Must Be Love: (Nicole and Ryan) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 1) (9 page)

Bing
. My phone again. I eye it with suspicion. Are they pissed at me now?

It’s a text from Ryan.
What are you up to?

My heart jumps and I chew on my lip before responding.
Going through Cheryl's paperwork. Nightmare.

Sounds terrifying.

I laugh.
Scarier than a horror movie.

There’s a long pause. I hold my phone in my hands, staring at the screen, waiting for a reply. The screen goes dark and I put the phone down, way too disappointed. This is silly.

It
bings
again and I snatch it up, almost giddy with anticipation. What is he going to say next?

Another email. My shoulders slump.

There is definitely something wrong with me. I should be grieving. The end of a decade-long relationship ought to call for a period of mourning. I’m still hurt by what Jason did, but every time I think about Ryan, it hurts a little less. However, that’s no excuse for acting like a twitterpated schoolgirl. What am I doing, bursting with anticipation over a stupid text message?

Bing.
I force my hand to slow down and pick up my phone without so much enthusiasm.

Sorry. Cody being a dumbass. Typical. Are you hungry?

A smile breaks out over my face. So much for tempering my excitement
. Yeah, starving.

Can I pick you up in 20?

Sounds great.

I blow out a breath and gather up the paperwork into a neat stack. Twenty minutes. A sudden rush of nervousness hits me and my stomach turns over. I think about the way he looked, standing so close to me near the windows in his studio. I can’t get the
what if
out of my head.

It's okay Nicole. You've got this.

***

Nineteen minutes later—not that I’m counting—Ryan pulls up. My dad’s home, tinkering in the shop out back, so I slip out the front door. I don’t really want to answer awkward questions from my parents about where I’m going. It feels surreal, like I’m a kid sneaking out to meet a guy they don’t like. Not that I ever dated someone they didn’t like. I really only dated Jason, and everyone loved him.

The sight of Ryan stepping out of his car pushes all thoughts of Jason from my mind. He’s dressed in a blue t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair looks wind-blown, like it always does, and his jaw is covered in just the right amount of stubble. What would that stubble feel like on my cheek? On my—

"Hey," he says. He walks around the other side of the car to open the door for me.

"Thanks."

He shuts the door and gets in the driver's side. "I figured you were working. Thought you might be hungry."

"I really am," I say. "Come to think of it, I don't know if I've eaten since breakfast."

"You do that a lot, don't you?" he asks as he pulls out of the driveway.

"Do what?"

"Get so busy you don't take care of yourself," he says.

I give him a sidelong glance. "Maybe. So, what, we've worked together on this thing for a few days, and now you know all about me?"

He laughs. "Oh no. I'm not going there."

"Going where?" I ask. "You seem to have me all figured out. You knew I'd be hungry."

"Lucky guess. It's seven o'clock."

Suddenly I wonder why he invited me to dinner. Is this a date? Are we supposed to be working? I tuck my hair behind my ear and try to sneak a glance at him. He seems relaxed, but that could mean anything.

"Is pizza okay?" he asks.

"Roma's?" I ask. Roma's was one of the go-to Friday night hang outs when I was in high school. "Sure, I haven't been there in years."

"Neither have I," he says. "I thought it might be kinda fun to go."

We pull up to the red building and get out. It’s a mild night—the wind from the past few days has blown itself out, and the sky is soft and turning purple.

Ryan holds the door for me, and it’s like walking into the past. Everything is exactly the same. Low walls with rough wood paneling separate each booth, and patrons sit on red vinyl benches. The scents of garlic, oregano, and cheap beer mingle in the air. An alcove on one side has a line of ancient arcade games, their screens still blinking and colorful. The menu has all of five choices, the same as it always has. We order at the counter and take a plastic number sign to a booth near the back.

The walls are covered with years of graffiti—encouraged by the owners. Kids doodle, people sign their names, and the locals make a point of covering anything that looks like it’s been written by tourists. In a town whose primary industry is tourism, we get a little possessive of our turf. Roma's is ours.

"Sometimes I feel like nothing here ever changes," I say. "If you told me we had to go to class in the morning, I might actually believe you."

