Page 4 of Pulled Away

That’s only half of it, and my pride has me swallowing the biggest reason down. I don’t want to admit that sometimes I feel insecure in our relationship. Ryan is one of the most intelligent men I know. He went to college, where he did a Bachelor’s in Computer Information Systems and then a Master’s in Information Technology. Now he’s working as an ERP Consultant and he brings in the big bucks. Me? I’m a college dropout, working as a veterinary technician, with dreams of rescuing animals. Emotionally, it will be extremely rewarding and fulfilling, but it will never make me rich. I’ll never be on a level playing field with him financially.

I know it’s all in my head. He’s never given me any reason to feel that way. In fact, he’d be mad if he knew I felt that way, so it’s a hundred percent my hangup and something I have to figure out. I’ve been trying, but sometimes it’s hard to suppress that niggle in the back of my mind.

“You know how I see it?” He lies down, laying his head on my lap. “There’s no shame in changing your mind. People change and that’s okay. What is not okay is hanging on to things just because you feel you have to. It’s time wasted on something that’s not important anymore.”

He’s right. My life is busy enough with work and fixing up the rescue. And I’m sure I’ll have even less time once that’s up and running. But what if it fails? What if I can’t afford to keep the rescue going? I learned the hard way that nothing in life is guaranteed, and I don’t want to be in the position Mom was in when Dad died. Stuck without a backup plan.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Ryan says, pulling me from my morose thoughts.

“What is it?” I run my hand through his hair, sifting the strands through my fingers. If we ever have children, I want them to have his hair.

“I have a friend flying in from London and she needs a place to stay. I want to offer her the apartment, but want to check with you first.”

He told me he always planned to rent out the apartment on top of his garage once he’d fixed it up but changed his mind when I moved in because he valued our privacy too much.

“You have a friend that lives in London? I didn’t think you knew anyone outside of Westhill,” I tease. Westhill is tiny compared to Boston, and I’m always teasing him about his small-town roots and values. He knows I love it, though. It’s so beautiful here, and I sometimes feel like I’m living in a Thomas Kincade painting, the slow-paced living so far removed from the hustle and bustle of Boston.

“I’ve been places, brat,” he mock growls, nipping at my finger that’s moved from his hair and is now smoothing over his nose.

“Yeah, like where?”

“Michigan, for college,” he muses, running his fingers up and down my arm. “Mexico for holiday, and London.”

“You’ve been to London?” I say, surprise coloring my voice. I’ve heard all about that disastrous trip to Mexico, but not once has he mentioned London.

“Twice, but that was years ago.”

“Because of that friend that lives there?”

“Yes, Hadley.”

A prickle of unease tickles my spine. Ryan has many friends, and many of them are female. It doesn’t bother me, but for some reason, hearing about a female friend that he’s never mentioned before and that he’s flown thousands of miles to visit, not once, but twice, has me feeling a bit cautious.

“You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Not much to say.” He shrugs. “We used to be close before she moved, but in the last couple of years, it’s become more of a happy birthday and merry Christmas texts kind of friendship.”

“So she’s from here?”

“Yeah, we grew up together. Went to college together, then she got a job in London.”

I sigh when he falls silent. Why is getting information out of a guy as painful as pulling teeth? If I was having this conversation with one of my girlfriends, she would have given me all the details without me having to ask a million questions.

“So she’s coming for a visit?”

“Not really. Her dad had a heart attack.” He frowns, his eyes unseeing as he stares at the wall. “It doesn’t look good. Her mom passed away when she was in college, and he’s the only family she has left.”

The grimace on his face tells me there’s a story there, but she’s his friend, not mine, so I don’t feel comfortable asking. I guess if he wants me to know, he’ll tell me.

“That’s rough,” I mutter, my unease replaced by sympathy. I know how hard it is to lose a parent and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“So, you don’t mind if she stays here?”

“Of course not. I’m sure she’ll appreciate having you close to lean on.” I love that he’s thoughtful enough to consider my opinion before talking to her when it’s his house and not mine. “When is she coming?”

“Saturday afternoon. I’ve offered to pick her up from the airport.”

“Oh wow, that’s soon. We’ll need to get the apartment ready. I can pop by the shop tomorrow to pick up bedding,” I offer, my mind already making a list of what she’d need to make her stay comfortable.

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