Page 31 of Ryder

I chuckle. “I did. She picked it out.”

Tiago laughs harder and wipes tears from his eyes. “You’re really whipped.”

“Not going to deny it. I’m claiming the room next to it, also. Maybe I should put my name on a sticky on the door in case a cousin shows up and decides to stake their claim.”

“You want two rooms?” Tiago stares at me, confused.

“Yep.”

He starts laughing. “Let me guess. Your biological clock started ticking.”

“Yep.” I grin. I don’t give a fuck if he thinks I’m funny. “You just wait. When you meet the right woman, your clock will tick, too. You’re older than me.”

He groans. “I think I’ll move into my RV if you two are going to play kissy face all over the house. If you’re going to rock that pink bed against the wall all night, it’ll probably collapse.”

I ignore his comment, wave at him, and leave the house.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive into town. My grandfather really did like living apart from the town he founded. I wonder why he built his estate so far away. I wonder which came first—the town or the estate.

I easily locate Claire’s parents’ business: Kennett’s Bakery. As I park on the street, I find myself nervous like a teenager. I haven’t been nervous about a woman in two decades, but I’ve never met one who meant as much to me as Claire, nor have I had to meet her parents.

A bell rings over the door as I enter the shop. Two old gentlemen are sitting at a window table, sipping coffee. I get the feeling they do this every day. They look comfortable, but they eye me suspiciously, which isn’t a surprise. I doubt many strangers come into the bakery.

There’s a good chance they suspect who I am, though, and I smile and nod in their direction before approaching the counter.

A woman behind the impressive display of baked goods has her back to me, but she quickly turns around. After a slight hesitation, she gives me a warm smile. “You must be Ryder.”

Blessed angels. Whatever Claire told her mother didn’t make the woman want to stab me. At least, I assume this is Claire’s mother. I extend a hand. “Ryder Wilde.”

She wipes her palm on her apron and reaches for mine. “Joyce Kennett.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She releases my hand and waves hers dismissively. “Please, call me Joyce.”

This is going well.

Joyce turns toward a door that leads to the kitchen and calls out, “Roy, Ryder is here.” Apparently, they were expecting me. Where’s Claire?

A man I assume is Claire’s dad, emerges through the door and comes around the counter. His brow is furrowed. He’s slightly more skeptical of me than his wife, but he’s smiling as he offers his hand.

“Ryder Wilde,” I repeat for his benefit.

“Roy Kennett. My daughter speaks highly of you.”

I smile. “Good. I’m rather fond of her.” That’s an understatement.

Roy nods over his shoulder. “Come on back to the kitchen.”

I’m kind of surprised by this, but I follow him.

There’s a small table with three chairs along the wall. Roy points toward it. “Sit. Have you had breakfast?”

“No, sir.”

“Roy,” he says.

I’m slightly unraveled by this experience, but it’s necessary. Where is Claire? I take a seat.

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