“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a grown man liking teddy bears,” I said, playing with the hem of my bear’s T-shirt.
Ryan laughed appreciatively. “I know, it was hard for me to give that one up,” he said. A beat of silence passed between us. He leaned in to give me a kiss, but his lips hit my face somewhere between my cheek and the corner of my mouth. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I grinned a little at his sudden fumbling. Ryan Landry, Mr. At-Ease Anywhere, seemed a little anxious. “Why don’t you come in?”
The whole thing felt oddly formal at first, with Ryan and me standing in the doorway, like I was a Realtor showing him the house. “I remember this.” He walked over to the sea-glass mosaic. “Your mom had us all looking for sea glass every time we went to the beach.”
“I think I found the most,” I said, without even thinking.
“Competitive much?” Ryan grinned.
I shrugged. I was. “Maybe.”
“Your mom was always so much fun. I remember those big sleepovers we had in this room, when she’d clear out all the furniture so we had a lot of space,” Ryan said, walking into the living area. “We’d bug my mom to do the same thing for our sleepovers and she’d always tell us that it wouldn’t be special if anyone but Mrs. Sommers did it.”
I laughed. “Well, my mom would go nuts when we’d complain she wasn’t as good a cook as your mom.”
“Yeah, but your dad made those killer chocolate-chip pancakes,” Ryan said. “I wish I knew how to master those.”
“I think you just need Bisquick and some Nestlé chocolate chips,” I said, looking toward the kitchen as if we might see an old version of my father there, happily flipping pancakes and singing a Beatles song. He no longer played his role of short-order cook on the weekends. In fact, it was only just now that I realized Becca’s newfound love of being at the stove had probably come from my dad.
“I’ll have to try that,” Ryan said. He looked around the empty house, then back at me. “So, are we really all alone here?” A sly grin lifted the corner of his mouth and made a dimple there.
I nodded. “It’s just us until Becca and Tea get off work. Unless one of them gets fired tonight,” I said.
“I put in place a strict do-not-fire rule on them for the evening,” Ryan said, drawing closer and putting his arms around me. He leaned in and kissed me, the pressure starting soft and deepening. He opened my lips with his tongue and soon we were making our way to the couch, toppling onto the cushions. He was over me, kissing my neck and down the V of my T-shirt. I ran my hands up the back of his shirt, willing him to get closer.
His fingers ran down my sides and up and under my clothes. He traced a line across the low waist of my shorts, and then put his warm palm against my stomach, moving his hand slowly up to my chest.
We were breathing deeply, and the pace of our breaths matched. I started to imagine one of my sisters coming home because she’d gotten sick at work or something, or Eliza having forgotten some wedding-planning necessity and returning to retrieve it. As Ryan kissed along the back of my neck, I desperately wanted more privacy.
“Let’s go to my room,” I said in his ear, kissing the skin just below his earlobe. He groaned and pulled away.
“Are you sure?” I could tell from his tone that he understood what the invitation meant.
“Yes,” I said, to all the meanings in his question.
He stood up and I took him by the hand. “I took over the studio,” I said, to explain why we weren’t going to my old room. “We’ll be totally alone for the rest of the night.”
Ryan pulled me to him for another deep kiss. “That’ll be nice,” he said, and entwined his fingers with mine. I led him outside.
The stairs up to my room felt interminable, like some force was adding more steps with each one we climbed. It wasn’t that they were tiring; it was the fact that now that I’d invited Ryan to my room, I realized how desperate I was to have him there.
When we finally reached the top, we stood there in the door of the studio, the awkward Realtor feeling returning. I didn’t know how to get us back to the heat we felt in the main house. Not that I wasn’t still feeling a needy clanging in my entire body, but the change of venue had imposed an intermission on our make-out session. I didn’t know if I should just jump right back in.
“So, this is where you write?” Ryan said, stepping into the room and looking at some of the bowls of shells and sea glass with more interest than he probably felt.
“Where I try to write,” I corrected. The futon was such a prominent focal point in the room and I felt like its emptiness beckoned to us.
