Page 12 of For Fox Sake

I take a step just inside the front door, glancing down at the paperwork in my hand. “Is someone else staying here?” In the front room, there’s a stack of letters on the desk and a black sweater draped over the chair. I don’t hear anyone else moving or talking.

“No. Why?” He emerges from the hall, tugging a navy-blue T-shirt over his head, giving me another glimpse of his leanly muscled chest and trim waistline before he’s covered.

Completely this time.

Pity.

“Well, the shirt, it was, I mean, it had a bedazzled raccoon on it.” I lift the contract up. “Your application for the rental said there would be only one guest. It’s not that big of a deal, I just need to record who’s in residence for liability reasons.”

“Application for the rental.” His eyes narrow on the papers in my hand. “Why do you have my rental application?”

“You are Jacob Fox, right?”

“Yes. And you are...”

Confusion ripples through me, followed swiftly by realization. I haven’t told him why I’m here yet. “I’m here because of your message about the stove.”

He blinks. “What message?”

I frown. “You said the stove isn’t turning on.”

“Oh yeah, I thought I sent the message to the property manager. Ryan?”

I sigh and give him a weak smile. I get this all the time. “That’s me. I’m Ryan.”

Chapter Four

Jake

Ryan is a woman. She’s talking. She must be. Her mouth is moving, and I’m sure sounds are emerging, but my head is buzzing and I can’t register any of it.

Ryan’s a woman.

An extremely attractive, funny, kind-to-small-children-and-animals—probably, she doesn’t look like she’d want to kick a puppy—woman.

What if we’re related?

My entire being tenses in revolt, gaze scanning over her features, searching for a possible connection. She has blue eyes.

Really vividly pretty blue eyes, actually.

All my family, myself included, have dark eyes, like Dad. The brightness of her eyes is offset by short dark hair that curls slightly around her ears and brushes the delicate skin of her neck.

Brown hair is a trait we share, but a lot of people have dark hair, right? I’m sure most of the world.

Her features are petite. She has a button nose and a gently sloped jawline framing a wide mouth—definitely not like anyone in my family with our more striking features, bold chins, and patrician noses.

We cannot be related.

She’s still talking, probably filling the void created by the gaping silence since I’m staring at her with my mouth hanging open like I’ve just had oral surgery and everything below my nose is numb.

“My parents thought I was going to be a boy and my grandfather is named Ryan, so that’s what they planned on. Even though I obviously turned out to be a girl, they kept the name anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But, yeah, it can cause confusion sometimes.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, chuckling awkwardly.

I rein in my scattered thoughts long enough to toss out some trite words. “It’s a great name, Ryan. I like it.”

Lame. The lamest. Pull yourself together, man! It doesn’t matter that Ryan is a woman. This changes nothing. I still have a mystery to solve.

And it can all end here, once I open my mouth and ask Ryan why she was exchanging letters with my dad and why those letters revolved around Mia, Ryan’s little sister.

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