Page 66 of Embracing Trust

“Oh, I’ve missed you this week,” I say as I squeeze him.

“I’ve missed you too, Baby.” He rubs my back.

Ryan’s eyes are bloodshot, and he’s tense when I hug him. We both release the hug and I look up at him.

“You look tired. You okay?”

He nods, takes a deep breath, and sighs. “Just a lot going on with work.”

“Well, let’s get to this good food that you brought, and then we can watch a movie or something.”

I grab some plates and we spread the to-go containers on my coffee table—spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread, and salad. Luigi’s makes the best meatballs.

“This is delicious,” I say and take another bite of my meatball.

Although I chat during dinner, Ryan isn’t engaged in the conversation and seems distant.

When I suggest a rom-com, he doesn’t start up our usual sparring over what we’re going to watch. He’s quiet through the whole movie as we sit on the couch, his arm around me.

When the movie’s over, he stretches his arms above his head.

He looks at his watch. “It’s late. I think I’m gonna head back.”

“Late? It’s barely after nine.”

His face is unreadable, but he yawns and gets to his feet. “It’s been a long week and I’m really tired.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” I offer.

“I know. If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather just hit the road.”

I swallow a lump in my throat and blink several times to keep the tears away. “Are you sure everything’s okay? What’s going on? Did I do something to—”

“No, babe.” Ryan sighs. “It isn’t you, it’s me. I’m tired and stressed.”

Although I’m concerned, I don’t want to push him.

When we reach my front door, he grips my arms and covers my mouth in a kiss that speaks volumes—desire and desperation—almost like he’s claiming me. He moves his head to the side to get a better angle and deepens the kiss. Our mouths move in tandem—each of us satisfying the other. We pull away at the same time.

I pant as I look into his hooded eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

He lets out a breath. “Not this time, Baby.”

He opens the front door and I follow him onto the porch.

“I’ll see you soon,” I say as he climbs into his truck.

He gives me a small wave, backs down my driveway, and takes off.

I plop down on the porch swing. There’s nothing worse than this feeling in my gut—the feeling that something is going on with Ryan. More than he’s sharing.

My throat is dry, and my stomach feels like I swallowed a block of concrete.

Why do I always have to feel so spooked?

I lean my head back and close my eyes as I gently sway on the swing. I take a deep breath as I concentrate on calming myself. I go back to that time…

She was trying to suppress her worry, even my 14-year-old self was perceptive and could easily read the concern on her face.

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