by Grea Warner
“What?” I swear I could see Ryan’s seductive thoughts as he scanned my body.
My cheeks tingled with an instant flush. “Well, okay, balance and strength might have been an issue.”
“I can do a summer sauce,” Joel proudly announced, and his sister almost immediately corrected the word “somersault.”
Papa Ryan followed just as fast with, “Not in the house.”
As Joel burrowed his little eyebrows and twisted his mouth in disappointment, I continued, “I always liked music. I sang in my dad’s church choir, and the organist gave me keyboard lessons.” Then I added something I knew Ryan didn’t know yet. “And I thought about being an architect.”
“What’s that?” Sallie appeared more and more enamored by my life’s story.
“They design houses,” I explained. “They decide where the kitchens go and the soaring ceilings and the game rooms.” I looked to Ryan who, as I suspected, had a slightly opened mouth in shock. “I loved the creative part of it. I could be the singing architect.” I chuckled.
“That explains it,” he said.
“Explains what?” I took off my shoes, which I hadn’t had a chance to prior because of all the drama erupting when I had first arrived.
Ryan, smiling at my action, replied, “Your doe-eyed look the first time you came to the house. I was afraid you were all starstruck—"
“Sorry. This house—the design, the details ...” I was still very much in awe of the home. “It definitely gets top billing of all the Thompsons.”
Ryan chuckled a bit. “In a weird way, it reminds me of the farm where I grew up.”
“Yeah, the rustic wood and the old-world features.” I totally saw that.
“Minus the chickens and pigs and horses, of course.” He smiled.
I was barely able to agree when Joel piped in with, “Grammy and Pappy have those!”
“That’s what we’re talking about Joe-Joe.” Ryan shook his head. “So, what made you bypass being an architect?”
“Math. There was way too much math involved. It wasn’t as creative as I thought.” Truth.
“Now you work with Daddy,” Sallie seemed to say proudly.
I couldn’t see them, but I swore my eyes sparkled. I know my mouth lifted a bit, and I felt at ease when I looked at him and answered, “Yeah, I do. And he knows the stuff in between.” Guitar lessons, high school and college musicals, summer stock, radio temp work, and lots of songwriting were details I had listed on my Singer Spotlight bio and info Ryan and I had discussed.
Ryan’s smile was similar to mine before he turned back to the kids. “Dinner is on the way. Go wash hands.” When the kids dutifully followed his directions, Ryan did a little body shake at me. “Singing architect ...”
“Who knows?” I laughed.
He scooted a little closer and caressed my lips with a most beautifully sweet and soft kiss. “I don’t want to necessarily be shy about doing that around the kids,” he said afterward.
But noting he had waited until they left, I wanted him to know I understood. “But you have to be careful with what they might say. I get it.”
“That’s part of it, but, more importantly, I want to protect how they feel. They really like you. So, I don’t think it’s gonna be too big of a deal.” I was glad he said that because I felt it from the kids, too. “They know Kari and I aren’t together. We’ve talked with them about it. I try to be honest with them even when it hurts. But we’ve never said the D-word because of the press. If they say anything about us being apart, people think it’s because she is on tour and gone so much.”
“If they say they saw us kissing, though?” I brought the conversation back to our semi-secretive smooch.
I hated to see his face dip down, but it was reality. “I guess we cross that bridge if it comes to it. I don’t want them to have to lie. And I don’t want to hide my feelings with them because that is like lying to them. I will not lie to my children. The public? That’s something I kind of need to do ... for now. But I’m gonna make sure—"
“Mission accomplished!” Joel announced, pouncing into the room and putting his hand up to his head like a soldier.
Sallie was right behind her brother. “I wiped up the water Joel splashed.”
Ryan shook his head. “Thanks, Sals. Guys, you know Bethany is my friend, too, right?” He put his hand on top of mine. “Not just someone I work with?”
“Like Nico,” Joel suggested.
