I sigh. “I’m meeting someone from Group, okay, Mom?”
Her eyes widen in surprise, and her mouth parts slightly. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” I hedge toward the door. “So, I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” she says. “Is there anything you want in particular for dinner?”
My mom, always concerned about what I’m going to eat. I think, for her, she feels like it’s one of the only things she can control in the chaos that is my life now.
“No,” I say, picking up my keys from the side table. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”
I can feel her frustration from across the room, but she only says, “Okay,” and goes back to reading her book.
I dash out the door before she can decide to ask me anything else.
Ryder has already texted me his address, so I put it into my navigation system and listen to the monotone British lady try to guide me to his house—she keeps telling me to turn around since I’m going to the coffee shop first. I’ve always wondered why the voices on navigation systems are British when we live in America. Is it some kind of conspiracy or something? Is it someone’s way of trying to tell us the British are coming? I frown when a memory prickles at my mind.
“Ben, I’m telling you, someone’s trying to warn us. A modern day Paul Revere. But instead of just saying, ‘The British are coming,’ they’ve used a British person for our navigation systems. Someone’s trying to communicate something to us. I know it.” He laughed at me. “Don’t laugh.” I glared at him.
He only laughed harder. “What?” he asked innocently. “Telling me not to laugh is only going to make me laugh harder. I think it’s pretty adorable that you’ve given this so much thought."
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked out the window. “It’ll be really adorable when I shove my foot up your ass,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What’s that?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear. I knew he heard me, so I didn’t repeat myself. “I know you’re trying to be menacing right now, but you look too cute for me to be afraid of.”
I frowned. With my puffy coat and pom-pom beanie, he was probably right. There was nothing frightening about me. “I’m not cute,” I said anyway.
“Beautiful?” he supplied. “Magnificent. Breathtaking. I can keep going.” I cracked a smile. “Ah, there it is.”
“What?”
“Your smile. Anytime you lose it, it’s my job to find it.”
The memory fades, and I fight against the tears that want to fall.
I miss him. So much I ache inside. There’s this vast emptiness that now lives inside my chest without Ben. He was my sun—and what am I supposed to do now that my world has fallen into complete darkness? Ben once called me his flower, but a flower cannot live without sun.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I turn into the lot of the coffee shop I saw Ryder at earlier in the week. It doesn’t have a drive-thru, so I park and head inside. I order him their regular coffee, since he didn’t specify, and also get him the sandwich he was eating the other day. Since I’m already here, I get myself a hot tea and a muffin. I ponder the menu a little longer and end up getting another muffin for his son. It doesn’t seem right to come in with food and not bring anything for his kid.
I take a seat on the velvet couch and wait for my name to be called. I have to wait a little longer than normal because of the sandwich. When my name’s finally called, I grab the bag with the sandwich and muffins, plus the cardboard drink carrier. Someone’s nice enough to hold the door open as I head out. I set everything on the floor of my car and I’m pretty sure my navigation system breathes a sigh of relief when I finally listen to her.
Ryder’s house turns out to be only a few neighborhoods over from mine.
It’s a small two-story bungalow. Three steps lead up the front door and a small porch with two white rocking chairs. There’s a large window on the second floor with a balcony. It’s cute and homey, definitely still boasting small touches left behind from Ryder’s wife—like the navy and white striped pillows on the rocking chairs.
I open my car door before reaching over to grab the bag and cup holder. I balance everything carefully so I can get out of the car without spilling coffee all over the inside of my car.
I walk up to the front door, and since my hands are full, I bump my shoulder against the doorbell. It’s only after it rings loudly that I realize I shouldn’t have done that in case his son is still sleeping.
The door swings open and Ryder stands there in a pair of sweatpants and a waffle-knit Henley. Behind him, a little boy runs across the hall, yelling, “Weeeee,” as he goes. The boy is completely naked and Ryder looks exhausted.
“Sorry about that,” Ryder says, pushing his glasses up his nose before ushering me inside.
The little boy comes running back by. “Weeeee,” he cries again.
“Don’t have kids,” Ryder jokes.