3
L-E-A-P-O-F-F-A-I-T-H
Claire tucked her coat under her arm, running a minimum hundred-point-four degrees after her skating lesson. As she neared the impractical car, she found Ryder still parked, engine running to stay warm, phone to his ear, hand gesturing madly, engrossed in a heated debate. She knew she hadn’t been gone long enough, but she couldn’t stay at the rink any longer. With every second spent with her skating partner, she felt herself ripping apart at the seams.
Although she had completely humiliated herself, she’d had a great time doing so. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. Hell, her abs already ached and would for days.
She rolled her eyes at herself. Always greener pastures, right? She had a foundation with Ryder. If this week went well, and they made up for the last few months of the widening crevasse that had grown between them, she’d be glad she stuck with him. Ryder was everything she wanted: smart, handsome, successful. When they’d met, she could swear he had a sense of humor and had been doting. Hadn’t he?
It was natural to have crushes on attractive men, despite being in a long-term relationship, right? Her mom was certain that Ryder was planning to pop the question on the trip. That would be great. Next step. He probably had the ring in his suitcase. He’d want to make a big fuss with flowers and champagne, down on one knee.
Lucky thing she wouldn’t have to see her sexy hockey player again. She’d avoid the skating rink, and she’d be gone soon. No harm, no foul. A good reminder that life wasn’t a romance novel.
She tossed her coat in the backseat, grabbed her book, and hopped in the passenger seat next to Ryder. Only a minute or two passed before she realized she was holding her book upside down. Right about the time she saw her handsome stranger walking out to the shiny black Forerunner parked a few spaces away in the otherwise empty lot.
Grateful the windows of the rental car were tinted, she watched as he tossed his skates into the back. Rather violently, actually. After slamming the driver’s door behind him, he ran a hand through his unruly blond hair before smacking his forehead into the steering wheel.
A loopy grin took over her expression. She couldn’t help but feel chills, fabulous jitters of excitement, that he was as thrown by their meeting as she was.
“What happened to the swimsuit theme I’d submitted? He’s approaching this all wrong.” Ryder’s voice edged at her raw nerves.
Now or never. Fate was a nasty bitch, and she refused to ruin something magical for a chance at rekindling what was a terrible relationship to begin with.
Remember the old Claire? The one who didn’t accept a B-minus in Anatomy and Physiology, sophomore year of college? The Claire who socked Jimmy Porter in the nose when he grabbed her ass at junior prom? Or the Claire that aced her first round of clinicals despite the flu, a sprained ankle, and a broken wrist, all in one semester?
Claire Dabney let nothing get in the way of what she wanted. She rotated away from Ryder and opened the car door. Ready to throw out the book and chase him down, she looked around and realized he was gone.
The thundering in her chest lurched, the adrenaline hammering over her like the August summer sun on her paint-chipped sedan. She released the door handle and lowered back into her seat. Overthinking bit her in the ass. Nothing new there.
Maybe fate was telling her something after all. Appreciate what you’ve got, as anything as miraculous as you think you may have experienced—when you’re tired and burned out—is fleeting and will fizzle out as fast as a meteor in the sky. Despite her best efforts to muster a poker face, the disappointment was just too deep, and her face drooped like a candle set too close to a fire, her tear ducts leaking hot acid.
Think about something else. Anything. Hip replacement, neutering, gangrenous splinters...
Not working.
She opened her book.
Ryder’s meeting didn’t last too much longer, thank goodness. Within ten minutes of glaring at her stupid romance novel with the stupid happy couple that traveled through time to find each other, Ryder was scheduling a follow-up call for tomorrow and hanging up. Fiction. The book was a trivial piece of fiction that provided a nice distraction on the flight up. Nothing more. People didn’t find that sort of connection. Why did people read this tripe?
“Have a good time?” Ryder asked her as he drove out of the parking lot.
Scrunching her eyebrows together, Claire considered her response. “I’m a terrible skater.”
“I could have told you that.” Chuckling, Ryder drove through the rest of the lovely little town toward the mountains. Really lovely. But she suspected it would be nothing more than the annual visits to the sweet little town at a maximum, even if they moved to Seattle.
She blinked back the acid in her eyes and responded in her clearest voice. “Hey, I’d never skated before. You never know, maybe I was gifted at it but had never had the chance to find out.” Not likely, but worth dreaming.
“Babe, you can barely dance.” There were those irritating dimples.
“I’m not that bad of a dancer. I’m agile and graceful. Hey, I can reduce an equine rectal prolapse with my eyes closed. How many people do you know who can say that?” Claire found her smile, flashing him a shit-eating grin. Apparently, making him uncomfortable was a great way to improve her mood.
