Page 21 of Ryder
He trails off as my fingers find his shirt collar, pulling him down to my level.
“Because what?” I whisper against his lips.
His answer is a kiss that tastes like promise and possibility and something that feels an awful lot like love.
This kiss is different from last night’s heated urgency. Slower, deeper, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into the press of his lips against mine. His hands frame my face with a gentleness that makes my heart ache, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were falling.
I melt into him, tasting coffee and morning sunshine. One of his hands slides into my hair while the other curves around my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel his heart pounding against mine.
“Sugar,” he breathes against my mouth. “You have no idea...”
“Show me,” I whisper, and feel him shudder.
Somewhere behind us,Elena clears her throat. “And that’s our cue to leave. Jake, help me with this last box.”
I vaguely register the sound of thedelivery truck pulling away, but I can’t focus on anything except the way Ryder is looking at me. Like I’m something precious. Something worth protecting.
“I mean it,” he says softly, tucking another strand of hair behind my ear. “Every word. Every gift. You deserve it all.”
“Even the recipe box?” My voice wavers. “That’s... that’s family history.”
“Exactly.” He brushes his lips across my forehead. “And you’re family. Or at least...” His voice goes rough. “I want you to be.”
The weight of that admission hangs in the morning air between us. This isn’t just about the competition anymore. This is about belonging. About choosing each other. About trust.
I pull him down for another kiss, trying to pour everything I’m feeling into it. His hands tighten on my waist as I press closer, needing him to understand what this means to me. What he means to me.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“So,” he manages, resting his forehead against mine. “Does this mean you forgive me for being an idiot last night?”
I pretend to think about it. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you’re planning to help me test all this new equipment.”
His answering grin is pure sin. “Only if taste-testing is involved.”
“Always.” I run my fingers through his hair, loving how his eyes darken. “Though your technique needs work.”
“That so?” He nips at my bottom lip. “Guess you’ll have to teach me.”
“Guess I will.”
This time when he kisses me, it tastes like possibility. Like future. Like home.
“We should probably start unpacking this equipment,” I murmur against his lips, even as my fingers tighten in his hair.
“Probably.” His hands slide lower on my waist. “Or...”
“Or?”
“Or I could show you just how serious I am about us.”
The heat in his voice makes me shiver. “The equipment...”
“Will wait.” He presses a kiss behind my ear that scatters my thoughts. “This won’t.”
