Page 6 of Ryder

She stares at me for a moment before sighing. “Yes, old man, it’s a small town. I know most of the citizens by name. We all do.”

Gretchen spins around and gasps, her eyes wide. “Claire…” she admonishes.

I chuckle. “It’s okay, Gretchen. We met yesterday in town. I deserve to be called much worse than old man.”

Gretchen shoots another glare at Claire and purses her lips before turning back toward the coffee pot—the kind that brews an entire pot. I don’t see a Keurig anywhere in this kitchen.

We sit in silence for a few minutes while Gretchen bustles around, bringing us cups and saucers, cream and sugar, and finally, coffee, which she has poured into a carafe.

I’ve never had anyone serve me before. It’s uncomfortable. “Please, sit,” I tell her. “Join us.”

She looks at me like I have two heads. “Goodness no, sir. Enjoy your coffee.” She sets small dessert plates, forks, and knives in front of us before rushing out of the room.

Claire chuckles. “You’re not from money, are you?”

I somehow manage to find my manners and fill Claire’s cup with the steaming brew before my own. “No. I mean, I was raised upper middle class, and I make a decent living, but I was living in New York City until yesterday. The rent on a rundown one-bedroom was probably higher than most of the mortgages in this town combined.”

She lifts a brow as she pulls the sugar and creamer toward her. “Mortgages? You do realize there are no mortgages in Wilde, right?”

I frown as I pick up my cup and take a sip. “Everyone’s home is paid off?”

She chuckles sardonically. “You truly have no clue what you’ve gotten into here, old man. Your grandfatherownedthis entire town. Every single building. The citizens rent everything.”

“Seriously? Even their homes?” I’m stunned.

“Yes.”

I lean back in my chair and watch as she carefully adds the perfect amount of cream and sugar to her coffee. “Was there a town meeting last night? Is that why you’re here? Are you the town’s spokesperson?” I’m taunting her again. It’s too easy.

She rolls her pretty green eyes and ignores my question. “Is the other man one of your cousins?”

“Tiago. He’s my brother. Older. Not sure you want to call me old in front of him,” I warn, though I’m sure Tiago would find her snarky attitude hysterical.

“And your name? Maybe I would stop calling you ‘old man’ if you actually introduced yourself.”

“Ryder.”

“Ryder… Sounds like a pseudonym one might assume if they were a pretentious movie star.”

I laugh. “I’ll tell my mother you said that.”

She gasps, eyes going wide. “Don’t you dare.” She pulls the box of pastries between us and opens the top. “I didn’t spit on them. I promise.”

I lean forward and feast my eyes on a dozen different pastries. They look and smell delicious. “Wow. Pick one for me.” I hold up my plate.

She glances around before looking back at me. “I don’t have a serving utensil. You choose. I wouldn’t want to touch your food.” She’s so flustered and…cute. Gorgeous is the correct word, but I’m sticking with cute as I remind myself she’s far too young for me. Besides, she thinks I’m ancient.

I nod toward the box. “Just choose one, Claire. I’m not worried about your fingers touching my Danish.” I’m pushing her simply because I enjoy watching her all agitated and uncertain.

I’m so out of my element. Seriously. I’m not usually like this—a dick. But she makes it so easy. Maybe I’m trying to protect myself from the fact that I’m fucking attracted to her, more so than I have been to any woman in my life.

My cock got hard the moment I saw her next to my truck yesterday. There’s just something about her. I can’t put my finger on it. I liked that she stood there all puffed up and ready to take me on. Though I teased her about being a child, that had been out of self-preservation. I suspected she was at least twenty-one, and I’m relieved to find out she’s one year older than that.

She’s still too fucking young for me, and the fact that I’m even entertaining the thought is absurd.

She’s like a breath of fresh air in what I’m going to guess is a very chaotic world. Somehow, I don’t think anything about living in Wilde is going to be smooth sailing. Not just this decrepit property but the entire town.

Claire hesitates, staring into the box with her fingers lifted as though she thinks it’s sacrilegious to touch my pastry. When she bites into the corner of her bottom lip, I have to suppress a moan. I need her not to do that.

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