Chapter Eleven
“Phee,” Isaac whispers next to my ear, and my eyelids flutter open. “I’m sorry to wake you,” he adds, straightening next to the bed. “It’s just that I’m starving, and your cupboards are barren. Not a bite to eat. How do you live?”
I laugh, and roll to my side, staring up at him dreamily. “I own a bar,” I say. “I start with lunch.”
“You should have breakfast,” he says.
“What are my options?” I ask, stretching out on the bed.
He glances over my body, half-exposed under the sheet, before shrugging. “Can I take you out to breakfast?” he asks. “I have the entire day off if you want me to spoil you.”
“Breakfast sounds good,” I say. “But I have the bar tonight, so I’m going to have to pass on the spoiling. But maybe later.”
“Definitely later,” he replies. “Now get your sexy ass out of that bed. If I don’t eat, I’ll die.”
I gaze at him, enjoying the view. I reach out my hand to him with no intention of getting out of bed. He takes my fingers in his, and when I tug him toward the bed, he sighs like it’s a huge inconvenience. But then he dives on top of me, kissing my neck.
And when he’s inside me, I close my eyes, my arms wrapped tightly around him. And he must sense what I need because he slows the paces, deep and thorough, and I come in a heavy wave of ecstasy and murmurs.
When we’re done, Isaac and I take a shower, and then we head downtown for what he likes to call: “Afterglow breakfast.”
+++
The cute little diner at the end of Main Street is rarely busy, and Isaac and I snag a table near the window. There’s a daisy in a small glass between us, sunlight streaming across the white tablecloth. It’s downright cheerful.
Isaac picks up the menu, running his eyes along it quickly. A server appears at the end of the table, and flips over our coffee cups.
“Coffee?” she asks, holding up the pot.
“Yes, please,” Isaac says in his raspy voice, and I nod that I’d like some too. She pours our coffees and leaves. I take a moment to gaze across the table at Isaac as he peruses the menu.
Sitting here, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. He’s sweet, kind. Sexy as hell. I can’t help but think he’s too good to be true, and as if he senses the beginning of my self-sabotage, his lifts those breathtaking blue eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, and pick up my menu.
“Uh, huh,” he replies doubtfully. “I can tell when you’re overthinking things. Do me a favor instead?”
I smile. “We’re in public,” I joke, making him laugh.
“I like where your mind went,” he says, taking a sip of coffee and humming out that it’s good. “But can we just exist today? All happy and shit. That work for a while?”
“For a little while,” I say, feigning disinterest.
“Good,” Isaac says. “Now just accept that we’re out together—a damn fine-looking couple, I might add—enjoying,” he pauses a moment, glancing at his menu, “French toast, I’m thinking. We’re going to eat, and flirt, and talk about whatever you want. But you’re not going to doubt yourself or me. And definitely not us. Because I’m crazy about you. Accept it, Phee.”
“Fine,” I say like we’re arguing the point. “But later I’ll go back to thinking you’re too good to be true.”
“Crazy-talk,” he says under his breath, and then winks at me before checking his menu again.
I smile, and a few minutes later, we order breakfast. He gets the French toast while I get a stack of pancakes.
Isaac stirs sugar into a fresh cup of coffee, watching me curiously as I pick through my last bites.
“Your brother texted me,” he says. “Early this morning. He wanted me to tell you that Cheyenne said to come over for a dress. Ryerson says you won’t answer his messages.”
“Ew,” I say. “How’d he get your number?”
“Well,” Isaac says with a smirk. “Your other brother is a cop. I didn’t ask questions.”
“What? Seriously?”
He laughs. “No. I gave it to him at the party. In case we were going to hang out or something. Anyway,” he adds. “The dress is for the wedding. You should go pick it up. I’m excited.”
“Why are you excited?” I ask. “You’re not wearing it?”
“Because it means you’re coming to the wedding with me. I think you underestimate my desire to show you off.”
I feel my cheeks blush, although I’m not sure why this comment embarrasses me more than anything else he’s said today.
“And I think you’re underestimating how perfectly average my life is, especially compared to your family,” I say.