“Yeah, sure,” Ryan agreed and looked at his daughter.
Sallie gazed at her father’s hand on mine, and it made me a little leery at first. “She’s my friend, too,” she pronounced.
Ryan looked at his chiming phone and, noting that the food had arrived, asked for Sallie’s help getting it. When he replaced my hand with hers and they started toward the door, I was ready to suggest to Joel—who was more zooming airplane than little boy at the moment—that he and I go to the kitchen, but my phone announced an incoming text. So, I grabbed my purse from the safety of the tallest shelf in the family room and pulled out my cell.
Ryan’s text, with an accompanying wink emoji, read, Soooo not like Nico.
I looked up to see him grinning. “Bethany, can you sort out the orders?” He handed me the bag of food. “That’s okay, right? I mean with—”
I knew he meant my allergy, so I interrupted with reassurance. “Yes. It’s all good.”
And, thankfully, he seemed at ease. “Okay. I’ll be back down in a couple minutes. Joel and Sallie, help Bethany, please.”
We went on our group mission in the kitchen as Ryan headed upstairs. The kids were pretty sufficient getting their own plastic plates, cups, and napkins. And I served the food onto the respective plates.
As I was assisting a determined Joel with pouring milk, I heard Sallie say, “Daddy, you look nice.”
“Thanks, Sals.”
I set the milk down and turned in Ryan’s direction. He didn’t just look nice. He looked downright dapper. His gray suit, which hugged his frame just right, was coordinated with a white shirt and blue patterned tie.
“I told you, you didn’t have to,” I commented on our earlier discussion about getting dressed up.
“And I told you I had planned on it.” He must have. He had done it rather quickly. “Come on,” he said with a small, satisfied look on his face. “There’s something else. Grab your plate.” He grabbed his soup and sandwich combo. “Kids, you good?”
“Yeah, Daddy,” Sallie said as her brother, with a milk mustache already, gave a thumbs-up.
“Put them in the sink when you’re done and then no arguing with the TV,” was the dad directive.
“Got it!” Joel exclaimed.
“Bethany, grab your plate.” Ryan nodded toward my salad.
I did so but asked, “We’re not eating with the kids?”
“They don’t want to sit through a whole dinner. They’d rather get done and go to the family room and watch cartoons.”
“Okay.” I was curious what the plan was as I followed him through a set of magnificent French patio doors and out to a part of the property I had never been in before ... the back yard.
“What? You’re not disappointed, are you? You want to watch SpongeBob?” he teased.
“No,” I started, but the quaint scene in front of me caused a halt in any sassy comeback I could come up with.
A table covered by a white tablecloth set center stage on the patio. On it were two wine glasses and a bottle of some kind of white. In the center was a vase, which appeared to have six red roses. Although, I was a bit too stunned at the moment to count the exact number.
I set my plate on the table. “This is so nice.” I took in the horizon and imagined what it would be like in another half-hour or so with the sun setting. “You have a lot of space back here.” I noted the expansive yard, which was bordered on both sides by a tall, solid fence.
With his plate on the opposite side of the table as mine, he wrapped his arms around me from be
hind. “Yeah, it’s rare to have the acreage and privacy.”
I placed my hands on his, which were perfectly positioned between my ribs and hips. I loved the intimate, new feel. But I also loved still being able to joke around with him. “It’s perfect for a dog to run around.”
“Oh, don’t you start.” He jabbed my side with his right pointer finger.
“Just teasing.”
“You know what else the yard is great for?”
“What?”
He released me so he could gently turn me back toward the table. “Growing those roses.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“Something special about them, though.”
“Besides being homegrown?”
Besides the thought of him picking them? Besides the magical setting they were placed in? Besides the fact that I had never had someone do something like that for me before?
As I was thinking I better not get too emotional on our first date—it had already been a see-saw start as it was—he gave me an instruction. “Pick them up.”
I lifted the roses out. As initially thought, there were six. But I didn’t notice anything else besides their beauty.
