Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

Too bad his excitement didn’t have a fraction of the effect Ryder’s disapproval did. Not only because I apparently weigh the two men’s opinions differently. But because if I’m being truly honest with myself, I know Ryder’s opinion aligns much more closely with my own unfiltered one. I embarked on this path simply because it is what’s expected of me. I never expected how unfulfilling it might be. How knowing you’re going to end up someplace is different than actually arriving there.

  Eliza lets the topic drop. The rest of the meal is spent rehashing the day’s activities and discussing all that is to come the rest of the summer. Specifically, Eliza and Tommy’s wedding.

  Ryder’s silent through dinner. I overcompensate for his silence by chiming in on every topic. Thanks to my maid of honor status, I’m very well-versed regarding each aspect of the wedding. I also feel like I’ve contributed to shredding the relaxing peace that was meant to characterize this weekend. No time like the present to make some amends.

  Everyone trickles back into the house slowly following the conclusion of the meal. I slip away in the opposite direction. Alcohol-less this time. I settle in the same spot in the sand I called William from, tucking my knees against my chest. The sun’s almost completely gone, taking its warmth with it.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here before another figure drops down beside me.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryder tells me.

  Rather than accept or acknowledge his apology, I ask him “Do you ever wish you could go back to being a different version of yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I used to like myself better, I think.”

  “You’re the same person, Elle.”

  “No, I became the person I thought I was supposed to be.”

  “Far as I can tell you’re just as stubborn and fiery as ever.” A small smile graces my lips. Because I’m absolutely, completely certain no one else would choose those two adjectives to describe me. “Is this about that fancy job? Because I didn’t—”

  “It’s not about the job,” I cut in. “Well, not just about the job,” I amend. “I just feel like I stopped making my own choices. I’ve never been in a boat that wasn’t being steered by someone else, like you said earlier.”

  “That wasn’t meant to be a deep metaphor, Elle. I literally meant you’d never steered a boat.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s true. Literally and metaphorically.”

  “So, grab a paddle.”

  I shoot him a glower, and Ryder smirks. “Oh, now are you done with the lame analogy?”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  He lifts the can of beer he’s holding from the beach’s shore. Clumps of damp sand fall onto the navy board shorts he’s wearing. “You’re an adult. It is easy. Making your own decisions is supposed to be part of the gig.”

  “I made them. I just said some obligatory yeses too.”

  “So change them to no’s.”

  “That will be… difficult,” I admit.

  “Aren’t designer heels returnable?”

  I choke on an unexpected laugh. It’s a reminder I don’t need of why Ryder James used to be the focal point of my world. Because I’m not just insanely attracted to his appearance. I’m also drawn to his dry wit. His unswerving confidence in who he is has always made me feel focused as well.

  He’s still my favorite person to talk to.

  “They are,” I reply. “But I don’t think custom-made engagement rings or law degrees are.”

  Ryder doesn’t say anything. I was already looking out at the waves, but I don’t allow myself so much as a side glance as I let those words linger in the air. My guess is Ryder had some idea this topic of conversation means my discontentment runs deep. I’m not sure if he expected it to extend to my career and engagement.

  “So, what’s your plan?” I ask. I’m trying to distract him. I’m also genuinely interested.

  “My plan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For my life?”

  “No, for the rest of the night.” I look at him and roll my eyes, letting plenty of sarcasm seep into my voice.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Yeah, you are,” I counter.

  Green eyes flick to my face and away. “I thought I might need to stay in Fernwood. That Mom and Chris would need me. They put on a good front when they visited, but I thought it was probably just that—a front. But Chris is doing well at school. And Mom—well she’ll never leave. But at least she’s stable. So… I started looking into options.”

  “Options?” I echo.

  “Guy I know has a construction business up north. Offered me a full-time gig.”

  “North?”

  “Someplace in Maine.”

  “What about your job at the garage? Doesn’t Bob need you?”

  Ryder shakes his head. “Taking me back was a favor. Practically charity. He’s got a full-time crew already.”

  “So you're moving,” I state the words emotionlessly, but I feel anything but.

  “Probably.”

  Neither of us say anything after that. Unlike last night, I stand first. Ryder mirrors me, and we head back for the beach house side by side.

  When he does speak, it’s not a topic I’m expecting.

  “So you like fish now, huh?” Ryder asks as we weave through the waving beach grass to the stairs that lead up to the back deck.

  I don’t need to look at him to know he’s grinning. I can hear the smile in his voice. “Uh-huh,” I respond, in what an impartial party would probably not call a convincing tone.

  “Scales don’t bother you? Or the little bones? Or the slime—”

  I punch him in the arm as we climb the stairs. My knuckles smart from the contact with solid muscle.

  “Stop it!” I cringe. “I was trying to be polite.”

  “The disgusted look on your face was super polite.”

  “I couldn’t help it! It tasted terrible.”

  Ryder just grins.

  “I’m surprised you remember…” I admit, a little tentatively. Our track record of parting comments isn’t great. I’m worried my honesty might continue the streak.

  “You’re a hard person to forget, Elle Clarke,” Ryder informs me. His smile is gone, but the humor hasn’t left his face.

