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"Oh, you’ve got all these new nicknames for me. Glad you’ve been thinking about me while you were coming up with those,” he says with a wink. “Anyway, back to my request of distraction, thought maybe you could show me one of those yoga poses you're always talkin' about. The one that calms the mind... except, when you do it, I find it anything but calming."
I laugh, a flush creeping up my neck. "You mean to say my downward dog gets your heart racin'?"
"Like a stampede." His voice drops an octave, and even across this digital expanse, it thrills me.
We trade smiles, our connection crackling through pixels and airwaves, hearts hitched together with laughter and longing.
Eyelids heavy, I stifle a yawn, fighting the pull of sleep. It's been a long day but letting go of this moment with Ryan feels like saying goodbye to a dream you don't want to end.
"Jules," he drawls, his voice a warm blanket wrapping around me. "Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you look so tired."
"Guilty," I admit with a sheepish grin. "But I'm not ready to hang up yet. You?"
"No, I’m not ready to let you go for the night either." His eyes are half-mast, blue hues dimming in the soft light of his house. But he's fighting it just like me—this invisible lasso tugging us toward slumber.
"Tell me something silly," I suggest, hoping to keep both of us awake. "Something only Ry, the secret billionaire cowboy, would know."
"Did you know," he starts, a smile playing on his lips even as they struggle to stay lifted, "that cows can have best friends?"
"Really?" I chuckle, charmed by this tidbit. "Well, now I'm jealous. I want a cow best friend too."
"Darlin', you've got me. I'm better than any ol' cow." He lets out a hearty laugh that morphs into a yawn, and I watch, amused, as he tries to disguise it with a rub of his beard.
"Sure, but do you make milk?" I tease back, curling up on the couch, the screen's glow casting dancing shadows across my living room.
"Can't say that I do." He stifles another yawn, this one sneaking past his defenses. "But I sure can make you—"
His words trail off, and there's a pause filled with the soft sound of crickets from his open window. I peer closer, noticing the steady rise and fall of his chest. His breath evens out, and I realize he's fallen asleep.
"Ryan?" I whisper, though I know he can't hear me. No response, just the gentle huff of his breathing.
A smile spreads across my face, warmth blooming in my chest at the sight of him so peaceful. There's something profoundly intimate about watching him like this.
"Goodnight, Ry," I murmur, content to just watch over him for a little while longer. My own eyelids flutter, betraying my wish to stay awake, but I resist. This moment, this quiet connection, it's worth every second of lost sleep.
I resist the urge to end the call, the screen bathing me in a soft, blue light. My head lolls back against the cushion, eyes heavy with the pull of sleep. The room is quiet except for the comforting rhythm of his breathing, syncing with the faint hum of my own air conditioning.
"Stay," I whisper, as if he could answer, as if he had a choice.
The digital clock on the mantel ticks away the minutes, but time feels irrelevant. It's just Ryan and me, connected by pixels and Wi-Fi waves, yet it's enough. It has to be.
I shift, tucking my feet under me, the fabric of the couch soft against my skin. His face on the screen blurs as my eyelids droop, and I fight to keep them open. But the fight is losing steam, my body sinking deeper into the embrace of the cushions.
"Sweet dreams, cowboy," I manage, the words drifting off as I do.
Chapter 17
Ryan
I'm standing in the doorway of my workshop, staring out at the expanse of Texas sky as the sun dips low. It’s silent, save for the occasional whinny of a horse or the creaking of the windmill.
"Something's off," I mutter to myself.
The wooden beams seem to hum with the ghost of conversations past, echoes of laughter that used to bounce off them when Jules was here. Now, they're just hollow, like they're missing her voice as much as I am.
I walk back to the house and let the door slam shut behind me. The loud sound makes me wince. Too loud in the quiet, too sharp against the backdrop of a slow Texan dusk. My boots kick up dust as I trudge towards the house, hands sunk deep in the pockets of my jeans.
"Damn," I exhale, feeling the weight of the solitude pressing down on me. A month. It’s been a whole month since I kissed Julia’s lips, waved goodbye, and she boarded a plane back to Houston, taking the sunshine with her. I didn't think it would hit me this hard.
