Georgie nodded, scratching her head one more time, knocking that topknot back to the other side.
“What time was that?”
“About an hour ago, but honestly, I doubt they made very good time. He’s mighty heavy.”
The day continued on downhill from there. It took hours for the crew to get back from the island’s medical center even though Emily texted every single one of them and told them to hurry. Horsey, of course, had to take a detour because his mother needed milk, eggs, and hemorrhoid cream from O’Doul’s grocery store. Matt thought everyone should do some centering yoga after the stress of seeing Tiny fall, not to mention the back strain of having to carry him, and Georgie, not surprisingly, had cramps.
Tiny showed up late in the afternoon, at least having the good sense to take a taxi, and now sat in the middle of the main room on a red velveteen sofa that Emily had ordered for one of the guest rooms, calling out instructions. He wore an enormous protective boot. The doctor said it was just a sprain, thank goodness, but that still meant he had to stay off of it for a few days. At least the sprained ankle wasn’t the one with the tether on it.
By four o’clock, Emily had about had it with the lot of them and sent everybody home. She just wanted to be alone in the house to try and get her bearings. She needed to process all the moving parts of her life that had turned it into a not-remotely-well-oiled machine. All day she’d been thinking about Jewel’s phone call, and Chloe’s comments about moving, and Ryan’s kisses, and what it all meant. Big changes. That’s what it meant. Good or bad, the changes were going to be big, and she didn’t feel as if she had control over any of them.
She opened the screen door to go sit on the porch for a few minutes and just think. The hinge was loose, and this, at least, was something she could handle. She could fix this herself. At least she thought she could, but the damn thing didn’t cooperate. The screw was stripped, the angle was hard to get at, and the door slammed on her finger not once but twice when she tried to tighten the screw using a different screwdriver. Clearly the damn door was taunting her, so she retaliated by punching it. Funny thing about having a fistfight with a screen door, though. The screen usually surrenders. And then you have a torn screen.
“Fuck,” she said, slamming the door again, just to show it who was boss. And then three more times just to really prove her point. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Slam. Slam. Slam.
“So . . . what did that screen door ever do to you?” Ryan’s voice floated up from the base of the stairs . . . and she burst into tears.
He trotted up to the porch and put his arms around her, and she let him, although it was a personal philosophy of hers to never, ever let anyone see her cry. She just couldn’t help it, and he was so big and strong and it felt safe in his arms. “Hey, hey, hey. What’s the matter?”
She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to unload all those troubles on him. She’d already admitted to having borrowed money from Gigi, but she didn’t want him to know how much, and she didn’t want him to know that she had no place to go back to, but she couldn’t hold it in. All the truths came tumbling out, along with more tears.
He’d pulled her inside at the first sign of waterworks, and now they were sitting on the velvet sofa. To his credit, Ryan held up pretty well. She knew most men were not great during these types of emotional crises, but he just listened and nodded and pushed her hair back from her face when it fell forward. Then he went and got her some tissues from the bathroom when she needed to blow her nose.
“I must be a mess,” she said, feeling more than a little embarrassed now that the tears had finally ebbed.
“You look fine. Just a little . . . pink and puffy.”
“Awesome.”
She stood up and went into the bathroom to see for herself in the mirror. “Ouch. More than pink and puffy. I look like I’ve been attacked by bees.”
Ryan came up behind her and gently turned her around, leaving his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “Do you know what you need?”
“Half a million dollars and a new work crew?”
He chuckled and slid his palms upward until his hands cupped her face, and he ran his thumbs slowly along her jaw. “Well, yes, but I don’t happen to have that. What I do have, however”—he leaned his body forward, capturing her between the bathroom vanity and the broad expanse of his chest—“is a really nice hotel room.”
She leaned her torso back a few inches, looking up at him. “Ryan Taggert, are you trying to take advantage of me when I’m in such a vulnerable state?”
He looked thoroughly unapologetic. “I suppose that’s a matter of perspective, because what I think I’m trying to do is make you feel better. The fact that I will also be making myself feel better in the process is just a perk.” He kissed her temple softly. “So how about we go back to my very nice hotel room, have a few drinks, talk about some potential solutions to those problems, or we could just sit on the balcony and enjoy the nice evening breeze. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Drinks on the balcony? That’s what you’re suggesting?”
He shrugged. “Or whatever. You know. Your call.”
This had been one doozy of a day. Chloe’s desire to move, Jewel’s crazy news, Tiny nearly breaking his ankle, the attack of the killer screen door, and all the stress of what to do with her future—it was all just too much. Ryan was right. Emily needed a break. A release. Good Lord, did she ever. One year and seven months was far too long to wait. And besides that, she liked him. A lot. He made her feel good, and if she let him, he could probably make her feel even better.
“I can’t go to your hotel room, Ryan.”
His optimistic expression fell. “You can’t?”
She slid her hands up his thick arms and looped them around his neck. “No. I can’t wait that long.” She leaned forward, reaching up on her toes until her face was nearly level with his soulful eyes and wistful smile. “I can’t wait any longer at all.” She pressed her lips to his and kissed him with all the longing that had been building up inside her for weeks. Ryan groaned low in his throat, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her up tightly against him.
“I like the way you think.”
“I like the way you do a lot of stuff,” she murmured against his cheek.
“Oh, you have no idea the stuff I have planned for you.”
He backed out of the bathroom and into the living room, not letting her out of his embrace. It was clumsy and silly and deliciously arousing to be pressed against him as he moved. He was all angles and hard planes where she was soft and curvy, and yet they fit together perfectly. He sat back down on the velvet surface, pulling her with him so her legs went on either side of his hips, and his . . . enthusiasm was obvious.