Frayed Rope (13 page)

He leans down and presses his lips to my forehead before leaving the laundry room.

“Be over by seven, Elle.”

I’m left speechless, the man certainly has a way with words.

Chapter Twelve

I make my way over to Ryder's with Norma and a bottle of wine. She leads the way since she’s been here before and prances up the deck before letting out a low bark at the back door. I make my way up the steps onto his deck, which is way fucking cooler than mine might I add.

His dark grey deck is complimented by a large sectional, deep red in color. The ottomans with matching cushions all push together to make it a bed.

Convenient, I think to myself.

His graphite colored home has wrought iron designs here and there under the extended roof which covers half of the deck. The other half is open to the elements and boasts a few loungers with a hot tub and small propane fired centerpiece. The true fire pit is in the sand near the water. The kind you roast marshmallows on and get out the folding chairs to sit around.

I hear the back screen door open and turn my head to watch Norma prance into his house like she owns the damn place.

“You don't need to let her in your house, she sheds a lot this time of year,” I say to him.

He doesn’t reply, simply grabs my hand and pulls me into the house.

His large stainless and black kitchen is the first thing I see and it’s stunning. Dark granite countertops and sleek glass backsplash, large propane grill and double oven.

“Jesus Ryder, did you marry a chef or do you just really love to cook in your spare time?”

I ask while taking everything in. He hasn’t answered and seems lost in thought so I don't push him. Then I remember him telling me that he doesn't bring his one night stands home so maybe he’s never had a woman complimenting him on his decor?

He turns slowly, looking like he still doesn't have an answer and shrugs his shoulders. I have a feeling I may have hit a nerve although I’m not sure which one and I’m also not one to pussy foot around something.

“What's with the long face again, soldier? It’s a beautiful kitchen. I was giving you a compliment, but you look like I kicked your dog.”

He shakes his head in exasperation, thinking before he speaks.

“I thought I’d share this place with someone once. It didn’t work out that way. It was a long time ago; I’ve done some upgrading since then, as you can see.”

He looks lost down memory lane. I don't need him to elaborate since that would make me a hypocrite so I try to lighten the subject.

“Well handsome, feel free to blow me away with your culinary skills in your master chef kitchen. I’m starving.”

It seems to have done the trick and he moves toward the fridge. The steaks are already resting on the counter and I take the opportunity to assess the rest of my surroundings while he works.

He has a large vaulted ceiling and a loft walkway, leading to bedrooms I assume up top. The whole space downstairs is open which I can handle and I take in the large sectional in front of a stone fireplace with a huge man-sized television above it.

On one side of the room is a staircase leading up—not down, thank fuck. And on the other side is a small hallway leading to what I assume would be the bathroom and laundry room. I’m positive there’s no basement here since most of the homes here were originally built on stilts but I have to ask.

“Your place is much bigger than mine. Do you have a basement too?”

I cringe just saying the word; my voice broke a little which I hope he doesn’t notice. He looks up at me from where he’s chopping up some broccoli and replies.

“No basement. I added the loft about ten years ago.”

I nod thoughtfully and thank the heavens that I don't need to bail on dinner. I finally put the wine on the counter and he turns around to get me a glass from the cupboard.

“Thank you. Do you want some?” I ask as I open it.

He places two glasses in front of me so I take that as a yes and pour us each a good portion.

“Do you want me to help with anything?” I ask.

His answer comes in the form of his hands around my waist as he hoists me up onto the counter near his workspace.

“Nope. Just keep me company.”

He hasn't kissed me or made any grand touching gestures since I got here so I guess he listened to my little rant about space earlier. I glance around and notice Norma curled up on a dog bed near the bottom of the stairs.

“Did you have a dog?” I ask, seeing mine sound asleep and perfectly at home.

“Nope,” he replies shortly, making me wonder where he got the dog bed.

“So you just pulled that old dog bed out of the attic when she started coming around?” I ask sarcastically.

He stops chopping and wipes his hands on a towel. He moves in front of me and I take in his clothing; dark grey t-shirt, dark jeans and bare feet. My eyes make it back up to his face before he cages me in with his hands on my thighs.

“She comes here every morning after her run in the bush and I let her in. She’d lie in five different places on the wood floor before finding a comfortable spot on a rug somewhere and passing out. I bought her a dog bed since she seems to take her morning naps here. Now, she doesn’t move around five times, just goes to the bed and stays there without tracking sand all through the house. That okay with you beautiful?”

His thoughtfulness is astounding so I nod my head and tell him so.

“Thank you, I’m sure she appreciates that since she knows she’s not allowed on the furniture, and her hips ache after she runs,” I tell him.

