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So, at a loss, having none of my usual comforts to keep me busy, I found a notepad in the kitchen drawer that Ryan and Anita used to leave messages back and forth judging by the six pages of said messages asking Anita to buy lemons and protein powder or Anita telling Ryan that she used the card he gave her to buy cleaning supplies and groceries and that the receipt was in the drawer.
After finding myself looking at his scribbly, slanted handwriting for far longer than I cared to admit, I took a pen and the notepad over to the couch and sat down to do a little writing.
I hadn't really even heard him come in, finding that he moved around quietly when he wasn't in work shoes which I found interesting because literally every other man I had ever met in my life seemed to do everything with heavy footsteps- stomping to the bathroom in the middle of the night, slamming cabinets in the kitchen, yawning like they were being paid to really make it believable.
But then the couch beside me depressed as he dropped down, making my cushion jump slightly and my heart fly up into my throat, still not used to having anyone around.
I looked over and watched as Ryan's somewhat tense expression softened until there was a small smile there. He reached out toward me, his thumb pressing into my cheek and rubbing. "Ink," he explained, pulling his finger away and showing me the blue.
When I was thinking, I had a habit of tapping a pen against my cheek impatiently.
"Thanks," I offered, closing the pad so that the notes from him and his housekeeper hid my words, always having been shy about mine until they were a finished project and I unleashed them to the masses.
"So I got a couple things from your place," he said, nodding his chin over toward the kitchen, making my gaze follow, shocking me when I realized the entire island was actually covered. So he wasn't just quiet, he was pretty much a ninja. "Found your laptop and charger since the computer was too much of a project, some bath stuff, some clothes, and a few of the books that seemed to be in an unread pile."
It totally was an unread pile with a stack of bookmarks on top, one for each book.
"Thank you," I said again, giving him another grateful smile. Good. He was too damn good.
"I ran into Bry," he said just as I stood up and started toward the pile, making me whirl back around, mouth parted, eyes bugging.
"What?" I hissed, my heart slamming again, but not in a surprised way, in a very anxious way.
Ryan and Bry?
No.
Bad, bad combination.
"Dusty, breathe," he suggested, tone almost annoyingly calm while I was running over the million or two reasons him talking to Bry was an absolutely terrible thing. "We just had some things to discuss and came to the same conclusions. Which," he went on when I moved to interrupt, "don't include letting you worry about a damn thing concerning it. You've been through enough. We have it handled. But anyway, he also dropped off your Christmas presents. It's in the box with the bath stuff," he added, casual as ever even though he had literally just told me that he was 'handling' a problem that involved a drug dealer and guys who beat and robbed me when he barely even knew me. "So, I hear you like baths when you're anxious," he went on, standing and stepping across the floor toward me. He reached for the box I held my bath bombs in and handed it to me. "I have literally never used that bath in there, but Anita cleans it every time she's here so it's clean and it's all yours. Take all the time you need."
All the time I'd need?
To come to terms with a guy I was maybe developing feelings for for the first time in years that barely knew me somehow 'handling' my problem with illegal prescription drug distribution?
Yeah, I was pretty sure there wasn't enough hot water in the building to last me until I came to grips with that kind of thing.
"While you do that, I will start getting things ready for later."
"Later?" I repeated, my mind going in too many directions to decipher what that meant.
His head ducked a bit, eyes warm, smile sweet. "New Years Eve, honey. We have a date."
A date.
I was pretty sure I actually freaking blushed at that word.
It had been so long since I had something as normal as a date with a man.
"Right," I agreed with a hesitant smile.
"I got confetti cannons," he added, looking almost a little sheepish at the idea.
Seeing that, I felt some of my tension melt away. If there were things that made him feel a little uncertain, and those things were freaking confetti cannons, then he seemed a bit more human to me.