  “I’m sure you gave it a good effort,” I reply, trying to ignore the way his words imprint on my brain.

  Ryder seems to appreciate my attempt to keep the conversation light-hearted. “Yeah, I did.”

  “You’re tough to forget, too,” I admit, possibly ruining it.

  “Did you try to?” His tone is light, the words anything but.

  “Yes. No… not really,” I acknowledge as we pause outside the sliding doors that lead inside. I didn’t talk about Ryder. Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about him.

  “Can I take Scout out tomorrow morning?” He lets my wavering slide, and I’m grateful.

  “You’re asking my permission?”

  “I thought that was a requirement to play with your dog.”

  “I was surprised this morning. Scout doesn’t like many people,” I explain.

  “Are you suggesting I’m not likable?” There’s a teasing glint in his green eyes.

  “No. I know exactly how likable you are,” I reply. I seem incapable of lying to Ryder.

  We reach the French doors and head inside. Tommy, Eliza, and Paige are all lounging in the living room. Which has a clear view out onto the back deck. I hope they weren’t watching us just now. Scout leaps up and runs over to me, nuzzling his wet nose against my bare legs.

  “Hey, buddy,” I crouch down. He rolls over showing his belly, panting happily as I take the hint and rub the soft fur. “Ready for bed?” Scout barks.

  “I’d be that excited too, if I was a dog who gets to sleep in a human bed,” Paige comments. She found out Scout usually sleeps next to me when he leapt on top of her when she stayed over a few months ago after having too much wine.

  “Who’s the best
boy?” I croon, in the voice I know drives her crazy. Mostly because she’s told me so multiple times. Scout’s tail thumps against the floor.

  “I’m headed to bed,” Ryder says. I glance up to see he’s already looking down at me, an amused but mostly inscrutable expression on his face. “Night, Elle.”

  “Night, Ryder,” I respond.

  He disappears upstairs after saying good night to everyone else. I head into the kitchen to grab some water.

  Paige appears in the kitchen as I’m filling a glass.

  “You’re in trouble,” she tells me as she sets her wine glass in the sink. Guess that answers whether she was watching us, at least.

  Unlike the last time she told me that, I don’t argue.

  Because don’t I know it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There’s no drooling over a shirtless Ryder from afar the following morning. He’s already standing in the kitchen, Scout panting at his feet when I enter the room.

  I approach him to fill a mug with steaming coffee from the pot he’s standing next to.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning,” he repeats.

  “Looks like you two had a busy morning?” I nod toward my exhausted dog.

  “Yup. He should be nice and tired for your drive back.”

  “An hour’s nothing. I brought him all the way to Pennfield.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but Ryder’s knuckles lose any color as he grips his mug.

  “What’s the fight about?” I ask. Our silence has exacerbated Tommy and Eliza’s loud voices on the opposite side of the kitchen.

  “What to cook for breakfast, I believe.”

  “Should have guessed.”

  “It’s a common source of controversy."

  I nod toward Eliza and Tommy. “I thought that might be us one day.”

  “Arguing about breakfast foods?” he replies dryly.

  “Engaged.” Obviously, I’m a masochist.

  There’s a long stretch of silence, and I’m pretty sure I’ve pissed him off for the I’ve-lost-count-how-many-th time. We’re all departing shortly. I’ll see him at the wedding, but that’s not for another month. This might be my last chance to talk to him.

  “It’s how I would have proposed.”

  “What?” The single word isn’t enough to convey the shock I’m feeling. The counter’s the only thing keeping me steady and upright. That was pretty much the last thing I was expecting him to say in response to my blunt admission.

  Ryder picks up the coffee pot and keeps his gaze on the steady stream of caffeine entering his mug as he refills it. “With breakfast food. Joe told me if I gave you blueberry scones, you’d say yes to just about anything.”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m drowning in a deluge of emotions.

  The knowledge Ryder considered our future to any extent is overwhelming.

  That he talked to Joe about it is heartbreaking.

  But most concerning?

  If I could choose between breakfast in bed and a proposal in front of my parents and half the wait staff at Boston’s most exclusive restaurant—the proposal I accepted—I would choose blueberry scones.

  “Ryder!” Tommy calls.

  Ryder shoves off the counter and heads over to the island without another word.

  Maybe he senses my turmoil.

  Maybe he thought that revelation wouldn’t matter to me.

  Either way, he misses how I have to turn away to hide the solitary tear sliding down my cheek.

  Everyone prepares to leave shortly after breakfast. None of us linger for long, all having various commitments and work tomorrow. Plus, we all know we’ll see each other again at the wedding.

  I give all the girls hugs. Then Tommy gives me one as well. I work my way through the guys, until I reach the last one.

  Ryder and I stare at each other.

  We’ve talked, both pleasantly and angrily. Teased. But we haven’t really touched.

  He shrugs and I swallow, both of us trying to act like we’re not aware everyone else is surreptitiously watching us. We step forward simultaneously, meeting in the middle. Ryder loops his arms around my waist, tugging my body flush with his. I go willingly, tucking my head underneath his chin as I wind my hands around his back. Even through the cotton of his t-shirt, I can feel ripples of musculature. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with his scent. Even in the salt air, he still smells the same as I remember. Like cedar and mint and clean laundry.

