Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Ryder looked down at the ground. He was clearly trying to process what I’d just thrown at him. His voice was low. “I get it. And I can’t begin to imagine what your life is like.”
“Those stitches on his head? That’s my reality.” I pointed over to the corner of my kitchen. “That sink full of dishes? That’s my reality. That spot up there from the leaky ceiling? That’s my reality—and it’s not pretty, Ryder.”
“No, it’s not.” He moved in and wrapped both of his hands around my cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful. So different from anything I ever imagined. And I’d imagined some ominous things, Eden. Fucked-up things. But I still wanted to meet you. Nothing could take that need away.”
He kept his hands around my face, and I shut my eyes to relish how good it felt to be touched by him. When I opened them, he was looking at me so intensely it gave me chills. His face had inched closer to mine when Ollie’s voice interrupted, causing me to flinch.
“Can I have a Fruit Roll-Up, Eden?”
My breathing was heavy as I came down from the anticipation of a kiss that didn’t happen.
“Hang on,” I yelled over before walking to the closet to grab him a snack. Still so on edge, I fumbled with the box before opening the packaging and bringing the Roll-Up to his room.
When I came back, Ryder was still standing there, looking so tall and handsome with his hands in his pockets. I didn’t know what to do with him. His presence was overpowering. It was so surreal to have him here in my little kitchen.
“How could I not have seen through it?” he said. “How could I not know that you’re struggling? Am I that blind?” He looked down at his feet and swore under his breath. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to use that term.” He looked distraught.
I smiled. “It’s okay. Ollie and I aren’t sensitive.”
He reached his hand out for mine.
I took it and looped my fingers through his. “I never feel like I’m struggling when I’m spending time with you. You’ve been my escape. You say you should’ve sensed something, but you couldn’t have seen through anything because I’m so happy when I’m around you—albeit virtually.” I squeezed his hand. “And I’m really sorry for worrying you when I was MIA. I just lost it when he got hurt and really fell into a depression.”
“What caused his injury?”
I braced as I recalled it. “I’d fallen asleep on the couch. He didn’t want to wake me. He knows I keep some of our food that I buy in bulk down in the basement. He tried to get his own snack and fell down the stairs. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“I’m just glad you’re both okay. My mind was all over the place thinking someone hurt you or you’d gone missing. All kinds of crazy shit went through my head.”
“I’m a mess, but I’m alive and okay.” I squeezed his hand, yearning for more. “God, I can’t believe you’re here. You’re real.”
As we stared at each other, I kept thinking he was going to kiss me, but he held back. Then he asked the strangest question.
“Do you like chicken pot pie?”
What? I chuckled. “I haven’t had it in years, but yeah. I do. Why?”
“Because it’s what I know how to cook, and I’m making it for you tonight while you relax with a glass of wine.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Please let me cook for you and Ollie.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I really can’t.”
“Then why make chicken pot pie?”
“My mother. It was all she ever knew how to cook. We always had a chef, so she rarely spent time in the kitchen. But when she did, she’d make that. One day when I was a little kid, I asked her to let me help her. And to this day, it’s all I know how to make.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Do you think Ollie will like it?”
“He’ll eat anything. Literally. He loves food.”
“Okay. Good. So…you can freak out about all the stresses of life tomorrow. You can also freak out about what my being here means tomorrow. Tonight, it’s chicken pot pie.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
RYDER
Eden gave me directions to the nearest supermarket. It felt completely surreal to be here, picking out the ingredients to make her the only thing I could cook. My mind wasn’t even focusing on what I needed to buy; it was too busy trying to absorb everything.
I looked out through the sliding glass doors of the market to the mountains in the distance. I was in freaking Utah, about to cook for Eden and her brother. I am here with Eden. What a difference a day makes.
My feelings could best be described as a mix of anxiety and relief. Relief that there was no sinister reason she was hiding her life from me. And anxiety because in a sense, she was right about everything. Eden had a ton of responsibility—too much for one twenty-four-year-old girl. And that was something I had to consider. There was no room for games. I had to tread lightly.