Page 160 of Almost Ours
He put it back with a dramatic sigh before wandering down the aisle ahead of me. I followed, trying to make sense of what we might need when Connor suddenly stopped. His face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Ryan!” he shouted, and before I could stop him, he took off, weaving through the shelves toward the lumber section.
My stomach dropped, my pulse quickening.
I spotted him before Connor reached him. He was in the lumbar aisle, looking at some wooden planks. He had on a dark jacket and jeans, his hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He turned at the sound of Connor’s voice, his face softening into a smile as Connor ran up to him.
“Ryan!” Connor said again, practically bouncing on his toes. “I have to make an Aztec pyramid! But Mom doesn’t know what to get. Can you help us?”
Ryan crouched down to Connor’s level, his lips twitching into a small smile. “An Aztec pyramid, huh? That’s a pretty cool project. Do you have a blueprint? Or at least a rough idea of how you want it to look?”
Connor shook his head enthusiastically. “Nope! Just stairs and a temple!”
I approached them slowly, my heart in my throat. Ryan’s gaze lifted to mine, his expression cautious, like he was testing the waters.
“Hi,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Hey,” he said back, his eyes searching mine. He looked tired, his features drawn in a way that made my chest tighten. Though there was still kindness there, stillhim.
Connor tugged on Ryan’s sleeve. “So, can you help us?”
Ryan glanced at me, silently asking for permission. His gaze was steady, his question clear. But the air felt heavy, suffocating. My throat tightened as Connor’s hopeful eyes turned to me, amplifying the weight of my next words.
I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay strong. “We’ll figure it out Connor,” I said, forcing a small smile. “Let’s not bother Ryan.”
“But he’s not bothered!” Connor protested, his voice rising in frustration.
“Connor,” I said firmly, though my chest felt like it was caving in. “We’ll handle it, okay?”
Ryan straightened, his expression unreadable. “Good luck with the pyramid, buddy,” he said, reaching out to clasp Connor on the shoulder.
Connor huffed, clearly disappointed. “Thanks, Ryan,” he mumbled.
Ryan’s eyes met mine again, lingering for a second longer than necessary. “Take care,” he said quietly before turning and walking away.
I stood there for a moment, my heart twisting painfully as I watched him go. Connor was already tugging at my hand, pulling me toward the exit.
We left without supplies, the weight of the encounter pressing down on me. I could feel the tears threatening to fall, but I refused to let them. Not in front of Connor. He needed me to be strong, not to crumble under pressure.
In the car, Connor crossed his arms, staring out the window. “Why couldn’t Ryan help?” he asked, his voice laced with frustration.
“Because we can figure it out ourselves,” I said, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
“But he knows how to build stuff,” Connor argued. “And he’s nice. And he loves you. And me. Why can’t he help?”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “I know he does,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Connor didn’t say anything else, but his disappointment hung heavy in the air. By the time we got home, I felt completely drained, every step feeling like it took twice the effort.
Upstairs, Connor quietly pulled out paper and markers, starting on a rough draft of his pyramid. I watched him from the doorway, my heart aching. I wanted to comfort him, to explain everything, but how could I when I wasn’t even sure I fully understood it myself?
The next morning,sunlight streamed through the curtains, nudging me awake. I stretched and dragged myself out of bed, the ache in my chest still lingering like a bruise. After throwing on a sweater, I shuffled toward the front door, needing the crisp morning air to clear my head.
When I opened the door, I froze.
Sitting on the front step was a small box and a folded note, tucked neatly on top. My heart stuttered as I picked up the note.
Harper,