Ryan grins. "Except if we had class in the morning, I don't think you'd be here with me."

"Well, it's not like you ever asked me," I say.

"And risk the wrath of Jason and his buddies? No thanks."

"He wasn't that bad," I say.

Ryan raises his eyebrows.

"Okay, he probably was," I say.

"I'm sorry," Ryan says. "I probably shouldn't bring him up."

"No, it's actually okay," I say.

"I'll be honest," Ryan says. "I'd like to throat punch that guy right about now."

I laugh. Man, it feels good to laugh. "I'd pay good money to see that."

A waitress brings our dinner. Roma's pizza is simple, and greasy, but holy shit is it delicious. Huge slices of pepperoni cover the thick cheese. It’s positively sinful. We chat about the festival a little, but it isn’t long before we’re on to other things: movies we've seen and want to see, places we've been, where we'd love to go if we had the chance. For me, it’s Europe. For Ryan, the Caribbean. Watching him smile, I think I might trade in backpacking through Europe for a white, sandy beach with a shirtless Ryan. We joke and laugh, poking fun at each other. I can’t remember the last time I was so relaxed. So free.

I giggle as a string of cheese sticks to my chin. Ryan reaches across the table and runs a finger down my jaw to wipe it off. He sits back with this pensive look on his face, that insanely cute little furrow between his eyes.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says. "I just, kind of wondered if I should do this or not. But I'm glad I did."

"Why?"

"Why am I glad? Well, the sight of you with cheese on your face was worth the cost of dinner," he says.

I laugh, but wipe my chin with a napkin, just to be sure. "No, dummy, why did you wonder if you should do this?"

He opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak, then closes it again, glancing away. I hesitate, wondering if I shouldn't have asked. I meant it to be flirtatious, a reason for him to say something nice about wanting to see me. Then I could say something sweet back. Isn’t that how it works? Fuck, I’m so bad at this.

His eyes move back to mine and his dimples pucker with his smile. "I just wasn't sure if you'd want to hang out, you know, outside of official festival business."

My shoulders relax and I smile back. "Yeah, this has been great."

He doesn’t reply—just sits there staring at me, his gaze so intense I can’t move. What is going on in that head of his? Has this turned into a date yet? Is that what I want? The longer he holds my eyes, the harder my heart pounds in my chest, and the more I think maybe the best thing would be for us to get out of here and go back to his place. Now.

Ryan blinks, almost as if he’s startled. "I, um, I need to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

He leaves to use the restroom and I check my phone, more to anchor myself to some sort of reality than because I want to check my messages. I stare at the screen, not really seeing it. My feelings are a tangled mess, like splashes of color, all mingling and blending together. What is happening to me?

My ears perk up to the conversation in the booth behind me. I swear I heard my name. I don’t really want to eavesdrop, but the sensation they are talking about me is so strong, I lean my head back and listen.

"That's what I heard."

"Wow. I didn't see that coming."

"I know, isn't it strange? I guess she moved back in with her parents."

Oh my god, they
are
talking about me.

"So she left him?"

"I think. Or maybe he kicked her out, I don't know. I heard she’s hanging around with that guy who bought the old church up the highway. I can't remember his name. Doesn't that seem kind of fast to you?"

"Totally. It's sad. Some women just can't be alone."

I feel the color drain from my face and my stomach turns over. Is that what people are saying about me? That I can’t be alone? I want to turn around and argue—tell them I am a strong, independent, successful woman. I work for a prestigious firm in Seattle and I make my own way in the world. I don’t need anyone. But I’m too stunned to do anything other than stare at the table.

Ryan slips back into his seat across from me. "Hey, sorry. Do you want to go get some dessert and a drink somewhere?"

I blink at him. "Um, no. I think I should get home."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," I say, with a flippant wave of my hand. "Everything's fine. I'm just … not really up for a late night."

My fight or flight urge is taking over and I want to dash outside, away from the prying eyes of the other Roma's patrons. What was I thinking? I just got out of a relationship that lasted my entire adult life up to this point. I can’t be running into the arms of another man right now. I don’t want people to see me as
that
girl—the one who can’t make it on her own. The one who needs a man to be sure of herself.

