Fifteen
Ryan
You fucking idiot.
Now look what you did.
I went back home, let myself in the back door, couldn’t even bring myself to glance at the counter where I’d had my face buried between her legs as I passed through. God, she’d tasted like heaven on earth. And her skin was like satin against mine. Losing myself inside her had been the most intense physical pleasure I’d felt in a lifetime. For those few minutes, I was able to forget everything else.
In my room, I tossed my clothes on the floor and threw myself down on my stupid mattress, hands behind my head as I frowned at the cracked plaster in the ceiling.
I’d hurt and confused her again, and I hated myself for it. For those couple hours it had been so nice to pretend it was just us that existed, tucked away in a dark room, finding a safe place in the world and in one another. I’d forgotten how good it could feel to be honest with someone that way. To be real.
And I’d forgotten it couldn’t last.
When she mentioned leaving on Friday, it was like realizing the plane was about to crash and I’d better jump the fuck out. So I had.
I should have just stayed away from her like I planned.
I was furious with myself for being so weak, furious with Mack for telling me I needed to get laid, and I even managed to place some blame on Stella for coming outside in her pajamas with her hair all pillow-messed and her skin smelling so sweet. She was an irresistible siren and she knew it, luring me in with her seductive voice and wide eyes and that uncanny ability to see inside my soul.
Above all, you value your honor. Your word.
Christ, how did she know that kind of shit?
I bet she was really fucking good at her job. I bet she was really fucking good at everything.
My phone buzzed on the floor next to me, and I picked it up. Bones had sent another photograph of a few guys in our squad, including himself, Mack, me, and Kopecki, an awesome guy from outside Chicago we’d lost to an IED blast somewhere in southern Afghanistan. Two words accompanied the pic.
Remember Kopecki?
Of course I did. I remembered his obnoxious laugh—and the guy laughed at fucking anything—and I remembered he spoke Polish to his grandmother. I remembered him telling me this story about some gymnast he dated that somehow sucked his dick while she was upside down, and he swore to God he was going to go home and propose to her.
And I remembered the blast that took his life. He never had a chance.
Bones and Kopecki had been tight.
Sure I do, I texted back to Bones. He was a great guy.
Bones replied right away. I miss him. I miss everybody.
I know, I typed. It was a lame way to reply, but I had no wisdom to offer Bones. Missing people was the fucking worst. But there was nothing you could do about it, and the more you sat around remembering them, the worse it got. You had to shut that shit down.
That was why I couldn’t see Stella again. She had me feeling things that made me nervous, things that were more than physical. Connection. Understanding. Ease.
And if I wasn’t careful, I might start to feel other things too—things that had threatened to destroy me, things I’d worked so hard to escape. Guilt. Grief. Regret. The kind that could swallow you whole.
I couldn’t risk it. Not even for her.
Sixteen
Stella
The following morning, I took an early run, going in the opposite direction of Ryan’s house. I wasn’t sure I could handle seeing him yet.
I tried not to think about him as I ran, but it was impossible. Somehow every thought led back to him and what we’d done. What I’d been able to do.
For the first time, I’d been able to relax enough with another person to actually enjoy sex. Like, a lot. So much that I was kind of devastated that it didn’t appear Ryan was interested in doing it again. So had it not been as good for him? I didn’t want to draw that conclusion, but what other conclusion was there to draw? Why else would he have suddenly blown me off?
Immediately feelings of insecurity and self-loathing began to eat at me. I wasn’t hot. I wasn’t sensual. I wasn’t the kind of woman to make him want more.
Stop thinking about it.
I forced myself to focus on my form, my breathing, my pace. Anything but last night.
When I got back to Grams’s house, she was already up. The kitchen smelled like coffee and something sweet in the oven.
“Good morning, dear!” she chirped. “I’ve made us some nice dark roast and blueberry muffins.”
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. “I’m not hungry right this second, but I might eat something later.”
“Not hungry? How can that be? Didn’t you work up enough of an appetite last night?”
“Last night?” I faced her, noting the sly smile.
“Well, yes. Weren’t you with Mr. Woods last night? I imagine he’s pretty good in the feathers. The type to really make you sweat.” Her eyes danced over the rim of her coffee cup.
“Jesus, Grams. Enough.” I turned back to the sink and drank the water down.
“You mean you weren’t with Mr. Woods? Oh, pardon me, dear. My mistake.”
I refilled the glass and drained it again before setting it in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“All right.”
“What time is your appointment?”
“What appointment?”
I faced her again. “The one with your orthopedic surgeon? For your hips?”
“Oh, that.” She waved a hand in the air. “I canceled that.”
“What?”
“It’s just that I feel so much better this week. I’d feel terrible wasting his time! And I don’t want to waste your precious visit at the doctor’s office. I’d rather spend the day baking something again—maybe a Bundt cake this time. Or some chocolate bread pudding! I’m sure Mr. Woods will love that.”