Dark blacks zone in on my greens before he responds.

“I noticed that. And you’re welcome.”

He looks like he wants to kiss me, but instead squeezes my thighs and gets back to work.

* * *

“How do you want your steak?”

Ryder asks from the kickass, built-in grill station on his deck.

“The only way a person should eat it. Medium-rare,” I reply from my spot on the crimson colored patio furniture, watching his back muscles flex through his shirt every time he moves around.

Jesus, you know it’s been a while when your studying a man’s back.

“So if I told you I eat mine well done?” He questions me, and I don’t hold back on my honest answer.

“Then you don't deserve to eat the good cut of meat in front of you, and I’ll be going home so I don't have to watch you murder that dinner by cooking all the flavor out of it.”

I see the turn of his lips and know he’s ready to laugh at me.

“I’m glad we agree on the cooking process of beef, then.”

Flashing pearly whites at me, his smile is so big I force myself to remember I can’t get used to this.

“It’s ready, beautiful. If you want to grab the other bottle of wine from in the house we’ll eat on the deck.”

He carries a platter full of food to the table by the grill and I head for the vino.

I’m good at that, finding the vino.

I could probably sniff the stuff out with a blindfold on and still find it faster than someone with the ability of sight.

Even with the cork still in.

“To new neighbors,” Ryder says as he clinks his glass with mine.

“To nosy neighbors,” I counter.

A deep chuckle greets me before we both dig into our meal of steak, broccoli, and prawns.

We only eat for a few moments before Ryder breaks the silence.

“You’re not hard to read Elle, but you’re definitely not personable. I know you like big dogs, dark colors, and the blues. Ah, and wine. I’m not asking for anything personal, but maybe there’s something else you can tell me about yourself while we eat. Anything Elle, even if it’s something as mundane as favorite foods or movies you like.”

I feel like a teenager, thinking about discussing things such as movies and foods I like. I suppose it’s a part of getting to know someone and I understand it’s not enough to give away my identity so I tell him.

“I love movies, grew up with them mostly because we never had cable where I lived. If you wanted to watch something at six o’clock other than the news you went to the video store and rented something. I can’t tell you exactly which ones are my favorite, however I can tell you that I rented The Karate Kid enough that I could have bought it fifteen times, and I thought Melanie Griffith’s character in ‘Working Girl’ was the shit, including the giant hair. The only thing I would have changed would be a swift kick to the behind following the ‘bony ass’ comment she made toward Sigourney Weaver’s character at the elevator before introducing the Trask company to radio broadcasting.”

“Ha! Damn, I forgot about that movie. Harrison Ford and big haired women.” He says, shaking his head smiling, obviously remembering the glorious work of film that was ‘Working Girl’.

“Thanks for sharing that with me beautiful, I was expecting you to say something typical like ‘Dirty Dancing’.”

Oh no he didn’t!

“Excuse me Mr. Callaghan, but NOBODY, puts baby in the corner.”

I’m greeted with a deep rumble of laughter once again.

“You got me babe.” he says on a smile.

“Your turn, handsome.”

“They’ve changed many times over the years, but John McClane comes to mind.”

Ha, he says this as a question, like I won’t know the answer. I raise my glass in toast before I reply.

“Well then, yippy ki yay—
neighbor
.”

I clink my glass with his, and down the rest of my wine.

“Shit babe, I really didn’t think you’d get that one.”

“Well handsome, when you grow up without much for television, you spend a lot of time with movies.”

“Ya, sounds like it. Can’t say I’ve watched a lot in the past ten years or more, I’ve been too busy with work or being overseas. The eighties and nineties I guess you could say were my movie years.”

“Nothing wrong with that, they were some of the best,” I muse, thinking that they honestly truly were, despite how young I was in the eighties; I still got to grow up with those gems in film.

And the crazy big hair.

Ryder seems to be feeling okay on the wine, as do I, before his whiskey voice hits me with a line he thinks I won’t know.

“Live for nothing, or die for something. You’re call.”

I know exactly where that came from, and I plan to tell him so.

“Well said, John Rambo. Well said.”

A giant grin greets me once again as beautiful as the last one, maybe even more so now that I’ve gotten to know him better.

“Dinner was delicious Ryder, thank you.”

I’m absolutely stuffed and happy he didn’t turn out to be one of those guys who invites you to dinner and thinks his cooking is fantastic, but you end up faking a stomach ache and hit a drive through on the way home.

“Glad you enjoyed it.”

I begin gathering up the dishes when he moves to grab my cuff covered wrist.

“What are you doing beautiful?”