He watches me. He doesn't sayI'm sorryand he doesn't fill the silence with something performative and he doesn't try to fix it. He just watches me and lets me have the sentence.
"Tell me what you want to do here," he says. “I know everyone. I can put in a good word.”
"I don’t need you to do that, it’s very sweet. But I've been thinking a ton about it. Evelyn said there's a coffee shop hiring."
"There is."
"I'm going to apply tomorrow. The money would help. I have, well I had a career, before Birdie in event planning. Hospitality in general I loved. But I’m a mom and I need to be there as much as I can for Birdie. So I'm not precious about what I do for work, I just need something with steady hours while I figure out what's next."
"And what's next."
I don’t know if it’s Birdie being gone or the alcohol, but I answer truthfully. "I've always wanted to work at a bakery. Or own one.” My ex would have ripped me apart for a statement like this and I immediately regret it. “It's stupid. I know it's stupid. I don't have a business plan and I don't have capital and I don't have a commercial kitchen. I’ll find a real job, but when I was doing events I always thought the cake was the best part.”
"That's not stupid. I’m a cake man." He leans back in his seat and polishes off his beer. “If you want to make cakes or cookies, you should. I’ll eat them.”
"It's a little stupid." I take another sip.
"It's not."
I look at him.
He's leaning on his forearms on the table,God, the forearms, and he's looking at me like I just told him something real instead of something small. “Okay, your turn. What’s next?”
"My cabin," he says. "Out on the west ridge. I've got it, I own it, it's a good piece of property. But I work so much it doesn't always feel like home. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah." I do. "Houses aren't homes just because you bought them."
"No, ma'am, they are not."
The chile comes. It is, as advertised, the best I've ever had. We eat. We talk about nothing. Duke and his embarrassingly unprofessional behavior, Evelyn's matchmaking, the specific politics of which old man gets which stool at the diner counter on Sunday mornings. At some point I realize I am laughing out loud… More than once.
He watches me laugh. He doesn't try to make me do more. He just watches it happen, like he is taking a reading, like he's going to need the data later.
After the restaurant he drives me to the overlook.
It's above the town, up a fire road, a gravel pull-off where you can see the whole canyon lit up at night. He cuts the engine and we get out. He comes around to my side and stands next to me at the edge of the lot with the stars looking ridiculous overhead.
"This is where I come when I can't sleep," he says.
"It's beautiful."
“You are beautiful.” He puts one hand on my jaw and the other at the small of my back. Then he pulls me against him and he lowers his mouth to mine. It’s the kind of slow and deliberate that makes the whole canyon go quiet.
His mouth is warm. He kisses me like he has thought about this for longer than forty-eight hours would reasonably allow. I make a sound against his mouth and let go of every last ounce of restraint. I run my hands up underneath his shirt and acrosshis washboard abs. His hand tightens at my back and grasps at my every curve. It’s been too long since a man has made me feel beautiful. Time stops just for us.
"Cece,” he pulls away and his voice is a growl. “I'm going to need you to understand something. I am not a casual man." His forehead presses against mine. His breathing is not steady. "I’m telling you that now, because I don't want there to be any confusion later. If you kiss me like that again I am going to be unreasonable about you for the foreseeable future. I need you to know what you're signing up for."
"Ryan."
"Tell me you heard me." He wraps his hand in a fistful of my hair and tugs.
"I heard you."
CHAPTER 6
RYAN
I gether to the cabin and the front door is barely closed behind us before my hands are in her hair again.
