Page 29 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

AUTUMN

THE STORYTELLER

“ T here you are.” Ryan’s footsteps swished through the dry summer grass.

The air hummed with latent energy that was pushed across the breeze by the humidity. Thankfully, the worst of tornado season had passed before Ryan and I showed up in Kansas, but there was always the possibility.

He sat on the patch of grass beside me and rested his elbows on top of bent knees. “I thought I might find you out here.”

The long, graceful branches of the willow tree in Bev’s yard blew in the wind.

The leaves whispered their condolences as they rustled in the early evening air.

As soon as we had gotten back from Lisa’s, Ryan had to sequester himself to record a podcast episode, so I came out to my favorite spot of all.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

He cocked his head, his dark stubble turning from obsidian to bronze as beams of sunlight cut through the trees. “You’re the storyteller. This is your setting.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Want to tell me how the story started? Because I think I’ve got the middle and end.”

“You know most of it.”

“You can tell me anyway,” he said gently. “I’d like to hear it if you’re up for it.”

I stared at the box in front of me. I didn’t want to upset Lisa or disrespect her by turning it down, but I didn’t know if I could handle opening it.

“I already told you about the house.”

“Is that why you were upset when Bev said they had to renovate it?”

“Yeah,” I admitted as I traced the edge of the box.

I hated that he noticed the visceral reaction I’d had when we pulled into the driveway.

“She had always kept it the same. Same colors. Similar furniture. The same layout . . .” I looked over my shoulder and studied the back of the house.

“It always felt like coming home even though I was the only one here. The memories still lived inside.” I stared down at the box so he wouldn’t see the glaze over my eyes. “The memories are fading now.”

“Tell me about your parents and Amber,” he said as he scooted back and swung his leg around so that I was sitting between his knees.

“What about them?” I hedged.

Ryan’s arms were strong and safe as he wrapped them around me.

“It’s rare that someone isn’t themselves when they’re around their family.

That’s the one place you should always be able to let your guard down.

” He rested his chin on my shoulder, warm breath dancing against my neck. “What’s it really like with them?”

I thought for a while, trying to configure the gentlest, kindest way to talk about them just like I always did.

But it was Ryan. That was the one benefit to whatever this arrangement was: I could be brutally honest with him and it didn’t matter.

He didn’t know my family and he’d likely never see them again.

“My dad’s always been distant and checked out.

I used to think that it was because of the divorce.

Mom got full custody and he got every other weekend.

When you only spend 1,200 hours with someone every year, there isn’t a lot of bonding time, you know?

He was a little closer with Amber, but I guess it’s just because she’s older than me and they had more years together under the same roof. ”

“Does he still live around here?”

I nodded. “He lives outside of Manhattan and works in Topeka. His house is about a half hour away. I tried to call him when we got into town. He didn’t pick up, so I texted him. Never got an answer.”

“That’s shitty.”

Ryan’s comment made me crack a smile. “We talk a few times a year. I’ll call him on my birthday and his. We’ll see each other for Christmas if I’m in town.”

“But he never comes to you?”

“I’m never in the same place. It’s more practical for me to come here,” I snapped defensively.

Ryan tightened his hold on me. “What about your sister?”

“She’s . . . dealing with a lot, I guess.”

“Like what?” he pressed like he knew I didn’t have an answer and I was avoiding the question.

“Like . . . She hasn’t figured out what she’s passionate about.”

“And she resents you because you have an incredible career that you are passionate about?”

I tipped my head back on his shoulder. “Is it that obvious?”

Ryan pressed his lips to my temple and murmured, “Yeah. It is. And I’m going to take a not-so-wild guess and say that your mom coddles her because of it.”

“Do you have any courses on how to motivate someone to get out of their own way?”

I felt his smile against my skin, and I didn’t hate it.

“Actually, I do.”

“Do you sell gift cards? Because I know what her birthday present is going to be.”

His chuckle was warm, easing the ice that had cloaked my heart.

“I really try with them. My parents and Amber. It’s just . . . exhausting."

“Because they don’t reciprocate all the effort you put in,” he noted.

I looked down and stared at the spot where his feet bracketed mine. “It’s probably because I didn’t cut off my relationship with Shep. And when he met Lisa, we hit it off. I know it was especially hard for my dad, but . . .”

“But you were a kid. Shep was a big part of your life. And it wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t cut him out the way your mom did. He was just as much a parent as your mom and dad were. Maybe more, by my guess.”

“This was our spot,” I admitted. “I had to share a room with Amber, so whenever I was having a bad day, I would run out here and sit under the willow tree. Shep would come find me and talk about whatever was bothering me. Or sometimes we wouldn’t talk at all.”

“He sounds like the kind of man who gives good advice.”

