“The genuine one.” She reached out as if to touch his cheek again, but dropped her hand.
His stomach lurched as he realized how easily she saw through him. “I’ve made a lot of people—including myself—a lot of money with my salesman smile. Most people fall for it.”
“Do you lie to your clients?”
“Never, actually,” he said, melting further into his seat and hoping to hell she didn’t say it was time to go yet. “I never make false promises, I don’t mislead, and I never pretend to be capable of something that I’m not. I lead with honesty. But… I can fake a smile and a positive attitude when all I want to do is scream.”
“And now? Do you want to scream?”
Butterflies charged into his throat and blocked their own exit, and he swallowed them before he admitted he didn’t want to scream right now. That gleam in her eyes as she teased him, that confident tilt of her chin. What he really wanted was to reach across and mate his lips to hers. Instead, he looked out the windshield, at the freshly painted garage door and trim, the shrubs overdue for a prune and blooms of every stage from bud to decay, and shook his head. “I want to dig a hole in the sand and hide until I figure out what the hell is going on with my life right now.”
“There’s not a lot of sand around Foothills,” Zoe said lightly.
“I live in the desert,” he said frankly.
“Send me a picture,” she said.
“Of?”
“As soon as you get home. Dig a big hole in your backyard, stick your head in it, and snap a selfie. I’m enjoying the visual.”
“I’m adept at hiding. Why else would I live an airplane ride away from my mother?”
“Which is why we’re not telling her yet? So you can hide a little longer?”
“You got it,” he teased, and sat up and rolled his shoulders to warm up. “As I might only have another hour or so left to live, let’s table that worry for another day.”
Zoe laughed and grabbed her jacket and climbed out of the truck. Jumped, more like it. The thing was definitely lifted higher than it must have been on the showroom floor.
Each crunch of his feet over concrete, each happy little chirp of bird and rustle of maple trees flapping their leaves overhead clattered in his ears. When he told Patricia, he was going to be far, far away.
Hands stuffed deeply in her jacket pockets, Zoe’s cheeks were puffed out and her eyes were bugged so wide he was surprised the wind hadn’t landed a few bugs in there.
“Zoe?” he asked, loving the hell out of her pretense of calm that was completely failing.
“Yeah?” she chirped.
“He won’t really kill me, will he? Or is he more into torture?”
“Finn was the biggest risk. Although, having your sister to restrain him eased the blow. I told him right away.”
“Um, thank you, I guess?”
“Thank me if you’re still alive in an hour,” she said, turning and biting a wicked grin, and grabbed the doorknob and dashed inside before he could argue.
A laugh rattled his throat, shuddered in his chest, and dammit, he was grinning like an idiot as he followed her toward his doom.
“Hope you’re hungry,” a voice called from the kitchen.
In the small square entry, atop floral laminate flooring circa 1996, Zoe stood on one foot and kicked out of her shoes.
Ryder did the same, glad as hell he’d worn standard white tube socks with his ordinary-guy jeans and a plain black tee. If they’d been telling Patricia this morning, he would be wearing chinos and a white tee with brown suede Chelsea boots and a matching belt. When he groveled to plead for time off to his boss, he was still debating between the charcoal gray Armani vision of success with the gentle baby blue tie that made his eyes glow extra intense.
The carpeted stairs on the left looked to lead to the bedrooms. A shuttered closet on the right was open and full of more coats than one man could possibly need, with rubber boots on the floor, snow boots, waders, and a mountain of cleats and various athletic shoes. Dammit, he should have brought a sample from Bellamy.
Too late. Next time, he’d bring sweatshirts.
When Ryder walked into his mother’s home, he not only rang the bell, but gave hugs to Hattie if she answered, an awkward air kiss to his mother if she answered, or a gruff handshake and half-hug, half-pat-on-the-back to his lumber mogul stepfather.