"Okay," he says, his brow furrowed. "Do you want me to take you home, then?"

No, I don't need you to do anything for me.
"That's all right, I'll get home on my own." I gather up my purse and stand, feeling panic rise. I never should have come running home to this town. I’m nothing but a disgrace, and the whole town knows it.

Ryan follows me outside silently. I fire off a quick text to Melissa as I walk.

Please come get me at Roma's. Now. Emergency.

"I'm not sure what just happened, but I can drive you home," Ryan says. "It's no big deal."

"No, I'm good," I say. "Thanks for dinner, it was nice. I'm sure we'll talk soon. The festival and all."

He looks at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. "Do you have a ride coming or something?"

I shrug, trying to act casual and hide my trembling hands. "Melissa's on her way. I, um, I wanted to see her anyway, so it worked out."

"I'll wait, then."

"No, no, it's fine," I say. "You don't have to stay."

Ryan takes a few steps back and crosses his arms, but he doesn’t head for his car. I watch the road, willing Melissa to get here, tapping my finger against my phone. I don’t want those women in the restaurant to come out and see me standing here.

"Nicole, did something happen? Did I say something?" Ryan asks.

"No," I say. "Look, this is just a weird time for me, okay? I need to get home."

"I can—"

Melissa pulls up in front of us like a bat out of hell, her tires squealing. Her car door flies open and she jumps out, her face full of concern. She looks at me, then at Ryan, and her brow furrows.

"Are you all right?" she asks me, giving Ryan a sidelong glance.

Ryan looks bewildered, but I try to ignore him, and the feeling of guilt that is blooming in my belly. "I'm fine. Let's just go."

"Okay…" Melissa says.

"Thanks again for dinner," I say without looking at Ryan, as I get in Melissa's car.

Melissa shuts her door and pulls out toward the road. "Holy shit, Nic. What the hell did he do?"

Tears flood my eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Nothing," I say. "He didn't do anything."

"Then why did I just rescue you from Roma's?"

"I am such a disaster of a person," I say. "I had everything. A good-looking boyfriend. A great apartment in an awesome neighborhood. A great job."

"I'm sorry, honey, but I'm totally not following you."

I shake my head and wipe beneath my eyes. "I was voted 'Most Likely to Succeed' in high school, you remember that? Such bullshit. It should have been 'Most Likely to Desperately Need a Man in Her Life.'"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Melissa asks.

"Things fall apart with Jason, and what do I do? I come running home to mommy and daddy and cling on to the first fucking guy who's nice to me. What the fuck is that about?"

"Wow. Okay, overreact much?"

"I'm not overreacting."

"Sure you aren't," Melissa says, her voice full of sarcasm.

"How did you get there so fast?" I ask.

"I was driving home from picking up some stuff at the store." She gestures to a few grocery bags in the back seat.

"Oh, sorry," I say.

"It's fine. I was done, and nothing in there's frozen or anything."

She takes a right where she should go left.

"Where are we going?"

She ignores me. Two turns later, she drives down the beach approach, her headlights hitting the crashing waves. She pulls over to the side at the end of the approach and turns off the car.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Giving you a minute to calm the fuck down," she says.

"Do you talk to your students with that mouth?" I ask.

"In my head, I do," she says.

Despite myself, I laugh. "Seriously, why are we sitting on the beach?"

"Come on, Nicole. We always used to come down here when we were pissed about something. Our parents, or our dickhead boyfriends. You sat out here with me in your prom dress, missing half the dance, because I was crying over Aaron Sanders dumping me right before the dance."

"God, that was shitty," I say. "Showing up at prom with that hussy from another school. I can't even remember her name, that's how forgettable she was."

Melissa laughs so hard she snorts. "Hussy. That's such a fantastic word."

She pauses, taking a deep breath. We both stare out at the water for a few minutes, letting the conversation die. The headlights illuminate the white caps of the waves as they crash onto the sand, the rhythm carrying through the closed doors.