“Every rose does not have a thorn, Bethany,” he amended the song title of my bad dating history.
I examined them more closely. They, indeed, did not. If he had pruned them, he did a magnificent job. If he hadn’t, I needed to research a little because a thornless rose was seriously cool. Ryan Thompson, since the first time I had met him while standing scared on the stage, had brought out every emotion in me—disappointment, anger, nerves, anticipation, excitement, respect, joy, fright ... relief. And if I wasn’t careful, I knew the next one might be dangerously close to my heart.
***
I felt like I had a little more bounce in my step and a little more beat in my song as I went through my work shift. And it wasn’t because of the caffeine simmering and floating its aroma through the air. It was because of that dinner—that date—the night before. The meal, accompanied by what turned out to be an even more spectacular sunset than I had imagined, had been fantastic. With every kiss, especially the goodnight one in the foyer, I could feel the connection deepen. And the fact that it felt so natural, made it even better.
I had been working a few hours straight when I pushed a large Americano with a shot of cinnamon forward on the counter. “Tom!” I called out the customer’s name. Without looking when the hand reached for the coffee, I concluded with the traditional, “Have a nice day.”
I was already on the next order when Tom answered, “It would be, if you would join me.”
Oh, great, a flirty one, I thought sarcastically. I wasn’t into one-liners and never really reacted to the cheesy comments. “Can’t. Sorry. Too—” I could at least look up and acknowledge the guy—maybe it would aid in him putting a tip in the jar. But when I did, I saw it wasn’t Tom. It was “Ryan!” I exclaimed.
“Tom,” the tall, built, rose-picker teasingly and quietly corrected.
I smiled and shook my head. “What are you doing here?” I asked while still working on the next beverage. It was a good thing I could multi-task because seeing him was a whole thought-provoking process in itself.
“I was nearby and thought I would check the place out.”
“Steele!” I called out to the next customer and slid the latte forward. “Have a good day.”
“Do you have time? Can you take a break and have a cup with me?” Ryan asked as Steele—beverage in hand—walked away.
“Uh, yeah. Give me a couple minutes and I can. Where?”
“I’m parked in the lot—pulled all the way through. You know it.”
“Okay.”
I was due a ten-minute break, and things were slowing down a little bit—or as much as they ever did in a centrally located coffee shop in a town where no one wanted anyone to get ahead of them. I finished a couple of orders, shrugged off my official apron, and went to the restroom to make myself look a little more presentable before exiting the café. I wasn’t going to look as nice as I had in the dress I had worn the night before, but he had seen me in extremely casual clothes when we were writing. That, after all, had been when he had first kissed me.
He was also dressed casually in a plaid shirt and jeans, but, yet, he looked downright handsome no matter what he wore. That’s what I was thinking as I opened up his passenger door and slid into the front seat. Even the cool, cushioned leather and electronics on the dash couldn’t distract me.
“Hi, Bethany.”
“Tom.” I did a one-nod and smiled while taking a sip of his coffee, which had been resting in the middle console.
“Hey, why didn’t you bring your own?”
“You don’t share?” I questioned.
He swiped it from my hand, took a sip, and returned it to its holder. “Not when it’s this good.”
“Yep, what I’ve always strived for ... being an expert coffee maker.” Sarcasm raced out of my mouth. “Hashtag—life goals.” I didn’t want to be a Debbie Downer, though, especially with such a nice surprise visit. “What are you doing here?”
“The kids are at the stuff-a-doll-or-animal place a couple stores down. It’s one of Sallie’s friends. Someone always has a birthday.” He semi-grumbled, and I made a mental note to text my sister for hers before I went back on my shift. “Anyway, I was the only dad. The moms took pity on me and let me escape for a few.”
“Poor Ryan ...” I used my sassy sing-song voice.
“Yeah, not so much,” he admitted. “Got to have delicious coffee with a gorgeous barista.”