“Grams, stop.”
“Stop what, dear?”
“Stop trying to play matchmaker for Ryan and me. It’s not working.”
“Why, sure it is. You’re smitten with him, I can tell. The moment I mention his name, your cheeks get pink. That’s a sure sign.” She nodded knowingly.
“I’m not smitten with anyone, okay? And Ryan is a grown man, set in his ways. He’s not interested in committing to something, and I’m not interested in fooling around.” That wasn’t exactly true, I was totally down for more fooling around with him, but I didn’t want Grams to get attached to the idea of us being a thing. She’d never give up.
“Okay, dear. That’s fine.” She went over to her coffee pot and refilled her cup. “I don’t mean to meddle, I was only trying to help two wonderful people be a little less lonely.”
Instantly, I felt guilty. “It’s all right. I know you were only trying to help, but I really don’t need it. Okay?”
She smiled at me and patted my arm. “Of course, darling.”
“Thanks.”
“But I still think we should make him the chocolate bread pudding. It has the most delicious salted caramel topping. I’ll just dig out that recipe and—”
“Grams, no!” I could see this would take a more direct approach. “Okay, fine, Ryan and I did work up an appetite last night and yes, he’s damn good in the feathers. But afterward, he made it clear he was done with me. He wouldn’t even accept my invitation to come to dinner tonight.”
“He wouldn’t?”
“No.” I crossed my arms and waited for her defense.
“Are you sure you did it right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes.”
She sighed heavily. “Well, all right. Maybe he isn’t the right choice for you.”
“He isn’t.” Then she looked so disheartened I couldn’t help feeling sad for her. “Look, it wasn’t a terrible idea. He is very attractive and very kind to you and I like a lot of things about him. Maybe if we’d have met at some other time in our
lives, things could have been different. But as it is, he prefers to be alone. That much is obvious.”
I left her in the kitchen and went upstairs, feeling just as down as Grams had looked. It really was too bad things couldn’t go anywhere between us. Last night had been wonderful.
I stripped off my running clothes and got in the shower, unable to think of anything but Ryan’s hands and mouth on my skin. What was he thinking about today? Would I ever see him again? Why had he turned on me so quickly? Had I ruined it by inviting him to dinner? Were there Rules of the Fuck Fling I didn’t know about? Maybe I’d violated them.
After I got out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around me, shut my bedroom door, and called Emme.
“Hey,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “How are you?”
“Good.” I sat down on the bed. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, I’m just walking into the office. What’s up? How’s Grams?”
“Good. I’m actually calling about something else.”
“What?”
“I had a fuck fling.”
She gasped. “You did?”
“Well, I think I did.”
“I don’t understand. Was there a fuck?”
“Yes. That part I’m sure about. Just not the fling.”
Emme laughed. “Okay. Tell me.”
I caught her up with everything that had happened over the last few days, including Grams’s scheming, the pie, the swing, and the sex. I spared no detail.
“Holy shit,” she said. “Was it that good?”
“For me it was.”
“Then it was. That’s all you need to worry about. If you had fun, then he did. Trust me.”
“Yeah, but if that were true, then why did he run the other direction when I invited him over for dinner tonight?”
“Maybe he’s busy.”
“No. He made something up. Then he said he doesn’t date.”
“Do you think he was just looking to get laid?”
“How should I know? Maybe. And it wouldn’t even bother me that much if that was the case—I was basically looking for the same thing. But why be an asshole about it?”
“Some guys are just like that. They panic because they think you expect a ring or something.”
I sighed. “Whatever. I was able to relax and enjoy sex for the first time in years, maybe ever, so I suppose I should just be grateful for that.”
“Definitely. Fuck fling success.”
“Right. I just …” I bit my lip. I should stop talking.
“What?”
“I guess I just wish it wasn’t over so fast, you know?”
“That’s the nature of the fling, though. Quick, easy, fun, meaningless.”
“I know. But it didn’t feel meaningless,” I confessed. “Not completely, not entirely.”
“Uh oh. Stella, you need to listen to me.” Emme’s tone was serious. “I hear what you’re saying, and believe me, I understand. I was the queen of the broken hearts club for a long time because I did not separate sex from feelings.”
“I know. I remember.”
“You must, because I am pretty sure it was you who hammered it into my head that sex is not love.”
“I know,” I said, slightly annoyed that I was getting my own lecture from my sister. “I’m not talking about love here, Emme. For God’s sake, I just met the man. I’m not insane.”
“Good.”
“I’m just talking about … a feeling of some kind. Like being together meant something. Like it was more than just getting laid. I felt close to him.”
Emme sighed heavily. “A good orgasm will do that to you.”
“You’re right. I’m being silly.” I stood up and realized my hair was dripping all over the bedspread. “Look, I better go. Grams has breakfast for us downstairs.”
