Page 22 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

“Of course I heard,” she clipped as if it were any other ordinary day. “The whole town heard.” I couldn’t believe the way she said it. As if we were simply talking about irrelevant celebrity tabloid fodder. “I’m surprised you came all this way. I thought you were going to Michigan.”

“Of course I’d come back. Shep was?—”

She huffed, like the sound of his name was an annoyance. “He hasn’t been part of our family for what—fifteen years?”

“ Mom ,” I gasped. “He was in our lives—my life—longer than that.”

A groan reverberated from her end of the call. "I've gotta rinse this color out. Call your sister. She might want to catch up since you’re here.”

“Is Amber going to the funeral?” I asked. “Lisa was making arrangements today. I need to talk to her and see what?—”

“I don’t see why your sister needs to go.”

Maybe because normal people put aside their issues when the other person was dead, and honored their humanity. But that was apparently too much for my mother.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was always like this with them. I don’t even know why I thought they’d be any different.

“Okay. Well. I’m staying at Bev’s house. So . . .”

"I've gotta go, Autumn. Talk to you later.”

And that was that.

I dropped my phone and slumped into a chair. “How much of her side did you hear?”

Ryan’s sympathetic expression said it all. “Enough.”

“They’ll come around,” I said as I fired off a text to Lisa, seeing what the plan was.

She texted back almost immediately, sending over the date and time of the visitation and funeral, but said she was too worn out to visit today.

I put on an upbeat attitude and decided to make the most of it.

“I’m going to go outside and get some work done,” I said as I rummaged around in the bag that held my laptop and the notes I had been jotting down for my next book. “I need some fresh air.”

Ryan didn’t move off the couch as I let myself out the back door and headed to the willow tree.

The air was blistering, but the breeze was gentle.

Lithe branches danced in the wind, casting shadows in the afternoon light.

I rested against the trunk and stared out at the little pond a few yards in the distance.

I should have been sweating it out, but I wasn’t. It felt like a hug.

And for the first time since Lisa had called, I could breathe.

Ryan found me beneath the tree hours later when I hadn’t come back inside. I had never even opened my laptop. He came bearing sandwiches made from provisions Bev had graciously left in the pantry.

We ate in silence, watching the sky turn from blue to yellow to blistering orange as the sun went down, coating the sky in a starry twilight.

“I don’t know how I’m still tired,” I admitted as I snapped a blade of grass and looped it around my finger. “All I’ve done today is sleep.”

Ryan wrapped his arm around my shoulders and tucked my head beneath his chin. “It’s normal to sleep when you’re grieving.”

“I hate it.”

His laugh was soft and warm, melting into the night air. “Why don’t you go to bed? Tomorrow will be a better day. It’s okay to cut your losses with this one.”

“The bed is different,” I confessed.

Ryan’s day-old scruff abraded my temple as he spoke. “What do you mean?”

“It used to be this big four-poster bed piled high with frilly comforters. Bev had to replace the bed. It’s just a plain frame and normal blankets. It used to feel like home.”

“I get it.” Ryan trailed his fingers up and down my arm.

“My folks were in the military. We traveled all the time. When we’d go back and visit some of the places where we still had friends, I’d be all excited because I wanted that familiarity.

It was always a disappointment. I think home is just a place in our minds.

It’s wherever we make it because it moves with us. ”

“I didn’t know that about you,” I admitted.

“You never asked.” Ryan’s pointed statement stung.

“I didn’t think you would stick around this long.”

Ryan cracked a smile. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m annoyingly loyal.”

“How long were your parents in the military?”

“Long before I was born. Then I came along. My dad died when I was twelve. My mom stayed in. I’d go live with my grandparents when she was deployed. When she got out, we kept moving around every few years. It’s like it was ingrained in both of us. Always searching for home.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

A sad smile dimpled his cheek. “Just something else we have in common, cupcake.”

“Shep wasn’t my dad.”

“He was whatever you wanted him to be. His memory is whatever you need him to be.” Ryan squeezed my shoulders, then balled up the paper towels he had brought our sandwiches in and stuffed them in his pockets.

He walked with me, carrying my laptop and notebook inside. We unpacked and settled into an evening routine, trading off in the bathroom as we brushed our teeth and got ready for bed.

But when it came time to sleep, I couldn’t. I was exhausted. The bed didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t what I needed it to be.

I tiptoed out of the moonlit bedroom into the living room.

Ryan was stretched out on the couch with a pillow wedged beneath his head and a blanket half-covering his chest. As soon as my shadow crossed his face, his eyes popped open.

“What’s the matter, Wills?” he rasped.

I felt so stupid for even having the thought to ask. Especially after all the hell I’d put him through.

“Willow.” His voice was saturated with concern, but it turned to curiosity. “Are you sleepwalking?”

“No,” I sighed. “You have to be able to sleep to sleepwalk.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just can’t sleep. I . . .” I couldn’t ask him. It was stupid. I was stupid. “I was gonna see if you wanted to take the bed. One of us should get a good night's sleep. You can’t be comfortable on the couch. I’m shorter than you, anyway. You should take the?—”

“Come on,” Ryan said as he eased off the couch and tucked his pillow under his arm.

Oh . . .

My eyes widened. Ryan Ford in a pair of black boxer briefs was not what I expected to see. When we spent the night at the hotel in Kansas City, I never saw him undressed.

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach, cupcake. But we can readdress the way you just looked at my dick another night.”

I tore my eyes away as Ryan ushered me back into the bedroom. “I’m gonna grab a pillow, and then the bed’s all yours.”

“Get in,” Ryan said as he set his pillow down on the side of the bed closest to the door and pulled the covers back.

“Excuse me?”

“Get in bed, Willow.”

“But I?—”

Ryan scooped me up and deposited me on the turned-down side of the mattress. Without a word, he climbed in on the side where he had put his pillow.

“Do you sleep on your back or your side?”

I blinked in the darkness. “Uh . . . my side?”

“Good. Roll over.”

I couldn’t even argue. Ryan scooted up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling my body back against his.

He was an excellent big spoon.

I yawned. “I thought you said I’d have to beg you to touch me.”

Ryan’s tired chuckle was promising. “Not like this. But I’m pleased that you remember that condition.”