THE NEXT DAY, TARA arrived ten minutes before her shift started, which began at eleven, and went right through dinner. She smiled when she entered the back kitchen and found Chloe working the griddle herself. The woman was everywhere. Like an octopus, she seemed to have a hand in everything that went on there: helping, teaching, smiling at and greeting people when they came in. She helped her staff, greeted her customers, and kept things moving with the necessary speed and efficiency, all while smiling happily and sounding carefree.

“So you made it back, huh?” Chloe tossed the burger she was frying before turning to hand the spatula off to the cook, who had lumbered back from her break. Without a pause, she slid in next to Tara and tied her apron around her waist. Tara’s long, blonde hair was straight and shaggy, so she drew it into a tight ponytail. The ends were ragged, obviously from lacking regular conditioning treatments, which left her hair looking like a heap of straw.

“Yes. Of course. I loved it—” Tara exclaimed with way too much pleasure over a simple serving job. Realizing that, she shook her head, dropping her gaze down and a small, embarrassed smile appeared on her face. “I mean, I am very grateful for having this chance and I look forward to repaying you for it.”

Chloe and she walked through the swinging doors, leaving the neat, immaculate kitchen and heading towards the couples and group seating. There was a long bar that provided single seating. All the desserts, including fresh pies and cakes, were displayed at the end of it. The carousel twirled around, providing an appetizing advertisement of all the sweets Chloe’s café offered. Seats lined the windows that overlooked the far-off vistas of the dam and offered glimpses of water between the buildings in town and the lush, rolling landscape. It was a lovely spot for a café and the inside was every bit as pleasant as the external views. The colors were a calming blue with splashes of sunny yellow. Chloe ran a tight ship and it showed. Everything was neat and clean while also very appealing and appetizing. The tablecloths were checkered blue and white and the tables were adorned with little bud vases, complete with fake daisies and votive candles beside them. Reservations for big parties took up the tables between the window seating and the bar.

Tara and the other server working divided the place in half. Her heart dropped when she glanced towards her first table.

The cop. Right now. Right there. First patron of her day.

She could not see his face yet, just the back of his wavy, chestnut hair and the top of his khaki uniform shirt. She restrained a sigh. Grabbing her tablet and pen, she tucked them into her apron pocket. It was a perfect fit. She had a feeling those kinds of details were important to Chloe, who insisted on them. This time, however, the cop had no water. Tara snagged the water pitcher and an empty glass. Setting the glass down, she kept her gaze riveted on it as she carefully poured the water. Her hand shook a little at its weight, but it was really because of him. His presence. She didn’t like it. He stared at her. The intensity of his gaze weighed on her as she accomplished the simple task which, to Tara, was almost as difficult as trying to climb up one of the dam spillways.

“You’re early,” she said without thinking. It just popped out.

“Different shift today. Grabbing breakfast before I start.”

Shift. Copping. Guarding. Harassing people. Who knew? Her experience with cops probably wasn’t the same as most people’s. She set the water pitcher down and took out her tablet, shaking her head. His presence seemed to turn her brain off. She tucked the tablet away as quickly as she took it out. “The usual, right? Which everyone already knows?” Biting down on her lower lip, she wondered if that came out way too snappish.

He chuckled, however. “Do you know who I am?”

“Um... Chloe’s brother-in-law.”

“Yeah, so I dine for free.”

Tara kept her gaze riveted downwards as he spoke. The gun at his waist was still in her field of vision. Without knowing why, she could not tear her eyes from it. She knew it wouldn’t suddenly jump out of the holster and start shooting at her. Not on its own. But… God. It seemed so big and black and… and… just there.

“Tara, isn’t it?”

Hearing her name on his lips in his deep, even tone drew her attention and she lifted her gaze to look at the cop-man… by accident. She really didn’t mean to. But she automatically responded to her name. In the past five years, not many people said it or knew it. Hearing her name during the last two days from Chloe and the other staff members rattled her senses. She felt she was really a part of something now.

However, coming face to face with him, she swallowed hard. He spoke again. “Your name? It’s Tara, correct?”

She nodded, silent and looking dumb. Her eyes grew big. She could not find her voice.