Ryan turned to face me. “It is nice and private. Finally, I get where you’re going with that theme,” he joked.
I didn’t respond. Not with words, anyway. He was perfect, from head to foot, and I wanted him. So, with the hem of his shirt, I pulled him to me, and put my lips on his.
The energy ricocheted between us, and our more tentative touches grew intense. Ryan slid his fingers inside my shirt, softly drawing along the curve of my waist upward. As he traced beneath the elastic of my bra, I reached back and undid the clasp for him. His palms grazed my sides as he ran his fingertips over my breasts, his touches so featherlight that I felt every nerve lighting up inside of me. I lifted his shirt, taking my time to touch every lean ridge of muscle and to kiss the planes of his chest. He pulled my shirt over my head, folding me into his arms.
He turned me around so that my back was to his chest. He pushed my hair to the side, kissing along my neck and shoulder. His fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of my shorts, running down the front of my thighs and back up. A tremor pulsed through my legs and I turned back toward Ryan, kissing along his neck and his chin as my chest pressed against his. I slowly ran my fingers down his chest and found the button to his shorts.
Stepping out of the last of our clothes, we made our way to the futon, falling onto it beside each other with total bare-skin contact. For some reason, Newton’s laws of motion came into my head: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. It applied right now. No touch went unnoticed or without a response. Things had been nice with Matt, but with Ryan, everything was an event.
Ryan trailed kisses across my collarbone, then down my chest. He entwined his fingers with mine and looked at me seriously, as moonlight filtered through the window.
“Kate, I’m falling for you.”
What was the equal and opposite reaction to that? “I’m falling for you, too.”
I pulled Ryan even closer to me and closed my eyes as I felt all of him for the first time.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RYAN LANDRY WAS in my bed. Ryan Landry, unclothed and sleeping with the faintest hint of a smile on his face, was in my bed, the morning after he’d told me he was falling for me.
I lay next to him, recalling the highlights of the night before. I remembered how one summer Jessica had told me she never went for perfect-looking guys, because they were never as good in bed as their looks. (This revelation was untested by Jessica because she was a virgin at the time, but it was a very Jessica thing to say.) And, maybe it was true in some cases, but it definitely did not apply to Ryan Landry. Not the first time, or the second time. He knew what he was doing. He really, really did.
Happily ensconced in the covers, and warm beneath Ryan’s arm, I couldn’t sleep. I knew I had to wake him soon, before the day really got going and my sisters woke up and discovered him. Fortunately, I was the earliest riser of us.
I heard a car pull into the driveway beneath us. Then, though muffled, I heard Eliza say to Devin, “I really think the ceremony should be simple, and the reception can be minimalist, too. We’re planning this quickly and beach weddings should never be over-the-top. But the rehearsal dinner will be great at the Inn.”
Devin mumbled an annoyed ascent. Poor guy. I’m sure
he’d imagined he was heading for a romantic rendezvous, not a wedding-planning overnighter.
“Well, I’m doing all the work. I’m not trying to take over but we don’t have much time, unless we want to wait for next summer, and who knows if we’ll be at the house then?”
What were they doing back already? And why was Eliza worried about not being at the house? Just because I’d be at college didn’t mean that I wouldn’t come home for the summer. But I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. I needed to get Ryan out of here.
“Um, Ryan . . .” I shook him gently, already hating what I was about to do.
“Hmm . . .” His sleep smile spread into a slow, wide grin across his face. “Good morning.” He propped himself up on one arm and pulled me closer for a kiss. His fingers brushed my face.
“I don’t want you to leave, but you have to leave,” I said, loathing the abrupt clip of my words.
“What?” He sat up in the bed, looking like he’d just felt an earthquake.
“Eliza’s back already. I heard her and Devin come in. When they go in the house, you have to sneak down the stairs and cut through the backyard to your house, okay?” I explained in my most this-is-just-the-fun-of-dating tone.