“Disagree,” he says easily. “So after you get the dress, do you want to come over? Or I can come to your house? Then we’ll book the flight, hotel—”
“Get you two anything else?” the server asks, holding the black booklet that houses our check. Isaac shakes his head, letting her know we’re done, and then hands her a gold card.
When she’s gone, I lean into the table, regretting that I have to go to work. I want to hang out with Isaac all day. I want to be spoiled, I want to be… a couple. The kind that walks around holding hands, grocery shopping together, or taking their dog to the park. I’m embarrassed at how domesticated I’ve suddenly become.
“Aw…” Isaac says, reaching for my hand when he notices me staring at him. “You like me right now.”
“I do.”
“I like you too,” he whispers like it’s a secret. He kisses my hand, and turns just in time to the get the receipt from the server, signing his name and setting it aside. “So tonight?” he asks.
“I’ll text you when it’s time to close up and you can come over.”
“Can’t wait,” he whispers, and winks at me.
+++
The bar is dead, so I close up early and head to Ryerson’s house to pick up the dresses from Cheyenne. She said she might be in bed when I called her, morning sickness that’s lasting well into the night, but she said my brother would be awake.
Ryerson answers the door, nodding a hello, before leading me into the house. Rufus trots over for a good scratch behind the ears before heading toward the bedrooms.
My brother and I go into the kitchen where he grabs two beers from the fridge, and pops off the tops. He hands one to me, and I sip from it gratefully.
“Cheyenne asleep?” I ask, and he puts his finger to his lips to tell me to lower my voice. I wince. “She that sick?”
“It’s awful,” he says, motioning to the couch. “And I feel so helpless. But hopefully the new medication can help.”
“Of course your kids would be troublemakers,” I say, making him snort a laugh.
We sit on the couch, staring at the television screen where a baseball game is finishing up.
“How’s your boyfriend?” Ryerson asks, smiling as he sips from his beer.
“Fine,” I reply. “And, also, to that point, maybe you shouldn’t be texting him.”
“To be fair,” he says, “I texted you first. You didn’t respond. Figured you were together. And I was right.” He waits a beat. “So this whole wedding thing,” he adds. “Cheyenne thinks it’s a sign.”
“Uh, of two people getting married? That’s sort of the point.”
“She thinks it’s a sign about you and Isaac,” Ry says. “She said you’ll end up together.”
“Whatever,” I say, sipping my beer. “It’s not that serious,” I lie.
Ryerson stares at me, and then curses. “Good Christ,” he says, like he can read my bullshit easily. “You really want to fuck this up, don’t you? You’re going to self-sabotage?”
“I am not,” I say defensively. “And besides, even if I did, it’s not self-sabotage. Wouldn’t it be more self-preservation? He’s not going to stay in Kansas.”
“I didn’t think I would either,” Ryerson says. “And look at me.” His eyes slide over toward the bedroom hallway where Rufus is laying protectively. Guarding Cheyenne. It makes me smile, the idea that they’re a family.
“Ry,” I say, feeling my eyes well up. “How did you know with Cheyenne?” I ask. “How did you know it was real?”
He takes a long pull from his beer. “The first time I went to her apartment,” he says. “She had me. She always did, but I realized it in that moment that I wasn’t going to let her go. I knew I’d do anything for her.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and then I smile. “Wow, dude,” I say, holding up my beer in cheers. “You are seriously whipped.”
“Get out,” he says quickly, and I laugh.
We hang out until we finish our drinks, and then Ryerson grabs an armful of dresses from the front room and hands them to me. I look doubtfully at several of the color choices, and Ryerson shrugs to let me know he didn’t pick them.
“I’ll text her tomorrow and thank her,” I say as he walks me to the door.
“I’d appreciate that,” Ryerson says. I start to walk away when he calls me. “Pheebs,” he says. “He’s a good guy. Don’t screw it up.”
I turn and look back at him, ready to make a joke, but I see he’s not kidding. The comment stings, and maybe it’s supposed to. I hold up my hand in a wave, switch it to the middle finger, making him chuckle, and go to my car.