“Okay. You gonna be all right?”
“Yeah.” As soon as I stop thinking about him. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
Seventeen
Ryan
I was in a foul mood all day Thursday. Henry was short-staffed in the vineyard and needed help picking grapes for the late harvest wines, so I spent my morning working alongside him, but I think he got tired of my short answers, permanent frown, and general dickishness. After lunch, he suggested I check in with Mack, who asked me to repaint some benches near the stables. It was probably a punishment of sorts, solitary confinement, but that was fine with me.
I finished around four and was cleaning up when Mack texted me to come to his office. After I rinsed the brushes and put away the paint, I headed for the inn, where the administrative offices were located.
“Hey, Ryan,” chirped twenty-something Frannie Sawyer, the owners’ youngest daughter, from behind the reception desk. “How’s it going?”
With barely a nod at her, and possibly a grunt, I headed through the door behind the desk down the back hall. Mack’s office was the last one on the left.
“Yeah?” I barked from the doorway. I was hot and dirty and tired, and didn’t feel like trading confidences today.
Mack didn’t give a fuck.
“Come in here and sit.”
I went into the room, but instead of sitting, I stood across the desk from him between two chairs.
He leaned back in his chair and gave me a look. “Take a seat, Woods.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I said sit, asshole. Don’t give me any shit.”
I glared at him for a second, but I perched on the edge of a chair, back stiff, knees apart, fists resting on my thighs.
“DeSantis said you seemed out of sorts today.”
Grunt.
“I believe pissed off at the world was his take. Still bothered about that girl?”
“I guess.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you ask her out?”
“No.” I paused, then gave in. “I slept with her.”
Mack grinned. “You’re so predictable.”
“Fuck off.”
“So how was it?”
“Good.”
“Just good?”
“Too good.”
He nodded. “Was this the first woman since your ex?”
“No, but this was the first one that actually meant something.”
“And that’s the problem?”
I scratched my jaw. “Yeah.”
Mack picked up a stress ball on his desk and played around with it. “You gonna see her again?”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
“She’s leaving tomorrow.”
“So take her to dinner tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what people do, Woods. Even guys like us. Especially guys like us. They come home and do normal shit in an attempt to appear normal, if not actually feel normal.”
“Maybe I don’t want to feel normal. Maybe I don’t want to feel anything.”
“Maybe you’re just scared of what would happen if you did.”
I shook my head. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
He gave me another grin. “So I’ve heard.”
When I pulled into my driveway an hour later, I saw Stella loading something into the trunk of her car. Was she leaving?
I parked my bike in the garage, took off my helmet, and ran a hand through my hair. I imagined her standing out there, wondering what my next move would be. She’d clearly seen me pull in but hadn’t lifted a hand to wave or even smiled in my direction.
Because she’s upset with you, dipshit. She thinks she doesn’t matter.
I had a choice. I could let her go on thinking that. Would it really be so bad? She’d go her way, I’d go mine, and we’d leave last night behind. Call it a fun mistake, call it a one night stand, whatever. But let it go.
Or … I could go over there and talk to her. Apologize again for being difficult. Ask her to dinner. Try to be normal, whatever the fuck that meant.
Torn between retreating behind the safety of f
our walls and giving in to the urge to be with her again, I began walking up the driveway toward my house. When I reached the walkway to the back door, though, I didn’t take it. Instead, I walked around to the front to see if she was still there.
She wasn’t—and that’s when I really panicked.
I hated the thought that I’d never see her again, that she’d leave thinking I was a dickhead who’d used her for sex. And it’s not like she was asking anything of me. Just a little time. I could give her that, couldn’t I? One more night? How dangerous could that be?
Taking a deep breath, I walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door. I saw her through the pane and my stomach muscles tightened. She was so fucking pretty.
But damn, she was pissed. The look on her face as she opened the door said WE ARE NOT AMUSED and I could practically feel the icy air surrounding her.
“Yes?” she said without opening the screen door.
“Can I come in? Or can you come out?”
She shrugged. “What’s the point?”
“I want to talk to you.”
Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder. “Grams? I’ll be out on the porch for a minute.”
“Okay, dear!” I heard Mrs. Gardner reply. “Shall I make you a cocktail?”
“No, that’s okay.” Stella pushed open the screen door, the hinges groaning.
“I’ll run home and grab some WD-40 for that,” I said.
She crossed her arms. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Now that I was standing here, I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”
I hurried down the steps and jogged back to my garage, where I grabbed the can of lubricant off a shelf. I was a little worried she wouldn’t be there when I returned, but she was—sitting on the swing at the far end of the porch. Arms still crossed. Expression still cool. She was all buttoned up again, wearing a collared shirt beneath a camel-colored cardigan with jeans. But her feet were bare, making her seem a little vulnerable.
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