His grin immediately disappeared. “Are you for real?” The hurt and anger in his voice hit me right in the chest, but I was relieved that he pulled on his shirt and grabbed his pants from the floor.
I shrugged, and pulled my open hoodie tighter around me, suddenly self-conscious to be standing in front of Ryan in my underwear.
“We talked about this,” I said, still listening for more signs that Eliza was outside. Or worse, might pay me a visit. “I just thought we were taking it slow, and waiting to tell people.”
Ryan fumbled with his belt as he looked, it felt, right through me. “Oh, how dumb of me to assume that sleeping together meant we were no longer taking it slow.”
He looked so hurt that I wanted to take it back. Still, Eliza’s many possible and extreme reactions were seared into my brain. Out of all the ways for her to find out, seeing us emerge from the studio together was the worst. We couldn’t just debut like some normal couple. And now that things had been going on for so long, I would need to prep my sister for the news, if I ever told her at all. Plus, I still didn’t understand why our thing couldn’t stay just ours for a little while longer.
“It’s just, I’m not ready to tell people. I don’t want this ruined. And then there’s the wedding and college is coming and summer ends. . . .” I trailed off, not really knowing what I was getting at.
“So is that what you’re really saying, that this is just a summer thing?” Ryan asked. He didn’t sound angry, exactly, but more like he was articulating something he’d been thinking for a while.
“No, it’s just, I don’t know. I don’t know what we are, exactly,” I said. “I know I like you and I know I’m glad you like me.”
“Yeah, I do,” Ryan said, but it was more matter of fact than anything.
“And you are my sister’s ex,” I blurted, hoping this explained things.
Ryan shook his head. “We were kids. And your sister is getting married,” he said. “If this thing between us really mattered to you, you’d just tell her and see what happens.”
“It does matter to me,” I said. “It’s just—it’s complicated.”
Ryan turned away from me and looked out the window. “I don’t see anyone down there. Now’s probably a good time for me to sneak out,” he said. “Should I move fast, or slow?”
“Ryan . . .” I trailed off guiltily.
“It’s fine,” he said, not sounding that way at all. He kissed me once, on the cheek, leaving me a little cold. “I’ll call you.”
He disappeared down the steps without making a sound. Like he’d never been here at all.
I spent the next hour polishing my cartographer story with all the willpower I had in me. I desperately needed a distraction. I hadn’t gotten notes from Grace on the version I’d given her, but I figured some extra time with it now couldn’t hurt. I’d given my cartographer an island to map but its borders kept shifting, making it hard for her to figure out how to chart it. Even though I’d begun the story thinking it was total fiction, I was starting to feel like I was writing something I knew.
I had no idea how to define the borders and boundaries of my life. When had the summer become so complicated? It wasn’t supposed to be.
Sinking onto the futon, I lay facedown on the pillows. I could still smell Ryan on the sheets and I wished he was still here. I thought of his “I’ll call you” and wondered if there was any way he actually would. Even though I couldn’t imagine him just cutting things off, I also couldn’t shake the chilliness of his exit.
I picked up the bear he’d given me, turning it over in my hands. Why didn’t he understand what a big deal it was to tell the world? Even without the threat of Eliza’s anger, there were still so many other intrusions we’d have to deal with. Our families had been friends forever and since Ryan and I already had history, I just imagined more weight being thrown onto our emerging relationship than maybe we needed. I was going across the country for school. The summer wasn’t forever. Why did it matter if this was just ours?
But my excuses felt hollow, even to me. And outside of thinking I shouldn’t be dating my sister’s ex, I was running out of reasons that didn’t sound empty. Why couldn’t I tell Eliza? Was I afraid of her anger, or was I more afraid she’d convince me that I’d never mean as much to Ryan as she did?
It was yet more unchartered territory.
Feeling antsy, I made my way to the main house. The scent of bacon, pancakes, and eggs wafted from the kitchen and I realized how hungry I was. I’d barely eaten the night before because I’d been filled with so much anticipation.