He was… hot. But not like young hot. No, he was mature and… maybe even handsome. There was something about him that just reeked law and order. His hair was thick and shiny and luxurious. It had enough of a wave that it appeared careless and natural, tending toward being unruly if he let it grow any longer. He had warm, hazel eyes and a square, masculine jawline. Clean-shaven. She stared too long at him, and his lips tilted upwards in a blatantly encouraging smile before a dimple appeared. That shattered all the airs of law, order, and maturity and he appeared almost boyish. He was older than her too, probably in his late twenties or early thirties.

“Tara, okay then. Tell me something, is it me or my gun that makes you so nervous?”

Her eyes went from lazily perusing him to snapping back to his amused gaze. Now his lips tilted up higher at the corners. “Um—” She drew in a breath, worrying he might catch on there was some reason to look into her history now. Or at least tell Chloe to look into it. It was her own fault for acting so suspiciously and bringing him to that conclusion. Why couldn’t she have just smiled and said hello with a cheery wave? She exhaled her nervous breath and nodded. “It’s the gun. I don’t like them. Any of them. Even… even on cops.” Her shoulders dropped down. There! She spoke in real sentences even. He’d know she wasn’t a half-baked, strange mute and maybe not feel the need to investigate her for why the hell she was acting so suspiciously. “Well, I mean, I guess you’re a cop, right? Like some kind of fish cop?”

She nearly wilted and fell forward. Why did she keep talking? She was only making it worse. Fish cop? She cringed internally and dropped her gaze back to the water. Yup, this was over and done.

His chuckle was low and he seemed amused. “Fish cop is still a cop; and yes, I am.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I meant game warden. Right? I don’t know what those guys actually do.” She finally threw up her hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “I grew up in a small town, but never lived out in the country, not like this. And then I lived in downtown Seattle for the last several years… so, not much experience…”

“With fish or wildlife?” he supplied. Her gaze darted up before it ping-ponged back down and a hot, flushed sensation pervaded her entire body, concentrating in her cheeks and turning them pink. His kindness made her stomach flutter. He just had such a—a warm laugh. An appealing laugh for a man.

“No, not much.”

He leaned forward, bending slightly at his waist, and stretched his hand out towards her. “I’m Ryder Kincaid. You might as well get used to me since I’m in here a lot; and then of course, there’s Wyatt.”

Ryder Kincaid. She stared at his hand. It was big. He had long, thick fingers and only a few sparse hairs on the backs of his hands. She put her hand in his and he grasped her fingers affectionately. It was a gentle grasp, nothing too authoritarian about it. At least he was not one of those guys who tried to dominate you with a simple handshake. His was loose and easy. His hands were dry and warm with calluses on his fingertips. He was definitely a man who worked with his hands, not someone who pushed a pen or pencil around. She quickly withdrew her hand the moment he let her go.

Tara had to smile at the mention of Wyatt. “Oh, yes. He’s… well, I don’t usually hang out with kids too much, but I wouldn’t mind doing it with him.”

There was a low chuckle again. She wanted to bite her tongue. Couldn’t she have just said He is adorable? Or cute? He truly was, so why didn’t she just go with that? Lord. Socializing seemed to have become a lost art in her consciousness. She shook her head finally. “I’m sorry, I meant, he’s very cute.” There, finally something normal. She sounded like she often discussed adorable children with their parents before.

“Thank you, he is. You will be seeing him often though. He thinks he owns this place, so…”

She shrugged. “So I guess I shouldn’t tell him differently.”

This time, Ryder laughed out loud. “Well, thank you, Tara.”

His laugh made her smile again. Not too loud or deep or high or awkward. It was pleasant and engaging and her lips tipped up into a smile. She didn’t want to commiserate, not even in a positive way, with a cop. Not even a fish cop.

He leaned over and grabbed his coat, tucking it on the side of him. “Does that help?”

She glanced down and saw he covered the gun up. She lifted her gaze, surprised at the simple, but also very kind, almost nice gesture. Decent of him. First, that he even noticed her discomfort and second, that he cared about the reason why she was so apprehensive about his gun.

“It’s still there.” Her lips twitched. “I’m not your son; you can’t exactly fool me. If I don’t see it, I won’t believe it’s not there.”

