by RC Boldt
Taking it one step further, Sarah points two fingers at me before pointing them back toward her eyes. “I’ve got my eyes on you, buddy. Don’t hurt her.”
And so the charade of me pretending to be a gay man begins to crumble.
Chapter Nineteen
Maggie
April
“It’s so beautiful up here.”
I’m looking out the window of Ry’s car as we wind along the curving roads leading to Lake Placid, where his parents live.
“It’s definitely beautiful when it snows.” Tossing a quick glance my way before returning his attention to the road, Ry smiles over my childlike wonder at the scenery around us.
He looks unbelievably handsome in his khaki pants and simple, short-sleeved polo shirt, displaying his strong forearms. His hair is tousled, and I fight the urge to run my fingers through it; wondering how it would feel to tug on it when—
Stop it, Maggie. I feel like I need a swat from the wooden ruler on my knuckles from the nuns in Catholic school.
Repeat after me. Sean. I like Sean.
Once I chant this a few times, like a freaking mental patient, I feel like I have myself under control.
“Isn’t the North Pole nearby?”
“Now, Mags. If you want to sit on a guy’s lap and tell him what a good girl you are, you don’t have to go far.”
“Ry.” I laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully.
“To answer your question, yes. Santa’s Workshop in the North Pole, New York, is only about twenty minutes away from my parents’ place.” He tosses me a look. “You want me to take you there?”
“Can we?” There’s no mistaking the excitement in my voice.
“Of course. We can do whatever you want this weekend.”
Anything to get away from his father. That’s like the unspoken sentiment tacked on the end of his words.
As we get closer to Lake Placid, Ry makes a turn and parks the car along the street just past a sign for the LP Pub and Brewery. Turning off the ignition, he turns to me.
“You ready to have the best sandwich you’ve ever eaten?” The lightness in his eyes and his excited grin pulls me in.
“Absolutely.”
As we exit the car and walk up to the door, he places his hand on my back, guiding me inside as we wait for a table. Once we’re seated, he immediately orders a sampler of beers, and I take in the rustic inside of the restaurant.
“This has always been one of my favorite places.” Ry slides one of the sample beers over to me, and he glances around while I take a sip.
“It’s pretty cool.”
“Just wait until you taste the Maple Melt.” It appears as if he’s going to elaborate but a female voice interrupts him.
“Ryland James? Is that really you?”
A tall redheaded woman is standing beside our table, hand now on Ry’s forearm, and my first instinct is to swat at it. Pretty sure the only thing that stops me from doing that is when I take in Ry’s expression. It’s pale and almost panicked. Odd.
“Stacy … hey.” He rises from his seat to give her an awkward hug before he sits back down.
“Haven’t seen your face in forever, stranger.” Stacy smiles down at him before turning to me. “Sorry! My manners are usually better, but seeing this handsome hunk right here has thrown me off.” She tosses a thumb in Ry’s direction. “I’m Stacy.”
“Nice to meet you, Stacy. I’m Maggie.”
She smiles and then looks back and forth between us. “So are you two dating?”
“No, Mags is my best friend.” Ry winks at me, and a heaviness settles in my chest at his denial.
I blame it on the elevation. We’re up in the mountains so that could have something to do with it, right? Don’t they call it elevation sickness? Thinner air can wreak havoc on … people’s train of thoughts and weird stuff like that. I think I read it somewhere.
Or I just pulled that out of my ass in pure desperation.
“Oh, well …” Is it just me or did Stacy’s smile get brighter? “Then maybe we can get together while you’re visiting? It would be great to catch up with you.”
Yep. Her smile is definitely brighter, and right hand to God, her eyes just ripped off his polo as if she were one of those dominatrix chicks in a snuff porn.
“I’ll be showing Maggie around and getting some overdue time in with Mom, so I’ll have to let you know.”
