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We reach the bottom and Ryan places his warm hand on my lower back, steering me towards the front door. I suddenly feel like I’m sixteen again instead of in the final year of my twenties. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see that Grandma and Grandpa aren’t even paying us any more attention. Grandpa has his hand possessively on Grandma’s arm as he walks beside her down the hallway towards the patio. They’re chatting animatedly about something, each laughing as he opens the door for her and they disappear out of sight.
Longing stirs my stomach, spreading warmth through my veins and to my heart. Will I have that kind of love when I’m their age? Is Ryan that love?
I always wanted happily ever after, but I never really pictured it until right now. Sure, I thought Gavin would be in that picture someday, but now? Gavin was never meant to be the man standing beside me, guiding me and laughing with me.
But Ryan? The slightest touch of his fingertips sends shivers up and down my spine as we step outside and he leads me towards his truck. The possessive gesture mimics that of the one I saw only moments ago with my grandparents. Is this what they saw in each other when they first met? When they realized they were destined to be together, even after only knowing each other a short period of time?
Looking up at the sexy man escorting me to his ride, I smile because I already know the answer. I feel it deep in my bones, down in the depths of my soul. Ryan is my other half, my soul mate.
My forever.
***
We dine on fresh crab cakes and shrimp scampi at a little seaside diner with plastic, red and white, checkered tablecloths. It was the first restaurant we came to when strolling along the causeway by the ocean. I’ve already scoped out several shops that I want to hit on our way back to the truck.
“I can’t believe how good this is,” I mumble before stuffing more food in my mouth. “I’m going to gain ten pounds just from this weekend alone.”
“Wouldn’t matter. You’d still be the most gorgeous woman in the world,” Ryan replies while holding a piece of shrimp skewed on his fork across the table.
Leaning forward, I take a slow bite of the cheesy, garlicy sauce. “You’re too sweet.”
“I speak the truth. Gorgeous. Intelligent. Caring. Sweet. Sexy as hell. All things I see when I look at you. Your weight has nothing to do with who you are.”
Blushing slightly, I give him a small grin. His words warm my heart like melted butter in a frying pan. I’m a goner.
“Ready?” he asks when there’s nothing left but empty plates.
“Yes.”
After paying the tab, Ryan and I step out onto the walkway and slowly make our way back to where we parked his truck. “There are a few places I thought we could stop on our way back. Is that okay?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
Hand in hand, we walk half a block to the shirt shop I saw earlier. The ones in the windows have funny sayings on them, and I thought it’d be cute to commemorate our trip with cheesy tourist shirts.
A bored looking teenager mans the counter, and barely looks up from her phone as we step inside. Light reflects off of the ring in her nose, and her purple hair is spiked straight up. Clearly her conversation via text is more important than helping us, so I lead us towards the first row of t-shirts.
The first one I pick up is a black tee with F.B.I. printed boldly across the chest. I hold it up and show it to Ryan. His eyes light up and he chuckles as he reads the rest of it aloud. “Female Body Inspector. Now I know what F.B.I. really stands for.”
Folding the shirt, I return it to the stack with the others. Ryan grabs a light blue one with a large crab on the front. Opening the shirt, it displays a smiling, cartoon crab with the phrase ‘I’m too cute to be crabby.’
“This is the one we should get you,” he says.
“You clearly haven’t spent enough mornings with me before I’ve had my coffee,” I retort as I reach for another shirt.
“Here’s yours,” I say as I hold open the white shirt. It’s of a man from the thighs up wearing the smallest Speedo I’ve ever seen. His body is hard with ripped abs, a chest etched from stone, and arms that make ovaries weep. Across the back it reads ‘This is my beach body.’
“Are you saying I should cover up my body with a better one?”
“Absolutely not. I just think it’s a funny concept, you know? A middle aged, balding man walking around wearing this shirt to give the impression that he just left the gym after a long workout. All while he’s covering up his beer belly and moobs.”
“Moobs?”
“Man boobs.”
Ryan laughs and grabs the white shirt beside the one I have in my hand. “Then this one must be yours.”
It’s similar to the one I hold in my hand, but this one is of a woman. She’s wearing the skimpiest string bikini, with perfect double D’s spilling from the top, and has a hard, flat stomach. She’s curvy and voluptuous and flawless, really. She’s nothing like me.