“No, but maybe you can avoid looking at me as if I’m going to pull it on you without provocation. Does it stem from a general dislike of guns or just a bad experience?”

She sucked in her breath as his words evoked gory images of blood and body tissue being smattered, smeared and spilling all over the front of her. Death came in a matter of minutes. Alive one moment, and dead the next. Jerome. The only person in the world who cared and knew if she lived or died each day. One shot. Pop. Just a soft little pop and he leaned over, clenching his chest and then… dead. Still in her arms. She screamed—

No. She shut her brain off. She could not do that right now. She could not go back. She shut it down. As always.

She shook her head. “Just… a general dislike. I don’t see the point. They kill people.”

He nodded. “Not from around here, huh?”

“No.”

“You have a general dislike of guns? Most do from Seattle.”

She stiffened. “That’s rather a generality.”

His lips again tipped upwards. “And yet, you just told me what you dislike and where you’re from, correct?”

“A lot of people don’t like guns.”

“Granted. A lot of people don’t. But most, or at least, I hope most want the cops to carry them. Unless…”

She couldn’t stop her smile. “Unless I were a criminal. And I’m not.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wow, she cracks a smile.”

Startled, she looked up and he shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t smile much. And look at that; my interrogation worked. I now know that Tara, the new server, is from Seattle, doesn’t know anything about fish or wildlife, hates guns, likes my kid, and she isn’t a criminal. Anything else I should know?”

He was way too easy to talk to. She never meant to talk at all. Ever. Let alone all these multiple sentences. “I’ll get your food now.”

He nodded, still smiling when she turned and scurried back towards the kitchen. Sure enough, his same meal as yesterday was already up on the counter. She brought it right out. “Anything else?”

People were starting to filter in and he shook his head to the negative.

Lunchtime brought the people in droves. Most wore casual clothes, and many patrons were of the older variety. By the time Wyatt came running in with as much unbridled joy and excitement as yesterday, Tara’s feet were already burning. Her mind was also exhausted, but in a warm, satisfied way. A way she doubted she had ever experienced before. That Wyatt. He could make anyone feel reenergized. This time, he carried an entire folder of his work.

“Look, Auntie!” he said. Chloe came out and took the folder from him, spreading his work over the countertop.

“Well, our little genius is showing off once more. Look at this. Good work, Wyatt!” She high-fived him and he giggled as he reciprocated.

Then he flipped around. “Hiya, Tara!”

Tara smiled, totally intoxicated by his huge, toothy grin and the high squeak in his voice as he said the last part of her name. “Hi, Wyatt.”

“See? Look what I did this week.” She never had a kid show off their accomplishments or schoolwork to her before. She perused his paintings of the alphabet letters, worksheets that included counting objects and removing them, as well as other sheets where he traced the letters and numbers.

“Are you sure this is all for kindergarten? Looks like at least first grade, maybe even second to me.”

He squeaked again in delight. “No! I’m only five!”

Tara laughed with him before Chloe and he did the whole healthy snack drill again. He tried to grab some trail mix that she kept on the counter for her customers, setting it in bowls arranged throughout the café. She slapped his hand away gently and obviously teasing as she pretended to scold him. “You get enough of that with your dad.”

He snickered and sat down to chomp on the apple and pretzels that Chloe brought him. “Soooo.” He glanced at Tara. “What you doing here?”

Intrigued, Tara leaned against the counter near him. “Here? As in?”

“Not in California anymore. Why are you here?”

“I need a job and your aunt needed a server.”

He beamed. “Oh.”

Wyatt was so funny. He asked questions that seemed so adult, and obviously must have listened to his father often, but he willingly accepted the simplest answers. Tara didn’t have to lie or elaborate or evade. That was a relief.

Wyatt stayed there several hours later than yesterday. Tara’s heart skipped a beat when she glanced outside and saw the truck with the insignia of the fish cop. He was back. Ryder was here. Now. Ready to enter. Her entire body became aware of that fact. Annoyed with herself, she pried her gaze back to her tablet, scribbling down the order of the nice guy in a baseball hat who weighed a few hundred more pounds than he should have. His tush and upper legs seemed to melt over the seat, and he spoke in a subdued, soft voice that seemed at odds with his massive size and gruff looks. His smile, however, was shy and sweet. That was how Tara smiled and interacted with the world. She instantly felt a kinship with this customer and soon learned his name was Gary. She smiled often at him. Smiles were nothing she gave out easily either. She just didn’t see any reason to most of the time. But she smiled at this patron and he blushed clear up to his hat line.

