Pushing my door open, I shut it behind me, collapsing to the floor with my back against it. Tears prick, desperate to escape my eyes. For some reason, they don’t fall and I wonder am I finally getting rid of Dex Prescott’s hold on me?
Not willing to allow Dex to ruin my date with someone who actually wants my company, I rise to my feet, push my shoulders back and grab my purse. Exiting my room, I walk down the stairs just as Sadie’s opening the door to a very handsome Ryland.
“Hi, Ryland,” Sadie greets him, and, when he enters through the doorway, I’m glad I took Sadie’s advice.
A slow smile creeps across Ryland’s lips when he spots me on the stairs. Stopping briefly, I admire him. The nice, barely worn jeans, casual Western t-shirt untucked with a pair of slip-on canvas shoes. His sunglasses rest in his wavy dark strands while his finger is wrapped in his key ring.
“Have a good time, you two.” Sadie dismisses herself, and I give her a small wave.
“Bye, Sadie. Nice seeing you again.” Ryland’s polite demeanor shines through.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, he links my hand in his. “You make every other woman doubt themselves,” he compliments me, it’s so much more than merely saying beautiful or gorgeous.
“Thank you.” A slow heat rises up my neck. His kind words reiterate that Dex may not be the one for me anymore.
“Let’s get out of here.” He puts his elbow out for me, and I wrap my arm through it.
I’m not one step down the stoop when a familiar sensation of someone watching me prompts me to look around. My teeth slide on my over lip glossed lip when they catch Dex’s eyes fixated on me from his truck that’s resting idle in the middle of the street. My arm relaxes, drooping in Ryland’s arm hold. Even though he’s yards away, his eyes are wrenched with dejection right before they smolder with rage.
Ryland looks my way and back to the truck at the same time Dex’s tires squeal. The truck peels down the street, not even bothering to break at the stop sign. “Am I missing something?” Ryland turns back to me after Dex’s taillights disappear.
I deflect the loaded question, because how am I supposed to answer that? Oh, that’s just the guy I wish my arm was entwined with, but, hey, he doesn’t want me, so I’m trying to allow you to make me forget. Probably not a very pleasant first date conversation.
Instead, I smile and pat his hand with my free hand. “He’s just having a bad day.” I try to force my voice to sound nonchalant, not to release the small notes of anguish.
FIVE MINUTES LATER, we pull into another driveway in a residential area. A house not as big as the Carsens’, but just as nice. Flowers planted in the front along a laid brick sidewalk up to a door with a silver knocker inscribed The Davis’. Curiosity if I’m about to walk into his parents’ house from the whole aura of family etched in every personal touch from the potted plants to the small white fence lining the yard.
The gut feeling that there’s more to Ryland than I know increases when I step into the newly remodeled house. My feet step on almost-black wood floors with hues of blues, silvers, and white on the walls and fabrics lining the furniture.
“Please, come in. I was thinking I’d cook for you.” He shrugs his shoulders lowly as though he’s asking permission. Little does he realize there’s no need to impress me. He could have taken me back to that restaurant Filgree’s, and it would have been my best ‘date’ ever.
“Sounds great.” I press on with a cheerful voice that strains every time I speak.
My mind tainted with images of Dex speeding down the streets of Western, maybe he jumped onto the highway to press the accelerator to the max. What if he’s punching something or someone? I’ve been witness to his rage too many times for me to think otherwise.
A part of me is relieved that Ryland being with me inspired the reaction it did. Confirms to me that I’m not alone in this draw to one another. The fire that singes me from the smallest touch or the warm beating of home when his arms swarm me into his body.
Ryland places a glass in front of me filled with red wine. I’m not a huge wine drinker and have no idea between the different kinds. Merlot and Cabernet are the extent of my knowledge, and if I was asked the difference, I wouldn’t be able to answer. Smiling, I bring the glass to my lips, and the strong aroma pushes me to shut off my sense of smell while I drink. I take a tentative sip while Ryland consumes his all while intently watching me for my reaction.
“Do you like it?” he asks, and I nod my head, plastering a fake smile.
Once I swallow, I wouldn’t mind a sip of water, but I grin over to him, assuring him I do.
Pulling fish out of the fridge, with a lemon on top, I admire his skills in the kitchen. Expertly, he cuts the fish open, whose eyeballs I swear are inspecting me the entire time. Taking some seasoning, he douses a hefty amount of green herbs in the slit he cut and then carries the fish to the stove.
I admire his muscular back. His t-shirt pulls across his shoulders as it tapers down to jeans that appear new, as if he purchased them today. Crossing my legs, I lean forward on my stool, elbows resting on the island in the middle of the room. His kitchen is just as perfect as the rest of the house. Stainless steel appliances and white cabinets with black marble counters. You’d think I’d arrived on the set of a home interior magazine shoot with how beautifully decorated this house is.
Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he begins the conversation. “So, tell me something about you I don’t know.” I’m glad his back is to me, because I begin to fidget while racking my brain to figure something to share that’s not pitiful.
“There’s not much.” I stall.
Taking another peek, he smirks. “If you went to school, what would you have liked to do?” he asks, and luckily, that’s an easy one for me.
“I would love to be a school counselor,” I answer. “Junior High level,” I clarify.
“Why that age? All those hormones going crazy, drama. I hated those years,” he comments, and I laugh, remembering how much I needed someone at that time rushes to mind, wishing my mom wouldn’t have deserted me. The confusion of what a girl’s body is going through and the security they desperately craved. So many girls I saw gave into temptation from a boy’s peer pressure or the pressure of her friends.
“Adolescence is so confusing and exciting at the same time. In my mind, it’s the most crucial time for development on who you’ll be when you grow up.” I’m not sure I’ve ever revealed that to anyone before.
He twists his attention my way, and his strong hand grips his glass, bringing it to his lips. I watch as he opens slightly and the fluid streams in and he licks his lips right after, enjoying every drop. One side of his lips turns up slightly, and he leans across the counter, his body weight on his forearms crossed in front of him. “I’m pretty sure if I was a thirteen-year-old boy, I’d want you to be my counselor. You do realize what swarms in a boys mind at that age?” He winks, and I giggle, rolling my eyes.
“Sex, sex, sex,” I kid, and he nods.
“I swear, I think I only identified girls by their developed chests, ass, or legs at that age. The face was second,” he jokes.
“Third or fourth,” I add, and he laughs harder.
“About right.” He nods in humored agreement.
When he finishes preparing our meal, I help him carry everything to the table, and I sit down while he lights the candles. It’s the most romantic evening I’ve ever experienced. I eat the fish, asparagus, and salad, dotting my lips with the cloth napkin after every bite. Our conversation is light, humorous, and casual throughout dinner. Dex remains in a distant corner of my mind, but it hurts that Ryland was able to so easily occupy me. Does that mean my feelings are waning for Dex? Guilt began to form by the time dessert makes its way to the table, when a flash of my life here, in this house, with Ryland becomes visible in my mind. Dismayed that, for the first time, when I imagined my future, Dex wasn’t the one sitting across from me at the dinner table.