Page 21 of Between Then and Now
“Wow, low blow,” he says in mock offense.
“Insult Edward Cullen one more time, Ry, and I’ll start comparing you to Jacob. And believe me, you don’t want that,” I say, wagging my finger at him.
We reach one of the benches and flop down, trying to catch our breath. I start fanning myself with my hands, but Ryan somehow pulls out a random piece of cardboard from thin air and starts fanning us both.
“Why not? You don’t think I’m muscular enough?” he flexes his arms, cardboard still in hand.
“No, because you’d look terrible in jorts,” I say.
“Jorts?” he asks.
“Oh my gosh, you are such an old man. Jean-shorts, Miller.”
Ryan bursts out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jean-shorts? Really?” I nod with a chuckle.
He pulls out his handkerchief, waving it like a white flag before handing it to me. He points to my forehead with a knowing look, so I take it and wipe away the sweat. When I hand him back his handkerchief, he uses it to wipe his own face, then he folds it back into his pocket and returns to fanning us both with the cardboard.
“I’d look amazing in jean shorts. I’d even upstage your fictional men,” he continues.
“Ry, no offense, but the only thing you’d upstage is a dad at a barbecue.”
He uses his makeshift cardboard fan to playfully swat my knee. “You’ll see me in jorts one day, and I’ll take your breath away, Bonita.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I smile sarcastically.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bonita
We have dinner in a small restaurant in the inn tonight. Though calling it a restaurant is a bit generous–it’s more of a cafeteria with mismatched chairs and squeaky wooden tables, but I don’t mind. It’s places like these that feel welcoming and warm. The food is unpretentious but hearty, the kind that makes you feel cared for, not just fed. I can almost imagine an old grandma cooking behind the doors because that’s what this meal feels like.
Everyone is buzzing with energy, talking over each other about what happened that day. In the midst of the meal, John blurts out “Ryan danced today.”
The table falls silent, forks suspended mid-air, as everyone turns to look at Ryan, who is seated beside me, looking like the poster child for nonchalance.
His expression doesn’t change, and not even a flicker of emotion is there. “I didn’t dance,” Ryan says flatly, his tone deadpan as ever.
“You did.” Mia chimes in, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she exchanges a glance with Alexa, who chuckles beside her.
“That was the only time we’ve ever seen him dance. Or, you know, participate in any event that isn’t work-related.” Tom adds. “He’s usually the one waiting in the corner, calculating how soon he can leave without being rude.” He then recounts a story about one party where apparently Ryan did not move for the rest of the night except to go to the bathroom.
John turns to me, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Bon, how on earth did you get him to dance? We’ve been trying to get this guy to lighten up for years.”
I lean back, pretending to ponder the question. I glance at Ryan and he’s still trying to look uninterested, but I can see his eyes glancing at me, waiting for my answer. “Oh, it’s a secret technique,” I say with mock seriousness. “Years of practice and carefully applied bribery. But mostly, I just annoyed him into giving in.”
Ryan finally cracks a small, fleeting smile. “The same tactic she used to get on this trip,” he adds, his tone still serious, but a hint of amusement is already there.
Everyone laughs, and I glance at Alexa to see her smiling as she looks at Ryan. And I can’t help but feel so excited for him because she looks like she actually finds him endearing.
After dinner, I return to the room to drop off my camera and take a moment to freshen up. I decide to take a walk and end up at the beachfront. The sky is a deep shade of indigo, with stars beginning to peek out one by one. The sound of the waves is soothing, a gentle reminder of the serenity of this place. I take off my shoes and let the cool sand sink between my toes. As I walk closer to the water, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.
I pull out my camera again, capturing the moonlight reflecting off the waves. The beauty of this place is breathtaking, and I want to document every moment. As I stand there, I can’t help but reflect on how fortunate I am to be here.
“Hey,” a voice calls out, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn to see Ryan walking towards me, his hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” I reply, smiling. “Couldn’t resist the beach either, huh?” I frown for a moment, then say “Wait, you hate the beach.” I remember because when we were kids, we’d go onbeach trips, and he’d always stay far from the shore. I never bothered to ask him, though.
“I don’t hate the beach; I hate the ocean. There’s a difference,” he says as he steps back. “Which is why,” he puts both his hands on my shoulders and steers me away from the water, “we should probably go to that area over there.” He guides me until the water is a good twenty feet away.