Flipping around, she turned the order in and breathed for a moment. Most of the dinner crowd were gone and only a few stragglers remained.

Ryder walked in and slipped his hat off. Tara noticed that yesterday too, and assumed it must be an unconscious habit.

“Daddy!” Wyatt jumped off the stool he had been previously occupying. For hours, he kept drawing pictures and giving them out like candy to all the different patrons. They must have been locals and familiar with his presence because they all stopped and smiled and everyone talked to him. The child was constantly engaged in something or with someone. And really, what better environment for a growing child? Tara wondered. Then Wyatt ducked below the stool and played a game with his stool and the one next to it, saying he was a spy… Tara heard his little voice whispering and funny noises afterwards.

Ryder leaned over and picked Wyatt up in a sweeping hug as Tara immediately set to wiping off the counter. She needed to busy her hands because her gaze kept slipping over to the pair. She could not imagine running towards her father and receiving such a greeting. Had she ever hugged her father before? She stopped, getting completely still for a long moment. Dear God. Had she ever hugged her father? She could not say for sure, having no memories of it. She could picture her father’s cool, handsome face. So much like Tristan’s, actually. But a smile, or any other display of joy or comfort being directed at her? No. JR was always unavailable. And off to where? Tara really had no idea what her dad was always off doing or where he did it.

Her mom was there, always around, but not in any positive way. She pushed Tara for years, starting with dance, and became the stereotypical, horrible, freak-show of a stage mom. She went so far as to scold Tara and tell her not to eat in order to stay thin enough for ballet. Tara had talent, sure, but she was burnt out by the time she was only sixteen. Not quite tall enough, there wasn’t much of a chance for Tara to pursue ballet professionally. But her mom’s entire life had been centered on Tara’s dancing. It was all that she did for her mom, and it provided a successful means for living in the odd world of competitive dance in LA.

At the time, they lived in Marsdale in Northern California. Having considerable wealth on her mom’s side and also from Tamasy Industries, which her grandfather owned and her older brother, Tristan, was most likely now running, there was little more for Tara to do. It made her heart dip whenever she pictured Tristan getting lost in the cold, faceless void of her family. The idea of him becoming an apathetic, icy, emotionless clone of her parents and leading a fake, false life like the one they led disturbed her. Her parents shared three kids together but never once ate a meal with them or each other, and neither one gave an hour of their precious time to their kids. The only thing they offered their children was criticism, which Tara had received in abundance.

She stiffened and quickly turned to rinse the washrag out. Why was she ruminating over that stuff again? So what if she suffered from neglect during her childhood? Her mother was mean to her but that didn’t matter now. It simply did not matter anymore.

Besides, she broke the cycle, didn’t she? Running away from home and living on the streets probably wasn’t exactly the healthiest way to break the cycle, but she had broken it all the same. She was sure of that one fact. She would not grow up to become a vapid socialite whose only ambition was wine in the afternoon and a discussion of how their reputations could sustain the local gossip, or how perfect they looked, or how many more cosmetic surgeries they could endure, and oh! Naturally, not loving or even liking their own children. She would never be like that. Useless. Mindless. Lives of conspicuous consumption and waste. At least being a server here at the café had plenty of purpose and meaning.

Tara fisted her hands and peeked back at the father now greeting his son the way it was supposed to be: with joy, adulation, rapt attention, and presence. Always being there. Look! It really did exist. Honestly? She often wondered if it did. Like a flying fish, which she heard existed somewhere in the world, but she’d never seen one. So it was that she never witnessed parental love in any way, and especially not in any healthy way. She refused to be like her joyless family. She didn’t have to live without joy or emotion or feel cold and neglectful. She chose to be different. Friendly. Happy. Kind. Engaged. Here. She chose that.