That’s a brush-off. One delivered kindly—with a sweet smile, no less—but it’s a brush-off just the same. I know it, and Ry knows it.
Stacy, however, clearly doesn’t catch on.
“I’ll call your house and check on you in a day or so.” She gives his hand a quick squeeze. “It’s so good to see you again.” Turning to me, she offers a polite smile. “Great to meet you.”
“You, too,” I echo, watching her walk away before turning my eyes back to Ry. “Do you even realize how unfair it is that you seem to attract both men and women?”
Shaking his head with a funny look, he lets out a short laugh. “Believe me, Mags. I never realized that would even be a possibility.”
“So are you going to,”—I tip my head in the direction where Stacy went—“take her up on her offer of catching up?”
He regards me carefully, not immediately answering, and my heart thuds painfully at the prospect of him saying yes.
Finally, he shakes his head slowly. “Mags, I’m here with you. There’s no way I’m going to ditch you up here just to go and catch up with an old friend.”
Yeah. Except for the fact that I’m pretty sure Stacy isn’t just an “old friend.” I’m certain she was one of the lucky ones who got to experience him before he realized he was gay. Or however that actually happened. Either way, it bums me out to think that she actually dated Ry and maybe even was his girlfriend.
Not that I want that. After all, I have Shane, right?
I mean Sean. Sean. I have Sean.
We’ve tasted the beers in the sampler, given our order choice to the waitress, and once she sets our glasses down with our food, Ry holds out his hand.
“Pen, please.”
With a knowing look, I reach into my purse for a pen and hand it to him. He slides one of the fresh napkins closer.
“What’s important when it comes to the special person in your life and road trips?” he muses, tapping the top of the pen to his lips in thought. Finally, he puts the pen to the napkin and writes as I peer across the table to try to see. Once he’s finished writing, he slides it over to me, offering me the pen.
“Your turn.”
When I read what he’s written, I can’t help but smile.
I want someone who wants to sit on an old man’s lap.
I also want someone who loves road trips and actually enjoys being cooped up in a car with me, talking about everything and anything.
Thinking for a moment, I blush as I write:
I want the same thing but also someone who’s willing to be naughty, too.
Looking up, I place the pen back in my purse and catch sight of Ry peering over at the napkin. His eyes dart up to mine, one eyebrow raised as he drags the napkin back across the table to read it.
“Ah, so someone wants a little sumpin’ sumpin’, do they?” His grin is wide. “You do realize that—if said man were in my position today—he would’ve likely driven off the side of the steep road and sent you both careening down the side of a mountain, crashing and burning.”
“Wow. That’s romantic.”
Grin widening, he tosses up his hands. “What can I say? Someone’s got to be the logical, level-headed one of the bunch.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll continue aboard the naughty train.”
He laughs and raises his beer to toast me. “Toot, toot.”
Chapter Twenty
Ry
It’s hard to keep my eyes off Maggie. She looks incredible in a knee-length sundress the color of coral paired with a button-down cardigan sweater and some strappy sandals. Her hair is down in cascading waves,
and I would give anything to slide my fingers through it.
As we walk up to my parents’ home on Mirror Lake, her eyes get wider as she takes in the house I grew up in. It’s pretty incredible, especially when you consider that my father and my uncle built it by hand back in the day. It’s about seven thousand square feet and overlooks the lakefront. I always enjoyed sitting out on the deck and taking in the peacefulness of it.
Until my father decided I was going to be an exact replica of him. That was when this house became someplace I avoided. Like the black plague.
“Hey.” Maggie reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “It’s going to be all right.”
All I can muster is a pitiful excuse for a smile before reaching to slide my old house key in the door, only to have it swing open with my mother standing there before us. Her eyes are misty like I’m the prodigal son returning home after being gone for so long.
On second thought, it’s actually pretty spot-on.
The moment she takes in the sight of Maggie’s hand holding mine, her face brightens. Stepping toward us, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes me within an inch of my life. Releasing her hold, she leans back. Her hands frame the sides of my face, and she steers me down to press a kiss to my cheek.
