Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(89)

“You can. You have.”

He shakes his head. “Not to a slow song where I just stand there. I mean like this.” He waves his hand toward me. “To a faster rhythm.”

My chest tightens with his words. I step toward him and hold out his hand, pulling him up. “Ridge Lawson, you can do anything you want.”

I wrap one hand around his neck, and he places his hands on my waist. I start tapping against his chest along with the beat of the song. I move left to right to the rhythm, and he starts to follow my lead. I sing the lyrics so he can watch my mouth and know where we are in the song. When the song ends, I reach over and hit play again so we can keep going.

Ridge starts to fall in line with the rhythm, and I laugh when it finally happens. He laughs, too, as he starts to take over and keep up with a beat he can’t even hear. He leads me around the room as I sing and tap against him. At the end of the final chorus, he spins me and then pulls me against his chest as we both come to a slow stop.

He holds me there, staring down at me as I look up at him. We’re both smiling. Looking in his eyes, I can see the complete appreciation he has for me like I’ve never seen before. Like I just gave him something he thought he would never experience.

For me, it was a simple dance—something I do all the time and take for granted. For him, it was a breakthrough. Something he’s never done before that he believed he couldn’t do.

How he’s probably feeling right now is how he makes me feel every time he turns on the stereo for me. It’s the little things like these that create the biggest moments between us.

He takes my face in his hands, preparing to say something to me. But instead of speaking or signing, he just drags in a speechless breath as he stares silently at me. He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me gently on the lips. Then he meets my eyes, conveying more with one look than he’s ever conveyed through any other form of our communication.

“Sydney,” he says quietly. “Everything we’ve gone through to get here. Right here. It was all worth it.”

There isn’t a thing I could signs or words I could say that could top the meaning in what he just spoke to me.

I reach over and hit play on our song again. He grins as I clasp my hands behind his neck. He presses his forehead to mine, and we dance.





I wanted to send Brennan a rough cut of the song Sydney and I wrote tonight, but I needed my laptop to do it. Which is why we just showed up at my apartment and placed ourselves in this horrible predicament.

Us, standing at the door.

Warren’s ass, staring back at us from the couch.

It’s so…pale.

Sydney spins around as soon as we walk through the apartment door. She’s covering her eyes, even though she’s not facing the direction of Warren’s ass anymore. She’s shaking her head like she wishes she could unsee what she just saw. I wish that, too.

I think Bridgette might be yelling now. Thank God I can’t hear it. All I see is Warren covering her up with the throw blanket from the back of the couch. Mental note to wash that blanket tomorrow.

Warren covers his junk with a throw pillow. Wash the pillow, too.

“Knock much?” he signs.

“Lock doors much?” I sign back. I grab Sydney’s hand and pull her to my bedroom. When we’re safe from Warren’s nudity, she finally opens her eyes.

“I’m never sitting on that couch again,” she says, walking to my dresser. She kicks off her flip-flops. I point to the restroom, and she nods. Right before I walk away, she says, “I’m gonna borrow sunblock.”

I’m in the bathroom with the door shut before I realize what she said didn’t make sense. Or at least I didn’t read her lips right. Sunblock? It’s nighttime. She doesn’t need sunblock. What did she say if she didn’t say sunblock?

Some socks.

She’s gonna borrow some socks.

Shit! The ring!

I swing open the bathroom door, but it’s too late. The sock drawer is open. The box is in her hands. The box is open, and she’s looking down at the engagement ring with a hand covering her mouth.





My old landlord texted me this morning and said she had some of my mail, so I decided to drive to San Antonio to meet up with Jake rather than have him drive to Austin. I texted him after I picked up my mail to let him know he didn’t have to come to me for dinner. He responded almost immediately with his address. That text was followed by another that read, Key under the rock next to the grill on the back patio. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.

That was seven hours ago.

He’s texted several times since then, apologizing profusely. He got called into an emergency surgery. I keep reassuring him that it’s fine. I even offered to come back another time, but he made me swear I wouldn’t leave before he got home.

So…in an attempt to make hanging out for seven hours in the home of a guy I’m not officially dating a little less strange, I’ve kept myself busy. I think I underestimated Jake’s honesty when he said he was a messy person. Because…even after a trip to the store for cleaning supplies and hours of straight work…this place still isn’t spotless. I’ve done four loads of laundry, two loads of dishes, made his bed for what I’m sure is the first time ever, scrubbed both bathrooms, and now I’m prepping dinner.