Page 49 of Not a Strong Enough Word

Despite Charles’s stuttering protests, I slide off the barstool and follow Ryan as quickly as I can. When I push open the heavy front door, I scan left and right, but I don’t see him right away. It isn’t until I hear a car door slamming across the street that I see his head pop up above the car. He looks around, waiting for traffic to subside before he can get into the driver’s side.

“Ryan,” I call over the noise of the cars passing between us.

His head whips toward me. It’s almost dark out, but I could swear I see the ghost of a triumphant smile play on his lips.

That asshole. I knew it. He came here on purpose to break up my not-date.

“Hang on,” he shouts. When there’s a break in the traffic, he jogs back across the street. And then he’s standing there, in front of me, hands yet again jammed into the pockets of his chinos and his shoulders creeping up against the slight chill in the spring air.

“What’s up?” he asks, a little breathless from his jog across the street.

“‘What’s up?’” I spit back at him. “‘What’s up?’ Are you serious? That’s what you’re going to lead with?”

His shoulders shrug the rest of the way toward his ears and come down again slightly. “Did you need something?”

“Did you need something?” I’m a writer. Words are my thing, so I’m not exactly sure why I keep repeating his incredulously. He’s gotten me all flustered, and I don’t like it.

Ryan laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Is there something wrong with wanting tapas?”

“From a restaurant that’s a twenty-minute drive on a good day from your condo? On the night you knew Charles was taking me out for that exact meal in this exact neighborhood? Yes, I’d say there’s something wrong with that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he deflects. “I will try to avoid wanting similar foods to your dates in the future.” The last part comes out more bitter than anything he’s said thus far, which is all the confirmation I need that he’s lying about his sudden craving for finger foods.

“Dammit, Ryan. For the last fucking time, it wasn’t a date!” I’m shouting now, and people are turning their heads to look at me as they pass on the sidewalk. I don’t even care. I hope they get a good show.

“I’m sure that’s not what he thought.” Ryan’s voice remains cool and collected. I hate him even more for his ability to stay perfectly calm.

I fling my arm toward the door of the restaurant. “If that man in there thought he was on a date…well then, I guess I know why he’s single. The only person he was on a date with was himself.”

I wait for Ryan’s face to break into a self-satisfied smile, but it doesn’t. Instead, he pins me to the spot with his dark eyes. They’re burning with intensity behind his glasses, and he takes a step toward me as if he can’t help it. My entire body heats as his gaze settles on mine.

“Why did you go out with him?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

“Because he asked,” I reply honestly. “Because I’m lonely,” I say a little louder, gaining momentum. “Because I cracked open one tiny little door to dip my toes into the publishing world again, and ever since, it’s been a freefall with one thing after another after another that reminds me exactly how good I had it. Because instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop again, I want to take back a little bit of the life I had before, but better this time. I might not deserve it, Ryan, but that doesn’t make me want it any less.”

He pulls his hands out of his pockets, but he remains silent. His eyes never leave mine. The sidewalk is empty now, and I shift from one foot to another. A street light blinks on above us, casting a soft glow over the scene. The ring on his right hand shines.

“You deserve it.” It’s so quiet, I almost miss it.

“I don’t. I walked away from the best thing I ever had and disappeared for five years. You don’t just get a second chance after something like that.”

His dark brows furrow together, and he shakes his head in confusion. “We signed you. You literally got a second chance. You’re living it, Scarlett, and it’s going to be great.”

I laugh darkly. “I wasn’t talking about the book.”

Slowly—painfully slowly—Ryan’s eyes widen. His jaw goes slack, and he leans a fraction of an inch toward me, then back again, like he’s trying to talk himself out of something.

Me. He’s trying to talk himself out of me. The realization hurts more than anything I’ve experienced in the last month. More than if he shoved the pages of my book back into my hands and told me it was shit. This is why it’s safer to have dinner with guys who would rather talk about their workout routines than bare their souls. Charles Hall was never going to break my heart.

My gaze falls to the sidewalk. A couple tumbles out of the restaurant, clinging to each other. Their laughter bubbles upward to be carried away in the night air. She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder as they fall into stride with each other and make their way down the street.

“I should go back inside.”

I make it one step in the direction of the door before Ryan lets out a strangled, “Scarlett.”

“What?” I face him again, dejected this time. “Look, we’ve been here before, Ryan. No matter how safe we think it is to toe the line between what we are and what we were, I can’t ignore the fact that I ultimately walked away because you’re better off without—”

Before I even know what’s happening, Ryan crosses the distance between us and kisses me. It’s frantic, his mouth covering mine as if he could stop my thoughts along with the words. His arms envelop me, and he presses his palms into my back, drawing me closer. Our bodies snap together in that old, familiar way. Muscle memory takes over, guiding hands and lips and tongues until we’re completely intertwined.