Page 64 of See You Next Winter
On my way out, I run straight into a customer on his way in, bouncing off the wall of his chest.
“Je suis désolé,” I say, rubbing at the spot on my forehead that I hope won’t bruise. An injured ski guide is not a good look. Two hands grip my shoulders, steadying me in the doorway.
“Sorry, Bunny, I didn’t see you there.”
My head snaps up, and I swear I must be hallucinating, but no. Ryan Richmond is here, in all his gorgeous glory.
“What are you doing?”
“Me? Grabbing some supplies for dinner,” he says, holding up a bag from the butcher’s next door.
How hard did I hit my head?
“Not here in the supermarket,” I hiss. “Here,here. What are you doing in town?”
“Oh,” he shrugs, a subtle smirk creeping up at the corner of his mouth. “I live here now.”
An embarrassing noise catches in the back of my throat, tears pricking up out of nowhere.
“What do you mean, you live here now?”
“Je vis ici maintenant.”
“What the fuck?” I punch him in the arm, and honestly, he deserves it. “Stop being so obtuse withme. Since when?”
“I’ve been here…” he counts off the fingers on one hand, grinning as he stalls me. “Five days, I think. Still a little jetlagged.”
“Whyare you here?”
Ryan cocks his head to one side and takes a deep breath.
His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and whatever he’s struggling to say, I wish he’d hurry up and spit it out.
“I left something precious behind, and I needed to come back for it.”
His bottom lip wobbles for a second before he bites down on it. I don’t know whether to kiss him or burst into tears, so instead we stand there staring at years of history, a cocktail of emotions fighting their way to the front. Ryan blinks first, rolling his eyes the way he always has when I beat him at something.
“I win,” I whisper, mostly to myself. His hand comes up between us, one fingertip poised to tap the tip of my nose, but he pulls away and shoves his hand deep in the pocket of his jeans.
“It was good to run into you, Kayla,” he says, stepping around me.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the rest of my groceries, then home to make dinner. Chicken and leek pie. Would you like to join me?”
“For dinner?”
“Yes, for dinner,” he says softly, and I don’t understand any of what's happening right now.
Why isn’t he inviting me over for hot tub sex? Why isn’t he dragging me there right now, one hand up inside my shirt? Why is he here at all?
“I have plans,” I tell him, leaving out the part where those plans are stirring a pan of risotto for an hour while I drink the rest of the bottle of white wine and watch back-to-back episodes of Gilmore Girls.
“Maybe some other time, then. I’ll see you around.”
When he grabs a basket, he spins to face me, that boyish smile spread right across his face. “You look great, by the way,” he calls out, leaving me blushing in the doorway, wondering what alternative reality I've slipped into.
Seeing him takes me right back to those summer nights we spent together two months ago. The closeness, companionship, and acceptance. Days where I had someone to hug me at the end of a long bike tour, someone who shared the mental load and took care of me.