  I exhale, and step away. His arms drop. Neither of us say anything. I pick up Scout and set him in the backseat of the sedan, shooing him inside the crate I brought but never used.

  “Bye, everyone.” I wave, then quickly turn away to slide into the driver’s seat. I turn on the car and start driving immediately, worried I’ll find a reason to stay longer if I think about it for too long.

  The drive back to the city is a long one. It takes closer to two hours than the one it’s meant to, thanks to heavy traffic. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who opted to flee the busy, sticky city for the weekend in favor of a sea breeze.

  My brownstone feels too quiet and empty after the hustle and bustle of being in a house with almost a dozen other people. I get Scout settled, change into a dressier outfit, and head into the office to tackle some of the work I neglected during my weekend get-away.

  The office is bustling when I arrive, just like I knew it would be. William jumps up from his cubicle when I enter the floor reserved for summer associates.

  “Eleanor! I thought you wouldn’t be back until later!”

  Since we’re at work, he just gives me a hug of greeting. I try not to compare it to Ryder’s. And fail.

  “I wanted to beat the traffic. Didn’t do much good, unfortunately. Plus, Paige hardly let me do any work there. Figured I could catch up on some stuff before we head to dinner.”

  “I don’t think Gray and Ellington is going to revoke their offer because you slacked for a weekend, Eleanor.” William grins, crinkling the corners of his brown eyes.

  “More worried about my father,” I respond, and his smile turns knowing. He can certainly relate. “What time did you make the reservations for?”

  “Seven.”

  “Okay, perfect. Come get me when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Will do,” William replies, dropping back down into his chair.

  I continue down the row of cubicles until I reach my assigned one. Most of the ones I pass are occupied, and I smile at everyone who glances up to look at me.

  I may be uncertain about a legal path, but it’s not because I’m unsure about my own abilities. I’m good at the research and writing that comprise the bulk of my duties. I quickly get lost in the familiar tasks and templates, startling when William approaches me hours later, ready to depart.

  “Ready?” He gives me a tired smile.

  “Yeah.” I save the document I was working on and close out of all the open tabs on my computer, standing and stretching.

  Most of the cubicles still have residents, and I’m sure many, if not all, of them are judging the fact I arrived after them and am leaving before them. That’s one aspect of being a lawyer I definitely don’t enjoy. The cutthroat competitiveness.

  “So? How was it?” William asks as we wait for the elevator to arrive.

  “It was nice. Eliza and Tommy seem really happy.”

  “Tommy was there?”

  “Yeah. He was already planning to have his bachelor party on the Cape before Vegas got scrapped.”

  “Huh. So not much of a girl’s trip after all?”

  “Not really,” I admit.

  “Scout cause any problems?”

  “No. He loved it.”

  The doors ding open, and we step inside the elevator.

  “Garage,” William instructs the attendant.

  The office building’s parking lot is half-full when the doors open again. An elite address such as this requires residents who don’t rest on laurels.

  “I�
��ll meet you there?” William suggests.

  “Yeah, sure.” Romantic.

  “I’ll text you the address.” He gives me a quick kiss, and heads to the right. I walk left, toward my sedan. It’s dark when I drive out onto the street, headlights and the everlasting glow of fellow skyscrapers the only force against the night. I follow the directions the navigation system is expelling, heading in the direction of the seaport. I pull up in front of the restaurant and climb out, handing my keys to the valet.

  William arrives a couple minutes later, and we head inside. It’s located right on the water, with sweeping views overlooking the harbor that was teeming with tea, once upon a time. The decor is classy and elegant, decorated in shades of white, pale blue, and navy with a clear nautical inspiration. William gives his name to the hostess, and she leads us over to a table tucked in the corner with an unobstructed view of the water. She hands us menus and rattles off the specials.

  “My parents came here last week,” William tells me once she departs. “Said it was one of the best meals they’d had in ages.”

  “I can’t wait,” I tell him. “Dinner last night was cod.”

  “What’s wrong with cod?” William asks as he studies the menu.

  “I don’t like it,” I reply, startled to learn he didn’t know that. I guess I never told him directly, just never ordered it. “Or any fish.”

  “Too bad,” is William’s response. “The ceviche here is supposed to be amazing.”

  The waitress returns, and I order a watermelon mint martini. William opts for a scotch.

  “Did you end up leaving at a decent hour last night?” I ask him once she leaves again.

  “Nope.” He yawns. “Almost three.”

  “That’s not healthy,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. “The work needed to get done. Not all of us got to go to the beach.”

  His tone is teasing, but I take it as an affront.

  “Right.”

  The waitress returns with our drinks, and I seize the opportunity to order. “I’ll have the truffle fries, burrata toast, and the gnocchi.”

  William raises his eyebrows at my large order but doesn’t say anything. “Just the salmon,” he adds.

  The waitress scribbles down our requests and heads back in the direction of the kitchen. I take a long sip of my drink. Basil, watermelon, cranberry, and mint hit my tongue, along with a healthy dose of vodka. Paige would probably be beside herself.