“There’s no rush, Maggie,” he whispered, still holding her stare.
Her heart raced as she slowly closed the distance. He didn’t meet her halfway. This was her decision. He’d let her come to him at whatever pace she needed to take, no matter how excruciating the speed.
She loved that about him. But she also hated that she loved anyone aside from Nash. Was that what progress felt like? She’d foolishly expected it to feel like relief, because no one warned her it would be excruciating.
Her eyes closed as her lips pressed to his, warm and familiar, welcoming and safe. And in the comfort of his touch, she found the courage she’d been missing.
It was a special kind of kiss, the sort shared with a vow. It was her unspoken promise to try. As she pulled away, her shoulders felt lighter, as if the weight of her shell had been cast aside.
Chapter 29
It started with a movie, a simple harmless drama with very little sexual content. Ryan had bought popcorn and snowcaps, and they shared a cherry slushy. That straw would be the closest they came to the kiss she’d shared earlier.
The next day they went to dinner, and on the walk home, he held her hand. Holding hands was a gateway drug, she should have broken contact. Except, when he held her hand, she felt connected, protected, and safe—treasured. It was much nicer than walking alone.
Each night that week, when she’d pull her bike into the driveway after work, Ryan would be waiting for her on her back porch. Sometimes he had a box of pizza. Sometimes he had a bag of Chinese. One night, he even made dinner—well, he heated up a casserole his aunt had prepared.
For a solid week she worried that things would get heated and panicked that she’d fall face first into another meltdown, but dating Ryan wasn’t like the dating she remembered. It was more like hanging out with a best friend.
They teased each other and laughed, gossiped, debated which Star Wars was the best or if a California Roll counted as sushi. They bonded over food, since the time they spent together usually revolved around the shared need for sustenance.
When she thought of Nash, she didn’t give in to the rush of shame. She simply let the memory play and moved on. Sometimes she’d get quiet and Ryan would ask what she was thinking. At first she’d say nothing, but after a while that seemed silly. He could tell when she was distracted, and he’d asked her to be honest from the start.
“I was thinking about how Nash and I never ate at the table.”
“Never?” he asked, popping a soy-soaked piece of sashimi in his mouth, and not at all disturbed by the mention of her husband. “The salmon’s really good. You need to taste it.” He rotated the takeout container and pointed with his chopstick to a soft pink piece.
She pinched it between her chopsticks and swirled it in the sauce. “I mean, we had a table, and when we cooked, I’d put food on it, but we always carried our plates to the living room.” That was probably why their couch looked like a prop in a paintball field after only a few years.
“Huh. It’s like a law in my family that you have to eat at the table. Everyone has to sit down at the same time, and you get smacked if you pull out your phone during a meal.”
She paused. “They smack you?”
His shoulders shrugged. “Just in the back of the head. It’s more like a love tap.”
She arched a brow. “You associate hitting with love? Good to know.”
He laughed. “It’s not like that. The women in my family are just… They’re old-school. My mum and the aunts make sure there’s always a place for everyone to belong. Sharing meals together is the glue that brings us all home at the end of the day or week.” He popped a spicy tuna roll in his mouth and mumbled, “That’s kind of why I’m on my mum’s shit list.”
“Why?”
“I missed the last seven Sunday dinners.”
“Today’s Sunday.”
“I know. This is much nicer.”
She pushed away her plate. “Ryan, why are you avoiding your family?”
“I’m not. I’d just rather be with you.”
“But they probably miss you.”
“Maggie, I see them all the time. I work with nine of them at the lumberyard, and when I’m at the bar, a few of them are always there. I buy my groceries from the market Kelly and Ashlynn own. I get my coffee at the café where my little cousin works. I order my pizza from my cousin’s husband’s family. Trust me, just because I’m not sitting down for Sunday dinner with them doesn’t mean I’m not seeing them.”
She still didn’t think it was the same. “What about your mom?”