She stiffened her back and nearly had an audible conversation with herself, when really she never intended to pitch a dramatic pep talk. She turned towards the restaurant and grinned. She chose to smile at the fish cop and his son. After witnessing his heartfelt display of emotion towards his son, he proved to Tara that right here and now, he deserved her respect. That was something she didn’t easily or willingly give to anyone, especially a cop.

Ryder was still speaking to Wyatt, but his gaze caught her and he suddenly spun around. It stayed on her for a long moment. When she smiled, he nodded as he kept staring. His chin rested on the top of Wyatt’s bald little head. He smiled in return. Blushing profusely over her strange and sudden, nearly ecstatic behavior, she was pretty forward and felt exuberant. After years of keeping her head down and her eyes glued to the ground with little or no reaction to anyone, she never acknowledged her anger or sadness, and even seemed rusty at offering a simple smile for hello. The sad part was that the reserved her, hiding behind the wall she long ago tried to use to isolate herself and not get hurt, didn’t begin after she hit the streets. No, it started while she was still living at home, trying to survive her own family.

She could feel the heat raging in her cheeks. It was beyond the rather normal, ordinary, and placid exchange of greetings, and for her it was so much more. Her first step into embracing a new life, into being… different. Better. Not just a functioning member of society with a job, but also, someone who interacts in the community. A place to live and thrive. She wanted to stay now, because really, why not here? She had no ties to anyone anywhere else. She had no history, and as of now, no future either, and she was sick and tired of feeling that way. That hopeless, drifting, why-bother-to-fight-another-day? kind of feeling. However, she wasn’t suicidal or sad. She wasn’t depressed either; she was just kind of there. And that was no way to be. She wanted to feel alive. Alive and aware. Present. Engaged.

Just as much as the fish cop was there for his son.

Plus, she had already met plenty of nice people here in this town like Chloe and the cook, Tiana, and the three other servers. One was an older lady in her early fifties who had been working with Chloe since she first opened five years ago. Her name was Petra and she had a thick German accent, making it pretty clear where she was from. Chet was in his early twenties and his family was from Thailand. He was helping make ends meet by clearing tables and washing dishes. Chet’s mom, Dok, waited on tables like Tara. Chet rarely made eye contact with Tara and his facial expression never seemed to change. Tara felt a kinship with him instantly, although they never spoke beyond their initial greeting of hello. Dok was lovely and kind to Tara, showing her how things ran in a soft, gentle voice and easy manner. Petra and Dok easily drew Tara in despite all of her efforts to stay standoffish. They wouldn’t allow any of that.

And of course, there was Chloe. She was a warm, always smiling, outgoing woman who Tara found both fair and hardworking. She worked harder than all of them combined and Tara witnessed it every day. Chloe was there at all times, it seemed, no matter what her shifts were. Chloe was already there and working or kept on working whenever Tara was coming in or leaving. Chloe expected a full day’s work out of every employee there, and her warm, generous attitude permeated the overall atmosphere, making everyone who worked there strive to meet her demands, and they usually did. The café wasn’t a sad, depressed or forgotten, lame little restaurant. No. It was a warm, inviting meeting place where the workers, commuters and the locals gathered for good food and drink in an old-fashioned, community-oriented way. Tara had never taken part in or witnessed such a thing before. But she liked being there and what she saw happening around her.

Baby steps. However, she did smile quite randomly at a cop. Never mind it was a fish cop. He still had a gun. A very big gun. That was something. Her progress in the last month was totally filled to the brim with baby steps.

“You done, hon?” Petra asked, coming out with a load of plates on her tray. She had arrived only a few hours ago and was scheduled to work until ten, which was when the café closed.

“Yes. You okay if I leave?”

“Ja. Sure. Go.” She winked. “Jus’ don’t go breakin’ any hearts now. Not many a pretty girl like you around here, huh, Ryder?”

Tara grinned fully at Petra. It almost felt rusty. Grinning. Kidding. And being called pretty. She liked it in a way. She refused to glance over her shoulder towards the fish cop, Ryder Kincaid.

