His announcement about taking time off had surprised me at first, but now that I’ve seen this settled, stable version of him, the break is beginning to make more sense. This is a different Ryder than the one I knew. There’s a lightness to him that didn’t exist before, a relaxed contentment, like the chip on his shoulder has been smoothly filed away. I don’t know what’s caused the change in him, but I’m itching to find out.
Ryder eventually steers us into a tree-lined cove shaded by towering oaks, cypresses, and breezy palms, cutting the engine and setting the anchor with the press of a button. The sun’sfinally started to descend, bringing the temperature along with it, giving us a break from the worst of the heat. Ryder switches on the radio, and the soft twang of country music filters through the evening air, completing the folksy Americana vibe of this whole evening.
There’s a moment of quiet where we’re both eyeing each other, perhaps equally bemused at the strange twists of fate that have found us here—alone together, on a boat in the middle of nowhere. I’m trying to ration my eye contact, sneaking stolen peeks at him, afraid he’ll catch my gaze lingering longer than it should. The corner of his mouth curves up in a private smile, and just like in the car, I think we’re in a competition to see who’ll break the silence first—and right on cue, my stomach growls so loudly it probably scares the fish.
He barks a laugh. “Hungry?” he asks, that teasing twinkle back in his eye. He grabs the takeout bags, then motions for me to take a seat on one of the built-in benches bookending either side of the glossy wood table stationed in the stern of the boat.
“Not sure anyone could be hungry enough to eat all this,” I quip as he starts unloading the food containers one by one, and I’m instantly salivating. There’s lobster pasta, seafood cioppino in a thick tomato broth, roasted corn risotto, butterflied coconut shrimp, crab-and-artichoke dip accompanied by a crusty grilled baguette, mahi tacos with mango salsa, fried green tomatoes, crispy Brussels sprouts, grilled-peach-and-prosciutto flatbread, jalapeño cornbread, and a giant slice of key lime pie that looks absolutely mouthwatering. It’s a ridiculous amount of food, enough to feed the two of us along with an army of extras. I’m suddenly ravenous, and I know I’m about to cheat my ass off.
“So did you order the entire menu?” I ask, only half kidding, as I pop the lid off the risotto.Mmm, clarified butter and complex carbohydrates: the stuff dreams are made of.
He studiously avoids my gaze as he tears off a piece of the flatbread.
“Seriously?”
He shrugs guiltily. “I just asked for their most popular dishes.”
I shake my head, my mouth already full of risotto. If I’m deep-sixing my diet, I’m not wasting valuable stomach space on vegetables. “This is more than I could eat in a week, let alone for one meal.”
“Oh please, the girl I knew could eat me under the table. You’re forgetting I once watched you demolish an entire pizza by yourself.” He kicks his feet up onto the bench next to me, his heel a millimeter from grazing my thigh.
I sigh longingly. “I wish I still had that girl’s metabolism.”
“Do you still unbutton your pants at the start of every meal?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sniff. “I’m a lady.”
“You know that movie I did,No Man’s Land?” he asks, and I nod in the affirmative. While I never actually saw it, you’d have to be living under a rock not to have heard of it—it earned Ryder every award nomination under the sun. “I played a prisoner of war. So for the first half of the movie, I was at my normal weight, and then we had to shut down filming until I could lose forty pounds. And they wanted it to happen basically overnight.” He takes a huge bite of the pizza and groans in pleasure. “I nearly starved to death. I was allowed to eat, like, celery. And I had to work out like crazy, but I couldn’t look strong, so there was no weight training, only running. Running and starving.” He shakes his head in dismay and one-bites the restof his slice. “You never realize how much you look forward to your meals until you’re not allowed to eat them. I am not proud of the person I became. I was such a cranky asshole that my assistant banned me from talking to him for the duration of filming. He threatened to file for worker’s comp!”
“Try living that way for a decade and you’ll get close to understanding what it’s like to be a woman in this industry,” I say dryly, already scanning the assortment of food containers for my next target.
“I don’t envy you,” he says, passing me the lobster pasta, correctly predicting my next craving.
It’s refreshing, to be able to speak openly about this less-than-pleasant side of the industry with someone who really gets it. I appreciate that he doesn’t feel the need to tell me that I “don’t need to lose any weight” or poke fun at my restrictive eating habits the way Elliott always used to. Ryder knowsexactlyhow important maintaining your physique is for an actor, that every extra calorie or missed workout shows up on screen in high definition. And men certainly aren’t exempt from Hollywood’s intense body image pressure, especially when they know that logging a few extra hours in the gym can mean landing that superhero franchise that’ll set them up for life.
Fortunately, I have a healthy relationship with food, something I’m grateful for in an industry that’s known for just the opposite. I view maintaining my weight as just another aspect of my job, a necessary evil in an industry obsessed with youth and beauty. Still, I look forward to the day I can stop compulsively counting calories, when every day can be a cheat day, when I can finally answer an enthusiasticyesto the question,Would you like to see a dessert menu?Sadly though, that day is not today.
Ryder reaches over and lifts up a section of the bench seat, revealing a hidden cooler compartment filled with ice and assorted drinks. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted—I packed water, soda, wine?” he says, selecting a sparkling water for himself.
I hesitate, awkward at the idea of drinking in front of him and wanting to be supportive of his sobriety without seeming patronizing.
“It’s okay to choose the wine, it’s why I brought it,” he says lightly, passing me a clear plastic cup.
I decide to accept a light pour, mostly because I can sense it’s important to him thatIknow he can handle it, that he’s moved past that phase of his life, that he’s triumphed over his demons enough that he’s not going to fall off the wagon at the slightest temptation. For my part, I want to demonstrate my faith in him…though I could certainly use a little liquid courage.
He tips his head back to take a swig of water, his throat rippling as he swallows, and his flexing Adam’s apple draws my attention like a magnet. Water laps against the sides of the boat, gently rocking us back and forth as memories spark in the air between us like fireflies.
He sends me a smile I always thought of as his “cahoots” smile, the one that made it feel like I was in on a secret. “So, now that I have you alone…”
“Uh-oh. Is it time to exact your long-awaited revenge?” I exhale a nervous laugh, more serious than kidding.
His eyes gleam. “More like I canfinallyask you some questions without you deflecting or running away.”
My pulse quickens. “What do you want to know?” I say recklessly, calling his bluff, everything about this dreamlike little bubble we’re in making me bold.
His amber eyes blaze like hot coals rimmed in fire. “Everything.”
14
