Bring Me Back(62)

Ryder grins and pulls out the white envelope stuffed in his back pocket. “Got it right here. You didn’t think I’d forget them did you?” He jokes and pulls out one of the folded birds.

I duck my head so he can’t see my smile. Being with Ryder, it’s easy. As easy as breathing—normal and completely natural. It’s something I could get used to and I think that’s another reason why it scares me so much.

Ryder opens his envelope and lays one of the origami birds on a car we pass by. I smile at the sight of it and my heart … It feels happy.

“So,” I ask him, squinting from the brightness of the sun even though I’m wearing sunglasses, “your parents watch Cole some weekends?”

“Yeah—” he looks down at the ground when we step off the sidewalk onto the parking lot “—they do it maybe once every other month or so. It gives me a break and they love spending time with him. He loves it too. They spoil him rotten and give him too many cookies.”

I laugh at that and pull one of my own paper cranes from the envelope and leave it on the bench we pass. “It’s nice that you have them.”

“It’s nice that you have your parents too,” he comments. He hasn’t asked me anything about them since that day at the mall. It kind of surprised me, but then again it didn’t. Ryder has made it obvious he wants to know me, but he’s not pushy about it.

“They’re great,” I agree, my throat closing with emotion. “They … uh … they live in Florida now, but they dropped everything to come back here and be with me after Ben died. I didn’t always make it easy on them to stay, especially my poor mom, but they persevered and I’m so incredibly thankful that they’re here. I’ll be sad when they leave.”

“That was nice of them.” He sets a paper crane on one of those large planters that hold small trees and people tend to sit on.

“They’re good people,” I say. I take a sip of my iced tea and look around for a place to lay a crane. I end up running into the parking lot and sticking one on a random car. Ryder and I continue through the strip-mall, now beneath a covered awning. The shade feels nice and is much needed. It’s hot enough to fry an egg out there. “What do you normally do on your off weekends?” I look up at him, waiting for his answer.

He shrugs. “Most of the time I just hang out at home—catch up on laundry, grade papers, that sort of thing. If I’m really feeling adventurous I might go see a movie. I love movie theater popcorn; the stuff you get at the store isn’t the same.” He smiles boyishly.

I laugh lightly. “That’s kind of boring.”

“Maybe so,” he says, “but I enjoy the peace and quiet of being at home.”

“So…” I begin and then pause, unsure if I should ask what I want, but I finally decide what the hell. “Have you dated any since…?”

“No.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I haven’t wanted to and I’ve been too busy with Cole, but I … I think I’m ready,” he admits. He looks me over, and even through his dark sunglasses the intensity in his stare burns.

Since I don’t know what to say, I end up exclaiming, “Ooh. Look. Bookstore!” It’s a horrible segue, and Ryder’s laughter tells me he knows so, but he’s nice enough not to comment.

He holds the door open for me and I step inside the cool shop. The air-conditioned air feels good to my heated skin. There’s already a slight sheen of sweat on my forehead from our trek outside.

I inhale the scent of books and I can’t help but smile.

The bell above the door jingles as Ryder comes in behind me. The store is small, but every surface is covered in books. I’ve never been in this particular store before. I usually order my books or get them from the local chain store, but the quirkiness of this place immediately speaks to my soul.

“You love popcorn,” I say to Ryder, “and I love books.”

He chuckles behind me and his fingers lightly graze my waist as he squeezes in beside me. “I do too. Mysteries are my favorite and the occasional thriller.” He removes his sunglasses now that we’re inside and hooks it onto the collar of his shirt. I take mine off too, but slide them into my hair.

“Romances,” I say, “especially historical romances.”

He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and I know he’s fighting a grin. “Those books with the covers of the women with big boobs draped around some shirtless guy and they both look like they’re seconds away from having an orgasm?”

I snort. I hadn’t expected all of that. “Yep, those are the ones,” I say.

“And I’m sure they’re highly historically accurate?” He raises a brow, his eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Absolutely.” I fight a smile.

Is this flirting? Are we flirting? I’ve been out of the game so long that I have no clue. What I do know is, if we are I like it entirely too much.

“I have an idea,” Ryder begins, leaning his back against one of the many shelves and crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you pick out a mystery for me and I’ll pick out a historical romance for you—and even if it’s one we’ve already read we have to get it and re-read it.”

My lips lift into a smile. “I like that idea. And—” I look around “—while we’re at it maybe we could slip some of these into the books?” I hold up my envelope of paper cranes.