Page 27 of Unlucky in Love
Ryan adjusted the flashlight, leading her back toward the stairs, but his thoughts stayed tangled. Because the real danger wasn’t the raccoon, or even a mystery admirer.
The real danger was that every time Taylor smiled, every time she clutched one of those gifts like it mattered more than anything, Ryan wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her like he’d wanted to when she was just a teenager.
And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.
Chapter 9
Taylor
The night air was crisp as they stepped out of the library, their breath fogging in the glow of the streetlights. Ryan still carried the flashlight, even though the streets were quiet, and when Taylor teased him about it, he only grunted, scanning the shadows like danger might spring from behind a mailbox.
She hugged the journal close to her chest, the leather warm from her hands. “You don’t have to walk me home, you know.”
“Yeah, I do.” His tone left no room for argument.
They fell into step together, boots crunching over patches of ice on the sidewalk. For a while, silence stretched between them, but Taylor’s thoughts were buzzing too loud. He hadn’t just shown up at the café this morning. He hadn’t just gone into the creepy archives with her. He had been… there. Consistently. And she couldn’t help but wonder why.
She glanced at him, his jaw hard, eyes trained on the road ahead. “Ryan,” she said softly, “why did you really come back home?”
His stride faltered for half a beat, then picked back up. He didn’t answer right away. Finally, he blew out a breath, the sound rough in the cold. “An operation went wrong. My call. People got hurt. My men…” His voice caught, and he shook his head. “I can’t go back to that. Can’t be the one calling the shots anymore.”
Taylor’s chest tightened. She slowed, searching his face. “Ryan…”
He shrugged, shoulders broad and tired. “My enlistment ended, and I didn’t sign up again. Didn’t matter how many times they asked. I needed out. I thought coming home might help me figure out what’s next.”
Taylor pressed the journal against her heart. “You’ve always been good at leading people. Maybe you just need to do it in a way that doesn’t break you.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You make it sound simple.”
“It isn’t,” she admitted. “But you can’t keep hiding from what you love, Ryan. If calling the shots used to mean something to you, then find a new way to do it. Something that makes you feel alive again.”
As they reached her front porch, he glanced at her then, eyes sharp, almost searching. And then he said, quietly, “Funny. That’s exactly what you should be telling yourself.”
Taylor blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a published author, Taylor. Why are you hiding it like it’s a dirty secret?”
Her heart stopped. The journal nearly slipped from her grip. “How—”
“I’ve read your books,” Ryan said simply. “Every one of them.”
Her knees went weak, and she had to grab the front porch rail for support. “You…you have not.”
He met her stunned expression with maddening calm. “I have. And you’re good. Better than good. You’ve got a gift, and insteadof owning it, you publish under a pen name and pretend it doesn’t exist.”
Taylor’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. No one knew. Not even Emma.
Ryan’s mouth quirked, the ghost of a grin. “My favorite was the one about the girl in love with her best friend’s brother.”
Her breath caught. Heat flooded her face.
“Any chance that was about me?” The teasing, challenging edge to his voice left her trembling.
“Why…why would you think it was about you?”
Ryan’s gaze darkened, unreadable. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.
The world tilted. His mouth was warm and fierce, stealing the breath from her lungs, sending a rush of heat through her veins. She clutched at his jacket, pulling him closer, and for one wild second, it felt like every buried wish she’d ever made was exploding into life.