“I’ve missed you, honey.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Mom.” And it’s true. I have. It’s been tough not visiting and only meeting her when she’s down in Saratoga or passing through to meet her friends in Albany.
“Maggie,” she gushes, reaching to enfold her in a hug. “I swear you get prettier every time I see you. It seems like forever since I was down in Saratoga and got to see you two.”
Maggie blushes under the appraisal. “Thanks, Mrs. James.”
“I’ve made some—”
“Is that my video gaming son at the door?” There’s no way to restrain the jolt at the sound of my father’s voice booming from inside.
Inhaling a deep, soothing breath, I press my lips thin. “Time to get this party started.”
Maggie bumps her hip to mine and flashes me an encouraging smile. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
There isn’t enough liquor in the world to make me numb enough to my father and his verbal digs at my career.
“You still insist on messing around with computers all day for a job?”
Jesus. He just won’t quit. Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to have “guy time” out on the deck. I know she wants us to find some middle ground, but I’m convinced that it’s impossible with this man.
Through clenched teeth, I explain for the millionth time, “I’m the director of infrastructure for Eastern Sports. I’m the director. I don’t spend my time in the office playing video games. In case you’re not aware”—I can’t withhold the sneer in my tone—“Eastern Sports went public and is one of the highest rated, most valuable stocks out there.”
He gives me nothing more than a dismissive wave. “You need to hurry up and get over your little childish tendencies and take over James Builders.” With a firm nod, he says, “Now, that’s a job to be proud of. Making something—building something from scratch—with raw materials. With your bare hands.”
Never mind that my father oversees the business these days and hasn’t laid a foundation in years.
Inhaling what I hope to be a deep, calming breath, I speak through clenched teeth—something that’s a common occurrence when I’m around my father. “I’ve told you this numerous times. I’m not coming to work for you, Dad. I’m not taking over the business. I love my job.”
My father makes a derisive sound. “You’ll be singing a different tune when your company gets bought out, and everything goes down the drain. Then you’ll be crawling back to me, begging me to have you run the company.”
Jumping up from my seat, I explode. “I’m never going to work for you! I don’t want to take over the company! Why can’t you be proud of me? I graduated at the top of my class, got hired right out of college, and never asked you for anything! And not once—not once—have you ever had the decency to say, ‘Hey, Ry, we’re so proud of you’ or ‘Great job, son!’ or ‘Way to go in paying off your student loans, Ry.’ Not one commendation. Noth—”
“You wouldn’t have had to worry about student loans if you would’ve just come to work for me.”
I feel like pulling my hair out. Like there’s a distinct possibility I might. Scrubbing the heels of my palms against my eyes in aggravation before letting my hands drop, I stare at him.
“I get it.” My tone is empty, devoid of emotion. “You’re not happy with the choices I’ve made as an adult. You’ll never be happy with them unless I make the choices you want me to make.” Staring at him and wishing things were different, I finish, “I’m sorry, but it’s obvious I’m never going to be what you want me to be, Dad.”
As he sits there, staring back at me, I wait. Praying for something. An olive branch. Anything.
“Well, you’re finally right about something,” he spits out. “You’re never going to be what I want you to be.”
A stabbing pain radiates from my chest, making it hard for me to breathe, and I know I have to get away. Turning abruptly, I rush down the long set of steps leading down to the waterfront, needing to escape.
And with each step away from that deck of the house, the tightness in my chest eases even while I know a piece of my heart just broke.
Chapter Twenty-One
Maggie
“I absolutely love your home,” I can’t help but gush to Ry’s mother as I help her in the large kitchen. “It’s beautiful.”
