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“Thank you.” He breathed deeply to alleviate those residual laugh-spasms from his diaphragm. The lemony scent of her filled his lungs, and he rested his forehead against hers as he took a minute to compose himself. “That was fun. You’re fun.”
To his surprise, she made a terrible face.
“Ew. I don’t want to be ‘Fun Bryce’ to you. I didn’t wear this god-awful strapless bra and get my toes painted Plum Perfect so you’d think I was ‘fun.’ My high school English teacher said the adjective ‘fun’ was the lamest one in the book, because it really gives you nothing.”
His urge to laugh vanished. “Fun was the…safest word I had for what I think of you.” The back of his neck prickled with embarrassment.
“Then give me the less-safe words. Tell me the dangerous ones.”
“Pretty,” he said, then realizing it made him sound like a sixth-grader, he amended himself. “Gorgeous. Talented. Kind. And you make things lighter. Brighter. Maybe ‘fun’ isn’t the right word, but when I’m with you, I feel happy. Whole.”
The last word slipped out before he’d realized it was queued up in his mouth, and he regretted it instantly. But, to his surprise, her eyebrows arched in that delighted way he adored.
“Then I’m mistaken. Fun is the best adjective in the book.”
With that, her mouth tilted to his, and then he was kissing her.
He felt as though she were tasting him, like a fine wine, savoring each breath, each moment their lips were together. Her hands—those strong, talented hands—gripped the back of his head as if she were ensuring he stayed right where she wanted him. Like that was a problem. There was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be other than in this booth, holding this woman close.
Until she slid her hand down the front of him.
When her palm traced his chest, those dexterous fingers working at the buttons on his flannel shirt, unbuttoning the first two buttons and slipping her hand inside, then he absolutely wanted to be somewhere else.
Like a bed.
He moved his mouth to her neck and was rewarded by a low, sweet groan.
“Mmm, that feels amazing.” She tilted her head to give him deeper access as she captured his hand, guiding it to her breast.
Now it was his turn to groan. The rough skin on his hands snagged a little at the fabric on her dress, but by the way she pressed herself into his palms, she didn’t seem to mind. His mouth moved down the smooth column of her neck to her chest, and he had just pushed aside the fabric to her shoulder when he heard a muffled noise.
“Aunt Beamer? Are you in there?”
The high-pitched voice was followed by a loud clamor at the front door.
Ryker slid away from Bryce, both of them laughing nervously as they saw that it was Addison and Cecily, their mouths pressed onto the glass door, blowing their cheeks out like puffer fish as they bashed their small fists to be let in.
“Coitus interruptus.” Bryce laughed, skootching out of the booth they sat in to go and unlock the front door.
Ryker had no idea what that meant. Maybe it was a cooking term?
Before he drew his next breath, the girls all piled inside, June bringing up the rear with her phone in front of her face, thumbs moving a mile a minute on the keypad.
Their grandparents came inside last, and Mr. Payne said something to Bryce under his breath.
“I told you we should’ve texted you first” was what he thought the older gentleman said, but Bryce acted like she hadn’t heard him.
Ryker followed her lead as the girls crowded around, peppering him with questions about his dinner, telling him about what they ate at the church, then asking if he knew what dessert Bryce had planned for them. He fended off their questions, one by one, as Bryce talked to the grandparents.
Soon the Paynes left. Bryce relocked the front door.
“Only, you promised to play with us. ’Member that?” Addison asked Ryker, her mismatched yellow and tan fairy wings flapping at her back.
“I remember, and I brought something for you.” He dug into the front pocket of his jeans. He’d had a minute between customers and had carved out two ovals from an old piece of leather upholstery he had in his shop from an interior restoration he’d done and used an awl to punch holes on either side. He’d had to rummage through his office junk drawer before finally finding an extra pair of shoelace strings, which he’d strung through either side of the leather, creating a crude eye patch. He presented them to Addison and Cecily. “Thought you might want to be pirates with me. We can rule the seas together.”
“Can you be one of the Lost Boys, instead?” Addison asked, her face pleading as she yanked his hand to stand up from the restaurant booth.
Then two things happened at once. The girl’s tiny leg got wedged in between his feet as he stood, and she did one of her fairy spins. As she twirled, her foot smacked the inside of his prosthetic.
