And sure enough, the Los Angeleans are driv
ing like the road is frozen solid. It’s just some wetness, but they can’t seem to relax. Cars inch forward, then brake, inch forward, then brake like three-legged turtles in a race.
“This is the only time I really miss Sweet Hope,” I say, resting a hand on the wheel.
“When it rains?”
“Well… I miss Mom and Simon, but not the town itself.” I hesitate, then add, “It has too many gossips, you know? Nothing better to do than get in other people’s business. And all those ‘friends’ who just can’t wait to be the first to tell you something bad.”
Ryder nods. A moment later he asks, “How come you always call your stepdad Simon?”
“Well, that’s his name. And he isn’t really my dad.”
“You miss your biological father?”
The question makes me pause. “Yeah. I do.”
“When did he pass away?” Ryder’s voice is sympathetic.
“Before I was born. We never even got to meet.” I let out a self-conscious laugh. “It’s so silly to miss a man who never even held me. But…he was my dad, you know? I feel like my childhood would’ve been different if he hadn’t died in a car wreck. Mom told me he was a good man, and wanted the best for me. Growing up without him was hard, but knowing that he was watching over me like a guardian angel helped.” I sniff, then scratch the tip of my nose. “Pretty stupid, huh?”
“No.” Ryder reaches over and squeezes my hand.
I let him keep holding it. The connection feels fragile yet so precious.
If I just throw caution to the wind… Could this turn into something more?
I’d like to believe it. My lips still tingle when I think about the way he comforted me in my office yesterday. And I loved the way he held me in the theater room last night, his breath tickling my neck and his hand on my arm, skin to skin.
Elliot asked me why having Ryder’s trust mattered when we were only marrying for a year. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid. Afraid that if I’m not careful, I’m going to fall in love with a man who doesn’t have that high a regard for me.
Ryder is the only man who affects me like this. And it started even before we began talking about the marriage. He can drive me crazy, irritate me until I want to kick him, but then he makes me laugh just as easily or turns my insides soft with his sweet gestures. And when he looks at me these days, it’s as though I’m the only woman for him, as if all the other women before me have crumbled like pillars of salt and blown away in the winds of his memory.
And his kisses heal the wounds left by the ugly comments better than anything.
I turn my hand so I can squeeze him back. He pulls it to his mouth and kisses the knuckles.
“What’s that about?” I ask.
The smile he gives me is so brilliant, my heart flutters. “Just because.”
* * *
Ryder
The first word that pops into my head when we step into Dr. Silverman’s office is “soothing.” The sage green and creamy yellow colors are remarkably calming. Instead of posters about dangers of this or that disease, the walls have prints of modern art.
I approve. If the doctor is as good as the office décor, the concierge fee I’m paying for the clinic will be money well spent.
The receptionist leads us into the private area where we can see the doctor right away. In her forties, Dr. Silverman is skinny. Her appearance isn’t remarkable, short with an average face and mouse-brown hair. Her outfit is also predictable—a white lab coat over a conservative coral tunic and black skirt.
Lines around her warm green eyes crinkle when she smiles. Paige relaxes, and right then and there, I decide I like the good doctor.
She gives us a friendly nod. “Paige. Mr. Reed.”
“Call me Ryder,” I say. Mr. Reed is what people call Dad.
“Of course.” She gives me a polite smile and turns to some charts.