She flashes me a kind smile. “Thank you, Maggie. My husband and his brother put a ton of work into it and made a beautiful home for us.” Her head lowers as she stirs the freshly made potato salad. “We always thought we’d need a large house for the number of children we’d planned to have but …” Trailing off for a moment, her lips twist. “I had complications with Ryland, and the doctors had to do an emergency hysterectomy, so we never did get the handful of children like we’d planned. And my husband, in case you haven’t noticed, is a stickler and didn’t want to look into adoption.”
With a wry smile, she looks up. “He put all of his hopes into Ryland, and while that’s not exactly wrong, it doesn’t make it right either. He wants him to follow in his footsteps.”
I spoon the deviled egg mixture into each sliced half of hard-boiled egg. “Ry’s really happy at his job. I can’t imagine him ever wanting to leave it for the family business.” Glancing up, I hastily add, “No offense,” wincing at how it must have sounded.
Ry’s mother smiles. “None taken, sweetie. I know exactly what you mean.”
Wanting a subject change, I mention where Ry took us for lunch and running into Stacy. I know I’m digging, but I can’t help it. I’m curious about Ry’s earlier days.
“Ah, Stacy, yes. She owns a quaint little bakery in town. Makes such delicious things. The tourists—and locals, for that matter—go wild over her baked goods.”
“So the two of them dated back in high school then?” I ask casually as I continue making the deviled eggs, and she bustles around checking the items on the stovetop and in the oven.
“Yes, they were quite the pair for a short time. But”—she peeks into the oven, lifting the glass lid of one of the large dishes before closing it, setting her pot holders down on the counter—“Stacy always had her sights on staying here and, well, Ry …” She turns to face me, leaning back against the countertop. “Ry always wanted more—wanted something bigger. Heck, he was the one who raised money for an addition to their playground at school when he was in the fourth grade. Because he was certain the other kids needed more options, like a climbing wall, knotted rope climb, and some other things I can’t recall.” She looks off with a smile on her face, caught up in memories. “He asked me to help him set up a lemonade stand to raise money and even made sure to have a sugar-free lemonade option.” She laughs.
“That’s Ry
. Ever the businessman.” I smile, imagining the cute little boy wanting to do so much for others even at an early age. We stand there, each of us with large smiles on our faces until a timer goes off. She turns off one of the burners on the stove and carries a large pot to the sink, pouring it into a colander already placed there.
“Anyway, Stacy wanted Ry to stay here, and we all knew she wanted him to commit—to marry her—but it wasn’t going to happen. The writing was on the wall. They parted ways—amicably, of course. Ry applied to colleges and universities away from here, holding out hope that he’d get into Boston University.”
“And he did,” I finish.
“Sure did.” Mrs. James smiles with pride. “He got a full scholarship, and as soon as he finished his degree, he immediately enrolled in graduate school. And of course, as soon as he graduated with that degree, Eastern Sports hired him.
“Ryland would come back to visit periodically until a few years ago. He and his father got into a huge argument the day after Christmas, and something just snapped.” Her expression fills with palpable remorse. “He started meeting with me when I would pass through Saratoga and would only drive up for a few hours on Christmas. Because inevitably”—her frown deepens—“his father would badger him.”
Finished with the deviled eggs, I put the lid on the container, placing them in the refrigerator. “So then Ry must have changed his mind about dating Stacy and other women pretty late in the game,” I muse, as if I’m not totally digging for information as to when it became clear that Ry preferred men to women.
Mrs. James looks at me oddly, so I decide to direct the conversation toward Jack. “So when did he and Jack meet? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that story.”
She laughs. “Ah, yes. Jack.” Shaking her head with a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Ry met Jack at the university around the time when he was considering pledging a fraternity. Jack, although a year ahead of him, was the same age and looked completely different back then. Shaggy, unkempt hair, big glasses, baggy pants, and a beat-up T-shirt. He was the epitome of a nerd.” She breaks off into laughter. “I remember when Ry brought him home for the first time. I think I stood at the door in shock, my jaw on the floor.