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He grunts, which I’m starting to understand is Rider’s preferred method of communication.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I ask, hoping to get some kind of conversation going. If we talk about him, maybe we won’t have time to talk about me and why I was sleeping in my car.
“My mother,” he says softly. The way the words are spoken with equal parts fondness and sadness lets me know she’s no longer with us.
“When did she pass?” I hold my hands up when Rider cuts a glance at me. “We don’t have to talk about it–”
“How did you know?” he asks, interrupting my spiral.
“Your tone. I can tell you love and miss her, but not the same way someone misses family that lives far away. It’s a deeper, more permanent loss.”
Rider furrows his brow, those dark eyes piercing me right down to my soul. He nods slowly, and for a moment, I think the conversation is over.
Good job,I tell myself.Way to bring up a painful subject the first time you have an actual conversation with the man.
“Two years ago,” Rider finally says. “I guess I haven’t processed it yet.”
My hand moves on its own, covering Rider’s. He flips his hand over, weaving our fingers together as he stares at where we’re connected. When he doesn’t say anything else, I take a chance by continuing.
“Tell me about her,” I whisper.
Rider takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “The only thing she loved more than cooking was gardening. Wild roses, daffodils, gardenia bushes, and, of course, her herbs and spices. Ma always had fresh spearmint, basil, parsley, and dill.”
“She sounds amazing,” I say quietly, not wanting to disturb this moment.
“She is.Was,” he corrects himself. I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes mine right back. “And she did it all on her own. Raised me, taught me how to work hard and treat people with respect. All while working her ass off at the local diner. I don’t know how she had time for it all while maintaining her garden and cooking for me most nights.” Rider pauses, shaking his head slightly. “As soon as I could safely operate the stove and oven, I had Ma show me her favorite recipes. I started with one meal a week, then two, until I took over cooking for her altogether.”
I never would have guessed the man sitting next to me loved his mama so much and could cook up a storm. Rider is one mystery after another, and I can’t wait to find out more.
“And now you’re using your cooking skills to feed the homeless,” I joke. Rider frowns. “For real, though, your mom would be proud of the man you’ve become,” I tell him sincerely.
He looks away from me, mumbling something that sounds like, “I failed her in the end.”
I want to ask a dozen questions but now isn’t the time. Especially since I can tell Rider is about to turn the tables on me and ask about my personal life.
“So, are we going to talk about your living situation?”
“I was hoping to skip that topic,” I say lightly as I take a huge bite of the egg salad sandwich. It’s also the stuff of dreams, for the record.
Rider waits patiently for me to finish chewing, but I take another bite, hoping to stall a bit more. He narrows his eyes at me, though his lip twitches with the slightest hint of a smile.
“All done?” he asks after I finish both sandwiches, the fruit, and a handful of chips.
“Yup. Just in time for a siesta.”
Rider grunts out a laugh, which makes me unreasonably happy.
“You don’t have to tell me everything, Sutton,” he says, the sudden seriousness in his tone making me pay attention.
Rider stands from his seat and moves closer, stepping in between my parted thighs. I tilt my head back to look into those deep brown eyes. Rider gently, so gently cups my cheek, the rough pad of his thumb brushing against my skin in the lightest touch. I can’t help but lean into him, loving the contact far more than I should.
“I need to know how I can keep you safe,” he continues in a hushed tone. “Are you running from anything?” Rider’s jaw clenches, though I’m not sure why. Is he that upset at the merethoughtof someone threatening me?
“Just bad luck,” I say with a tiny smile. Rider’s eyes never leave mine, letting me know it’s not the time to joke or be cute. “No, I’m not in danger or anything, just…” I sigh, shrugging my shoulders dismissively. “Just struggling,” I finish, unsure what else to say.
“It’s okay to struggle, Sutton. You don’t have to go through it alone. Let me help.”
“Why?” I’m not sure he can even hear me, my voice is so soft.
