Page 22 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)
CLEANIN’ UP
Ryder saw my fucking underwear drawer.
Not only that, but the other things in my underwear drawer.
It’s already bad enough that I’m moving in with him today in order to sell this marriage to anyone who might question it. I didn’t need him catching a glimpse of my toys too!
Toys I’m absolutely going to become extremely familiar with now that we’ll be sharing space.
Thank God we won’t be in the same room.
Ryder pulls into the dirt driveway, parking outside his white, cottage-style home, the black slate shingles reflecting brightly, nearly blinding me as I hop out of his truck.
“It looks different than the last time I was here,” I tell him, staring at the dark-stained wood pillars holding up the roof of the wraparound porch.
“Lols, you were here a few nights ago, and I distinctly remember being ding-dong-ditched by someone who drove a truck a lot like your dad’s,” he says, shamelessly calling me out on something I’d thought we held a silent agreement not to mention.
“It was dark the other night, and,” I side-eye him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His deep chuckle rumbles between us like thunder on a hot summer night, and the accompanying lightning must be what zaps straight to my core, heat building at the sound alone. This man is dangerously sexy. Dangerous with my heart, that is.
We carry all my boxes into the house, our house, and he says, “Alright, darlin’, I think that’s all of it. You ready to see your new room?”
I nod, following him through the living room, passing the grandfather clock we used to hide notes in as kids, the picture-covered mantle with photos of us throughout our childhood and young adulthood that are so picturesque they look like stock images.
The three-seat beige sofa with wide cushions calls to me, practically begging for me to take a nap on it as exhaustion settles into my joints.
He opens the white-paneled door to what is now my new bedroom, and here I go again, getting choked up.
I expected the room to be bare bones, with just a bed and nightstand. I had anticipated going into town later this week to get some things to personalize it and make it feel more like me.
But here I am, standing in the doorway to a room that couldn’t be more me if I’d decorated it myself.
The walls are painted a light cream, there’s a rattan bed frame, the mattress is made up beautifully in a white comforter set, and a vibrant-red quilt hangs over the end. There are photos hung on the walls in light wooden frames, and they aren’t ones I brought.
I run my fingers over the delicately woven, thin pieces of wood that make up the frames. My eyes flash to Ryder. “Where–Where’d you get these?” I choke out.
“I know living with me isn’t ideal, so I wanted your space to feel like yours.
Mayte and your mom helped me go through photos they had of you, and I did my best to pick out ones I’d thought you’d be happy to look at each day.
” He grins, and his eyes twinkle. “And a few of you I couldn’t help but have in our home. ”
The way he says “our home” so naturally has my heart panging in my chest. This sweet, thoughtful man is going to be my undoing all over again.
His eyes flick to one of the larger pictures hanging in the center of the wall.
It’s a photo of me wearing a silver sequined dress that ends right above my knees.
My partner’s hand is the only part of his that can be seen in the photo as he twirls me out, both of my arms extended in a T , and the brightest smile lights my face.
My curls are swirled around my shoulders, and I look more carefree in that photo than I’ve felt in the last three years.
This man.
He clears his throat. “I’ll give you a minute to look around. I’ll start bringing in the boxes from the living room.”
I take a seat at the end of the bed, running my hand over the soft quilt as I let out a long, calming sigh.
We’re really doing this.