The corner of my mouth lifted. “It usually boiled down to ‘it’s never as bad as you think it is’ and ‘everything will turn out just fine.’”

Ryan hummed in thought. “Do you believe that?”

I crossed my arms and found his hand, lacing our fingers together.

“I used to.” A latent memory drifted across the breeze as we sat in silence.

“Shep was a great storyteller. Whenever I was upset about something, he’d make up a story with rabbits and squirrels and chipmunks and make them go through what I was going through.

He loved fables and thought they taught the best lessons, especially when we were outside.

He even made up this little . . . I don’t know.

I guess it was a jingle or something. He’d always say, ‘ You and me, sitting beneath the willow tree. And I’m here to tell you that everything’s gonna be alright.

’ He always said that willow trees go with the wind.

They’re flexible when things get stormy.

The roots are firm, but the branches stay soft.

They withstand the storms with grace. Greater trees fall to the wind. Willows are more beautiful in it.”

“Is that where your pen name came from?”

“Yeah,” I said as tears streaked my cheeks. But I didn’t get a chance to brush them off my face. Ryan beat me to it.

His hands were tender as he cupped my cheeks and turned my head to face him so that he could wipe my tears away.

“He’s right, you know. You’re beautiful, but there’s something about you when you get that look of determination on your face.

” He smiled. “I saw it when we were running our mouths on the stage at Rom-Con. I saw it the whole time you were driving on the trip here. I like when you have that look because I know you’re going to do something great. ”

I laughed. “You call getting stuck with me great?”

The corner of Ryan’s smile kissed the crinkled lines around his eyes. "Yeah, I do, cupcake. You just might be my greatest adventure.”

I shifted onto my hip so I could rest my head on his chest.

“Everything’s gonna be all right, you know.”

My eyes lifted to his lips, square and sure, at the exact moment his gaze flicked down and met mine. “I know,” I whispered as my heart leaped into my throat.

“Might take a while,” he murmured as he tucked my hair behind my ear. Ryan’s fingers lingered in my hair, cradling the back of my head.

I could feel his breath, laced with peppermint gum, dancing across my mouth and mingling with each staccato inhale.

“You should open the box,” Ryan said as he pulled his hand away from my hair and smoothed his palm down my arm. “I can go inside and give you some privacy.”

My heart plummeted. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted to stay just like that. I wanted him to keep looking at me in a way that made me feel utterly delusional for believing that this was real.

But it wasn’t.

The only reason Ryan was here was that he was as stubborn as I was and wanted to prove a point. I wasn’t going to fall for poignant lines and gentle touches.

I knew better than that.

Now if I could just remember that I knew better than that.

I let out a huff as I turned and sat on my ass and stared at the box.

“It’s not going to bite,” Ryan said.

“Dammit. I was hoping it would swallow me whole,” I muttered as I pulled open the flaps that had been folded on top of each other to hold it closed.

Ryan reached around me and held the sides down while I pawed around. On top were photos from my childhood. Ryan teased me mercilessly for my brown pigtails and missing front teeth. There were crafts I had made at school that said “World’s Best Step Shep.”

“I argued with my third-grade teacher until she let me make two crafts so I could give one to my dad and one to Shep,” I said with a sad sort of laugh.

There were movie ticket stubs and little league soccer trophies.

He kept stacks and stacks of papers where I had written little stories in a barely legible childish scrawl, and drew pictures to go along with them.

He had saved nearly every pipe cleaner creature, beaded bracelet, and scrap paper doodle.

The deeper I dug into the box, the more I smiled.

Shep had always made me feel seen. And something about knowing he had saved little pieces of paper just because I had written on them let me feel his love one more time.

I had nearly reached the bottom of the box when I pulled out an envelope. The seal had been broken and was yellowed with age, but there was still something in it. Carefully, I opened it up and pulled out grainy black and white photos.

“What?” I stared at the ultrasound photos and cocked my head.

“I thought Lisa said she'd never had kids,” Ryan said.

“They never did. And these are”—I squinted to make out the date at the top—“older than me.” I did the math. “No . . . That is me.”

The patient's name had been blurred with age, but it looked like my mom’s name. The date, though . . .

The date didn’t lie.

“Why would he have my mom’s ultrasound from when she was pregnant with me? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe it got put in there by accident,” Ryan guessed. “Or maybe your mom wanted to save it, and put it into the box and didn’t realize Shep took it with him.”

“My mom doesn’t save anything.” I sighed.

“My parents didn’t divorce until after I was born.

My mom didn’t get together with Shep until I was two or three.

He lived with us, but they didn’t get married until a few years after that.

But like I said, she’s not the sentimental type.

” I tucked the ultrasound photos back into the envelope and dropped it in the box.

“She didn’t even take the furniture with her when she moved out of the house here. ”