Page 75 of Bite Your Tongue

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure,” I answer, rolling my eyes before looking out the window at the ocean. “It looks angry out there today, huh?”

“Terrifying,” he utters, turning his attention back to the road.

In the few months we’ve been together, it’s pretty clear the man doesn’t love the ocean. I was telling him about my uncle’s lobster boat and how he’d love to take us out to see some seals this summer, and he changed the subject. I grew up in a coastal town in Maine. The ocean is a part of me. Ryder is a Southern boy, and the only experience he’s had with the sea is living close to it since he became a Bay Shark.

“It is, yes.” I nod once. “But it’s also beautiful. And all its creatures? The porpoises, seals, turtles, and all the others, big and small? They are incredible.”

“Yeah, until one kills you while you’re swimming,” he utters. “I like land. Mountains. Deserts. Forests. All good.” He jerks his chin toward the window just before the open beach turns to a wooded area. “The ocean? All set with that shit.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I’ll make an ocean lover out of you. Just give me a little time.” Suddenly, I frown. “Wait, can you not swim?”

He’s genuinely appalled by my question.

“Yes, I can swim, Brat.” He gives me a pointed look. “But do I have any interest in swimming in the ocean, where there are endless depths, big waves, and creatures that could no doubt swallow my ass whole? No thanks.” He scoffs. “Besides, I’ve heard the temperature is fucking freezing. I keep my pool at eighty-eight degrees.”

I put my nose in the air, an arrogant expression on my face. “Well, aren’t you just King Shit on Turd Mountain with your pool that’s like a hot tub?”

He gives me an amused smirk. “Hell yeah, I am. Don’t you forget it either.” A hint of nervousness flashes across his face. “We’re almost to your house.” He swallows. “This is the first time I’ll be here with you and not Smith.”

“So, you’re here with the funnier, more attractive Sawyer sibling.” I shrug. “Good for you.”

He shakes his head at me, fighting a grin. I know he feels uncomfortable about seeing my parents today because all the other times he’s been around my family, it was for my brother. The truth is though, they’ve always loved Ryder, and they were thrilled when I told them we were dating.

Last week, his parents came into town, and we went to dinner with them. His mom is nice—very … excited about herson’s future, but nice nonetheless. I got the impression she rules the roost in their household. His father was funny and much quieter than his mom. Overall, I think it went really well.

Suddenly, Ryder takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, holding his lips against my skin for a few seconds before lowering it to the center console, keeping hold of it. It’s a small gesture, and to some, they probably wouldn’t think anything of it. To me, it prompts a reaction, where my heart races and my lips spread into a grin.

Being with Ryder has shown me that the smallest things are actually the biggest things. It’s also how I know that this relationship is different from any other one I’ve been in.

In the best way possible.

Eight Months Later

Ishiver, tucking my hands into my pockets when I see the horse-drawn sleigh coming toward my driveway. It’s been a year since I last rode in one of these things, but the difference is, that was in Charleston, so it was warm out. This is Maine, and it’s Christmas Day, snowing and fucking freezing.

But I must say, this shit looks like it’s straight out of a Hallmark movie. Too bad for me, Saylor isn’t into cheesy holiday movies. Hopefully, she’ll make an exception.

When the man stops the horses at the foot of my driveway, I nod.

“Merry Christmas. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to do this.” I take a few steps forward and climb up the stairs to the carriage, setting a blanket, a thermos of hot chocolate, and two cups inside.

“Happy to do it,” he says with a grin. “Looks like you’ve got quite the setup here.”

“Trying my best,” I utter nervously, even though I’m not usually a nervous person.

I guess proposing to the woman you love will do that to you.

Stepping down, I jerk my thumb toward my house. “I’m going to leave the gate open. In about five minutes, come park in front of the house, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” he drawls.

I take off jogging down the driveway, barreling toward my house.

Saylor was on the phone with her parents, and we’re going to head to their place tonight. Her mom knew I needed a way to distract her, so she called and promised me she’d keep her on the phone till I returned from “cleaning the snow off the roof.” I definitely pay someone else to do that. I fucking hate snow. Lucky for me, Saylor didn’t ask questions, leaving me just enough time to rush out and get the driver all squared away.

Walking into my warm house, I’m instantly thankful that Saylor enjoys having the house set to a nice seventy-two degrees, just like I do. She moved in about four months ago after months of saying she needed independence, paying rent at her apartment even though she spent ninety-nine percent of her nights here. I was thankful as hell when she decided to let the apartment go and call my house her home.

I text her father, letting him know that his wife can get off the phone with her now. A moment later, I listen as Saylor says goodbye to her, and then I put the rest of the plan into motion.

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