Becca was at the stove, while Tea, Eliza, and Devin sat in mismatched bar stools along the counter. My mom and dad never argued about furniture at the beach house, choosing instead to just mix and match things they liked, so next to a linear modern stool with sunny yellow upholstery was an old-fashioned red Naugahyde one. Tea, twisting on a high-backed cherry wood stool with brown leather cushions, was flipping through some pictures on her iPad. Eliza had her wedding binder open on the silver mosaic countertop. A deep stress crease bisected the spot between her eyebrows. Devin was next to her, idly scrolling the news on his iPhone.
“Do you want me to make you a plate?” Becca asked, smiling as wide as Alonzo, the Blueberry Man, when she saw me. At least someone was glad to see me. And I didn’t get the sense that she suspected anything about Ryan. No one seemed to. Ryan would probably have been annoyed at how relieved that made me. I was a little annoyed at how relieved it made me.
“Yes, please,” I said, uttering a “good morning” to Tea, Eliza, and Devin. Tea returned a chipper greeting, but Eliza and Devin just mumbled theirs. Apparently, neither of them had had a great night away. And my night had been great, until they’d shown up early.
I poured myself some coffee into a souvenir mug from the Berry Bog, where we’d gone on a tour of a cranberry farm, and thought about Ryan’s and my awkward conversation about the lack of cranberry farm tourists. What if I’d just made everything about us a memory? The front door clattered open and the familiar cadence of my father’s footfalls carried into the kitchen.
“Dad?” Eliza stood up, tilting her head to one side. “Everything okay? What happened to the business trip?”
My father shrugged. “There were flight delays and I didn’t want to be at an airport all weekend, so I rescheduled. I thought my girls might be around.” His sudden reappearance brought back a sudden memory.
Sunday morning. I was fifteen. I wanted nothing more than to go biking into town with Jessica, but my dad was holding us hostage, insisting he cook breakfast for each of us. “My girls need to eat,” he said, steering me to a chair. “I’ve got c
hocolate-chip pancakes for Eliza. French toast for Becca. Cheese omelet for Tea. What about you, Katie? Chocolate-chip pancakes, just like your big sister?” They were my favorite, always had been, even if I was trying not to do everything just like Eliza anymore. I shook my head. “Cereal’s fine.” My dad waved his spatula at me in a joking accusation. “Trying to get out of family breakfast so you can do teen things, huh?” I rolled my eyes at his cheesiness. “Mom’s not here, either,” I pointed out. My mom had been in her studio, working, since dawn. “She will be when she knows I’m making banana French toast for her.” My sisters and I all lifted our hands in faux surrender. “I’m not going to get her,” Eliza said. None of us wanted to. When Mom was really into her work, she could get crabby when something broke her spell. “Nope, I will,” my dad said, handing the spatula to Becca. “Man the stove. And no one let Katie leave ’til she’s eaten.” He disappeared out the door and was gone several minutes.
“Mom is going to kill him,” Tea said, wide-eyed.
“What do you mean? He’s probably already dead,” Becca replied.
But a minute later, the front door swung open, hitting the wall. My dad carried my mom into the kitchen, her tan legs draped over his arms. She was fighting him but not really. “Ted, I was painting!” As he set her down at the kitchen counter, she shot him a dirty look but it quickly unraveled into a huge grin. “I want extra bananas,” she’d said.
It made my heart ache for those lost summer mornings, and I wondered if my sisters had the same memories. For as nonchalant as Eliza had been when I’d asked her about dad last night, and whether he was okay, she looked positively elated to see him now—and maybe a little relieved. She had been worried about him. Sometimes I didn’t understand why she felt she had to absorb so much instead of just telling the rest of us.
“Becca, can you make Dad a plate, too, please?” she asked, leading him to the kitchen table. It was covered in a decoupage of old Cape Cod postcards. When my parents were first married, they’d found the table beneath at the curb and decided to salvage it by turning it into an art project. I’d never given it much thought before but, with my mom gone, I now regarded it as a precious heirloom.
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