Then… she did it. She took the briefest glimpse, less than a second, over her shoulder and there he was. Nodding, he fixed his gaze on her and addressed Petra. “Not too many, no.” There was no smile. He was serious. Blood literally bloomed into her cheeks. She didn’t need a mirror to know she was broadcasting her embarrassment with her beet-red face. However, Ryder turned towards Petra, thus sparing Tara from having to react. “Except for you, luv.”

Petra passed by Ryder, swatting his chest, while somehow still managing to balance her tray of plates. Tara was awestruck. She could manage two plates on the tray, and no more. At least, not yet. She had to practice her balance first. Most times, she simply carried her plates and trays out two-handedly, begging for Chloe’s patience, and promising to get better at wielding the overloaded trays until she could handle whatever Petra and Dok could accomplish. “Get on with you now, Ryder.”

The pleasure she got from his mild flirting was reflected in Petra’s blush on her face, not to mention the shine in her eyes. Tara glanced at Ryder and he met her gaze, lifting his lips in a shared little smile and shrug of his shoulders, almost as if to say, What are you going to do? It was sweet the way he included Petra and made her feel so good, while also referring to Tara. It had been a long time since anyone complimented her physical being. People considered her pretty when she was still a teen, but in the last few years, not so much. Nothing. A kid of the streets, she was all but invisible. Naturally, she deliberately perpetrated that assumption by keeping a hood pulled over her head and her face in a shadow. She wore loose, dirty clothes and tucked her hair into the back of her shirt. There was never any reason to advertise her femininity.

Ryder turned to leave and she mentally regained her bearings; she had to get back to work. There was nothing there. Certainly not with a cop. No. An older cop with a kid. Nothing. No way. Nuh-uh.

She exhaled a sigh at the mental discussion. Yes, that was important to keep very clear.

Except for that odd little emotional anomaly and being so aware of Ryder Kincaid, she was happier at the café with the town residents, doing her job, and living there than she’d ever been before, perhaps for her entire life. That was no small thing.

****

Ryder watched Tara shuffle off, bending her head down again to conceal the flaming inferno that overtook the portion of her chest exposed by the uniform’s modest neckline. It didn’t stop there, but rose all the way up to her cheeks. One small, innocuous comment had the shy, reserved, timid server nearly wilting with embarrassment. Funny woman, Ryder marveled as he spun on his heel, setting Wyatt on his feet. He took his hand to leave and head home for the night while Wyatt prattled away in his constant monologue. That occupied Ryder’s brain for the next few hours. After a lengthy discussion about school and his teacher, Wyatt told a long story that made no sense but had both of them laughing together. It was about finding a way that they could drive to the moon. Eventually, Ryder tucked Wyatt into bed before flopping down on the couch and clicking the TV on. He was ready to kill an hour or so with brainless police dramas and sophisticated comedies.

His thoughts kept drifting to Tara. The new hire was very intriguing. It wasn’t like he never met quiet women before, especially those who were somewhat oblivious to their looks. Tara got embarrassed to the roots of her hair from a single compliment. It was the shoes. To be honest, from his first glance at her, the shoes told him there was much more to this girl’s story. She was not the typical twenty-something newbie trying to make her way in the world. Her shoes didn’t belong to her. They were too big for her. He could tell by looking where the big toe should have been. A giant bubble on the dirty, scruffy canvas indicated whoever originally wore the shoes to nearly tatters lifted their big toe up when they walked. Tara didn’t, though. The bubble was always hollow and empty. That made the ends of her shoes squish up all weird. She wore white socks with them, neatly folded over at her ankles. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back to the nape of her neck and she went without a stitch of makeup. If not for her youth and fresh-faced magnetism, she might have been considered dowdy or frumpy.

And yet, Ryder had a hard time keeping his eyes off her. Maybe that was because she didn’t want to be seen or even noticed. Perhaps. Or maybe because of her obvious fear of him. She almost offended him at first, and he wondered if it were a sign she had something to hide. Then he watched her more carefully and saw that her gaze rarely left his gun. His gun was what she seemed to fear the most. Her gaze never left it when she served him or spoke about Wyatt. She was always staring at his sidearm. That was a reaction he’d never seen so blatantly before. He had the usual respect and awe of strangers who recognized authority and naturally complied with it. He also met people who were not afraid to show their disrespect to him simply for his chosen profession. Those folks were pretty obvious, swearing and shouting rude comments right to his face. He almost preferred those because there was no deceit or subterfuge. He knew what he was dealing with. But Tara? She was terrified of his gun. She completely avoided eye contact mostly because she feared his gun and what it could do to her.

