“I’m sorry, babe. I know how much this bothers you. Have you thought anymore about talking to her?”
Ryan and I had discussed Kimber the week before. He felt that maybe she wouldn’t react the way I initially thought she would since I’m in a better place now. If she could see that I was happy, she might be less likely to be reckless with her reaction. I agree with him, but I also didn’t tell him about Seth being Jack’s frat brother. I haven’t told Ryan anything about Jack because I know how much he hates him and worry about what he might do if he ever found out.
“I just can’t. I don’t trust her enough to not do something.”
“I don’t know what to tell you to do. Just try talking to her and see if you guys can move past this rift.”
“I think it would help if I went back home.”
“Candace . . .”
“Ryan, I was only supposed to be here for a week or two. I never intended on moving in like this. But, we are about to graduate, and I’d like to see if this is fixable. I can’t do that if I’m not there.”
“I still want you here.”
“And I’ll still be here. Just not every night.”
He releases a deep breath and says, “Okay. We can go tomorrow and take some of your things back.”
Sliding my hand over his cheek, I tell him, “Thanks for understanding,” before pressing my lips into his.
?????
The next day, Ryan helped me pack up my things and take them back to my house. He insisted I leave some of my belongings at his place, so I did. It was strange being back home after being away for so long. Kimber was home when we got there, so I introduced her to Ryan, but they really didn’t talk.
Ryan wanted to stay here with me that night, but I thought it would be best if he didn’t for the first night I was back. If Kimber was uncomfortable, I didn’t want to make it worse. He wasn’t happy with it, but he understood.
Tonight is the gallery showing at Thinkspace. I wanted to look nice, so I had gone out and bought a dress. Standing in front of my mirror, I smooth down the sheer nude lace of my sleeveless pencil skirt dress. The lace is offset by the black satin underlay and has a bateau neckline. Although the necklace that Ryan gave me doesn’t go with the dress, I wear it anyway. I love the quote and that those words make him think of me, something I haven’t thought about myself for a while.
When he comes to pick me up, he has an effortless style about him that I find alluring. Ryan often dresses in simple t-shirts and dark jeans. Even though his closet is filled with nice dress clothes, he never wears them. But tonight, he wears dark charcoal slacks, a sports coat, and a white collared dress shirt leaving the first few buttons undone. His clothes are tailored to him perfectly and accentuate his broad shoulders and chest that ‘V’ down to his narrow hips. Ryan spends a lot of time in the gym, in addition to running, and his frame is near perfection. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he just ran his hands through it, but in a sexy way.
“We need to skip this whole thing tonight,” he says as he approaches me and slowly slides his hands from my neck to my shoulders down my arms. He pulls me tight, grazes his nose up my bare neck, and kisses me behind my ear.
Cinching up my shoulders from the ticklish spot he kisses, I laugh. “Ryan, stop.”
“I’m serious. Fuck everyone. I just want to stay here with you,” he whispers in my ear.
“The deal was, if you got your picture accepted, then I got to go as your date. So, whether you like it or not, I’m dressed and ready to go.”
“Okay, but tonight, you’re sleeping in my bed. I didn’t like not having you next to me last night.”
“Ryan.”
“I know, I get it. I understand the whole Kimber thing, but I’m taking you home with me tonight.”
I slip on my knee-length black wool coat before we walk out into the cold misty night. When we arrive at Thinkspace, a chic and contemporary art gallery in the heart of the city, I look over at Ryan and say, “I’m really proud of you, you know?”
“Babe, the only reason that photo is on display is because you’re in it. You’re perfect.”
I don’t even try to convince him of his talent because I know he would simply deny it. So, I let it be as we walk through the open doors. I immediately spot Stacy Keets, the woman that originally told me about this showing.
“Candace.”
“Stacy, hi,” I say as I give her a hug.
“That dress is amazing.”
“Thank you.”
“And this is . . .?” she asks as she glances to Ryan.
“Ryan.” I say.
“Ahh, ‘Nubile.’ Beautiful photograph,” she says as she shakes his hand. “I’m Stacy Keets. I work at the Henry Gallery.”
“Ryan Campbell.”
“Well, your piece is great. I saw a couple eying it a minute ago. Do you have more pieces?”
“A few. It wasn’t ever something I intended to show anyone or have displayed, but Candace insisted.”
“I’m glad she did. I’d love to see more of your work.” Looking at me, she asks, “Do you still have my number?”