly against him and tucking my face into the crook of his neck.
I take in a deep breath. There is nothing headier than the way Boyd smells, something woodsy and manly and hinting at some sort of clean soap scent.
Suddenly, I’m glad I’m not the type of girl who plays hard to get. It’s overrated.
“There you are.” His voice rumbles in my ear.
I pull back to look at him. “Here I am?” I ask, still smiling. “How about there you are? I’ve been here for a while just hanging out all alone like a loser.”
His brow furrows. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what time you were going to get here or I would have—”