The only time she acted differently was with Wyatt. She was fully unaware when he came in that first day and stood behind her. He heard her interacting with his son. She knelt down to eye level, addressing him like a tiny adult and instantly winning his trust. Wyatt displayed his own excitement towards her, although, to be fair, Wyatt did that with everyone. But she was smiling and making eye contact and fully engaged. When it came to being with him, however, and others, she was much more reserved and quiet. She erected an invisible wall of isolation about her. Perhaps that was what intrigued Ryder, and he wondered, what would it take to break through it?

With a sigh, he clicked the TV off when he realized he’d been staring at it without any comprehension.

As if he didn’t know the reason he couldn’t stop looking at Tara. She was a young woman. And not related to him, his ex, her family or his family. Often, it seemed like that was his entire pool of women. That, and she was under the age of fifty. Yeah, his pool of single women was slim to none. Maybe, just maybe, he was ready to dip in now… maybe just the tip of one toe into that pool again. Maybe that was what appealed so much to him about Chloe’s new server. Only a year ago, he doubted he’d have thought too long or hard about Tara. But now? Maybe. Progress? Perhaps.

Ebony. It was over three years. It was time, no, beyond time for him to put her behind him. The divorce had been final for a year and he hadn’t heard from her, not even on behalf of their son in all that time. He sighed as her face, her laugh, and her physical presence passed through his brain, seeming so real, and so intensely alive.

But she chose to go. Her silence and continued absence could not have spoken much louder, could it?

So why shouldn’t he start his life again? So what if he noticed a pretty blonde with worn shoes who was too afraid to even look at him? He rubbed a hand through his hair. Yup, it sounds real promising. Grimacing, he stood up and locked the doors before checking on Wyatt and finally flopping down on the bed. Thoughts of Ebony always depressed him. His heart hurt and he became utterly confused as to how to move forward. How could he get past it? Move towards, what? Another relationship? The thought of that made his stomach churn. Trying to trust anyone after the disaster of his last relationship was impossible for him to imagine.

He shook himself and remembered that at least he had Wyatt. It was stupid to lie there staring at his ceiling, reliving it all again, when in the end, wasn’t he the one who scored? Who ended up the lucky one? The winner? The unadulterated benefactor of their relationship? It certainly wasn’t Ebony. The only accomplishment he had to show for his life was Wyatt. So what if he was a single dad now? Sure it was hard sometimes, and he stressed over all the things about parenting he was missing.

The anxiety would often rise up in him, making his heart beat faster and his breathing more shallow. He was raising a son, all alone, without any mother figure. So sure, there were plenty of things he missed. He shook his head, flipping over and beating the pillow to support his neck. But maybe all parents missed things. The good ones probably understood that and stressed over it and cared, while the bad ones never noticed or worried. Ryder worried, noticed, stressed, and tried his damnedest to give his son the best he had to give. Even so, all of him wasn’t enough to fill the hole for the loss of his other parent. His mother could never be replaced.

He sighed again, flipping over onto his back. The only two things he was grateful for were that the damage was somewhat mitigated because Ebony left him before Wyatt could consciously remember her. It was never a huge loss from Wyatt’s life, just a fact that he didn’t have a mother. And second, Ebony’s twin sister, Chloe, and their parents, Adaline and Kylar, often helped him by picking up the slack and filling in the holes. His own two parents and three brothers did the same. He wasn’t alone. Together, they weren’t alone either, and that was something to hang on to in the dead of night, when he felt stressed and worried. He wasn’t all alone, and more importantly, Wyatt wasn’t alone.

So what if he noticed a pretty server and ogled her a bit? What the hell did it hurt? His heart wasn’t exactly up for the taking. He wasn’t looking for that. He was just looking because he could. Possibly for sex… at the most. Whatever. She couldn’t get past his gun and blushed every time he encountered her presence. Sex wasn’t happening anytime soon for him. He sighed and finally gave up all the tossing and turning to watch more TV.