“I don’t know how. It was a horrible pick-up line.”
He laughed. “Out of practice and, regardless, hoping I don’t need one.”
And that magnetic pull between us, which was growing stronger every time I saw or even spoke with him, surged. Nope. No lines needed.
But his facial features suddenly grew dark. His eyes closed. And then his mouth sagged downward along with his shoulders.
“What’s up?”
He reopened his eyes and looked right at me, obviously upset. “I wish I wasn’t stuck in this car with you.”
“Thanks,” I sassed, but I pretty much knew what he was referring to.
His head shake was slight. “I hate this situation. I want to take you out on a real date.” He brought my hand into his.
“Ryan, let me tell you, yesterday was better than any restaurant or movie or whatever. I ... That was so nice.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” The glimmer was coming back.
My genuine answer warmed my entire body. “Yeah.”
“Sorry about any of that beginning stuff.” He pinched his lips together.
“I know the kids are foremost in your mind. I will keep my purse up high where they can’t reach.”
“Where I can get it, though.”
“Sure.” I loved that he was concerned but not overbearing.
“I’ll talk with Kari. I think once she’s back from tour, we’ll figure out when to tell the press ... the public.” He squeezed our connected hands. “I better go. They don’t know what they’ve got themselves into with Joel. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Thanks for sharing,” I smirked and let go of his hand.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah. After all the Easter hoopla.”
I should have been reaching for the handle then. I should have been opening the car door. I should have been stepping out. But I was still looking at him. And he was at me. We both felt it. We both wanted the same thing—to have our lips on each other. But it was a public parking lot. There were people milling around. It couldn’t happen.
Ryan strummed his index finger on my thigh. His half-smile seemed to be a mix of regret and hope. It mimicked mine as I made myself get out of the car and return to work.
Chapter Seven
Apparently, people need to be caffeinated in order to deal with their families because there were a lot
more customers at the coffee house than I expected on Easter. Ryan, I was sure, could have probably used an extra shot of espresso with what his day held. Following the egg and basket hunt, he and the kids were going to church—which he admitted had become only a holiday and special occasion occurrence—and then to dinner with his former in-laws. He claimed he still got along with his ex-brother-in-law, Maks, and Kari’s dad was neither here nor there, but her mom was the one who harbored blame for the divorce on Ryan. Regardless, he did it for Sallie and Joel. He encouraged the family bonding even when Kari was away.
After my shift, I called my family. My father never liked when I worked on a Sunday. It was supposed to be a day of rest and a day to honor God. I reassured him, though, that I was still going to church ... which I did after showering and having a special Easter dinner at the apartment. I didn’t, however, tell them that after church I was going to Ryan’s. My family knew, of course, about the great music opportunity Mr. Thompson and I were working on. But the extra? I felt shame, even though I knew I shouldn’t. There was nothing wrong with our budding relationship ... except that we had to be secretive about it. And no matter what the reason, my parents, I knew, would consider that lying.
When I arrived at the Thompson estate, I got to hear a little about their day before the kids started to get tired. Joel actually crashed on the sofa a little earlier than bedtime, and Ryan carried him to his room. Decked out in a sparkling pink Easter dress, Sallie lasted a little longer, reciting stories from the birthday party the day before. Ryan had just suggested it was her bedtime when his phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of us. He smiled at his daughter and answered his phone.
It was the first time I had ever heard Ryan talk with his ex-wife and, even though I felt a little intrusive, it was interesting to note the even, average tone in his voice. He didn’t seem angry or bitter or, on the flip side, excited or in love. All that he had claimed to me, appeared to be true.
“Yeah, they’re both wiped out from all the searching and family and the sugar overload crash.” He paused to listen to her dialogue back. “I know it’s hard with the time difference.” Ryan had told me Kari was currently in Australia. “Talk with Sals for a little bit. You’ll have to catch Joel another time. We can set up a video chat with both of them later. Tink?” He handed his daughter the phone.