I don’t need the money, but the hours of mundane sorting are exactly what I need to zone out; they’re also helping me settle into a temporary routine until I figure out my next move.
As of now, my life is a comforting, monotonous repeat, with only one highlight at the end of the day: Wake up, go for a walk, drive Dad’s second car to work, sit at the dinner table and listen to the memories I missed with my parents, shower with thoughts of Ryder fucking me—no use in trying to lie about it—list ways I can deal with Kylie, and last… chat with Adeline about her day at school.
“Given how much you made at your previous job, I don’t understand why you’re working somewhere else, Autumn…”
Ryder’s voice cuts into my thoughts, low and rough, making my entire world stop.
I suck in a breath and turn around to face him. My body instantly reacts at the sight of him in a dark dress shirt—sleevesrolled just enough to hint at tension beneath, like his body’s barely holding back the storm. The fabric clings in all the places I remember best, and my stomach flips.
His cologne hits me next—wood, spice, and danger.
I swallow as he steps closer, and I take a step back.
“May I help you find what you’re looking for, sir?”
“No, I see it right in front of me.” His lips curve into a slight smirk, and he stops, looking over his shoulder. “We need to talk outside.”
“There’s another associate in the garden center, sir,” I say. “She’d be more than happy to help you outside.”
“What time do you get off, Autumn?”
“Seven.” The answer falls from my lips before I can think it through.
He nods and glances at his watch. “That’s only forty minutes from now. I’ll be waiting in my car.”
“I thought you never waited for anyone.”
“You’ve always been my only exception.” He looks me over—slowly gazing me up and down—before heading down the aisle.
My gaze stays locked on him until he rounds the corner, and I wait a few seconds before taking off my badge and sliding it under a pack of yarn.
When I make it outside, the lights flash on an Audi, and I walk toward them. Ryder steps out and opens the passenger door for me, pressing his hand against the small of my back as I climb in, letting his fingers linger against me for several seconds longer than necessary. His touch isn’t just a guide—it’s a claim.
Sliding behind the wheel of the car, he cranks the engine and pulls away. He presses a hand against my thigh as he drives, and I inhale the scent I’ve missed too damn much.
He doesn’t utter a word for several miles, only glancing over at me each time we reach a red light.
It’s not until we reach the familiar tree-lined entrance of my parents’ neighborhood that I realize where he’s taking me.
He parks across the street from their house and finally looks over at me.
“Were you ever planning to call and tell me you’re still talking to my daughter every night?”
“She begged me not to…” I say. “I was going to mail you a card with pictures I took at her recital, though.”
“A card?”
It sounded petty out loud, but that was the point. I wanted it to sting. I wanted him to feel something—anything close to what I felt every night since I left.
“Yes, acard,” I say. “I wouldn’t want you thinking that I want you back.”
“Of course not.” He smiles, leaning over to cup my face in his hands. “Is that how you really feel?”
“It’s how I should feel.”
“My voice doesn’t match the words. Neither does my heartbeat.”
“That’s not what I asked…”
