Page 62 of It Never Was

She was broken now, and I had second guessed my choice to leave her be that shift. To let her feel what she needed to feel and not try to 'fix' the problem, because let's be honest, there was no fixing it.

All I could do was be here for her the best I could, now how Ryen felt about that was unknown. But I couldn't just leave her alone. I know she has Willow and Paul, but I wanted to make it known that I was there too.

The door to the kitchen opens as I am sanitizing my workstation, getting ready to leave for the day. The case was full and my prep for tomorrow was done.

Without looking up from where my hands scrub, I know it is Ryen. I don't want her to feel my eyes on her.

She is thoughtlessly grabbing her things from the lockers. I see black high-top converse as they take every hollowed step.

I searched for a way to connect with her.

"Want to try the new pistachio Bavarian cream I made for the new cream puffs?" I blurted out drying off the work bench. My words were rushed but I know I have to get it out before she is able to leave the kitchen.

She stops in her tracks, her silhouette not turning to me just yet. Her bag is slumped on her shoulder, her grip tight on the straps. "I want to make sure it passes your taste bud test so I can put it on the menu tomorrow morning." My words are not coming out as casual as I want them to. I have wanted to talk to her these last couple of days. I must sound like a babbling idiot.

I just wanted to see that smile again, to hear that soft laugh.

Although she remains still and silent, I can almost hear her thoughts ticking away behind her green eyes.

Just look at me.

"I don't think you really need my approval. You've proven yourself already." Her head hangs lower, fiddling with the strap on her shoulder. She gears up to leave further.

"Humor me." I don't give her time to protest, I reached down below the work bench pulling the container from the small cooler underneath. I slide into the other end where Ryen is still squirming with her bag.

Three days ago, I would have walked up to her, handed her to the deli container myself, I would have even tried to feed her a spoonful. Today, I was just lucky that she was honoring me with her words, her voice. So, I wasn't going to push her.

Reluctantly she turns on her feet the squeak of her sneakers making her whole body tense up. She puts her bag down and yanks the container in her hands. Tearing the lid off, letting it hit the tabletop. She grabs one of the mini tasting spoons that we keep on the tables. Digging what looks like a bigger scoop than intended and shoving it into her mouth.

The spoon stills, her eyes close softly, her shoulders lax, and I can't help the corners of my lips from curling with pride. Her eyes slowly open and lock with mine, my chest warms and my heart flutters, but before I can fully enjoy the moment, she snatches the spoon out from between her lips, capping the container with rushed hands. Her shoulders return to their rigid state and her eyes are back on the floor.

"Approved." Is all she says as she hightails it out of the kitchen.

34

Ryen

My thoughts have been on overdrive, they won't shut up about all of it, every single bit of what has been happening in my life. I'm confused, to say the least, about everything.

The minute my ass hit my driver's seat I just started to roam. I have been driving aimlessly through town. Going down every tree infected back road and side street there is. I didn't have a destination in mind, I just knew if I stopped the thoughts would fully take me over.

But as I made my way around, I saw him.

Devon.

He was walking from his car to the liquor store without a care in the world. As if he didn't shatter me into pieces.

I parked on the side of the road when I saw his blue Mustang parked out front, I don't know why I did it. My body just reacted. I didn't want to be close to him, not after everything that happened but I also wanted to see what he was up to, without me.

So here was I staring at him like a fucking stalker, as if I was the creep in this situation.

He had faint purple-yellow markings on his face and a big gash on his lower lip. It looked as if he was hit by a bus.

A small bit of me found joy in the thought, picturing his body getting slammed by the giant vehicle. Shamefully, I played it a few times on repeat. But the rest of my mind, the part that still wanted him, was battling with concern and questions about why his face was beat up.

It's a strange feeling to hate the person you are in love with, because no matter how much you look at them and long for the past, it will never be that way again. The hope is what gets you tied down in the waiting waters, it's also what drowns you when the tide gets too high. The thing about Devon was his tide was always high.

The motion of the liquor store's door has my eyes shooting to him as he makes his way back to the car. He makes a slight change in course, veering to the passenger side instead. I furrow my brows in confusion, leaning in like it will help me see what he is doing, from all the way where my car is parked. He leans into the window, but I can't see what he is looking at. Whatever or whoever it is has him grinning ear to ear and my stomach drops at the sight.

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