Chapter 63 063
EMILY
I waited for Ryan for what felt like forever, though the clock said fifteen minutes had passed since the waiter brought my food. Fifteen long, endless minutes.
My pasta sat untouched at first—steam curling up from the plate, sauce rich and fragrant—but hunger eventually won. I picked up my fork, twirling noodles slowly, almost ritualistically, glancing toward the corridor every few seconds. Every time, hoping. Hoping he would appear like a hero, tie slightly undone, hair tousled just so, eyes apologetic yet warm.
He was still gone. No sign of him. No text. Nothing. My stomach churned, but not because of hunger. Could this day get any worse?
I sighed and forced myself to eat, even though every bite felt heavier than the last. My fork hovered, and I let a stray noodle dangle, like maybe the universe would take pity and present him at that exact moment. It didn’t.
I finished my plate. Pushed it aside. Opened Instagram Reels on my phone just to have something to do with my hands. Laughing babies, recipe hacks, couples dancing in kitchens, and some guy trying to flip pancakes like a pro while a dog jumped on the counter. Every video felt like a little jab, like the universe was mocking me, reminding me this night was slowly becoming a disaster.
I kept scrolling past a couple making a disastrous cake mess that somehow looked adorable, with flour everywhere, frosting smeared across their noses, the dog trying to eat the leftovers. I was trying not to smile, trying not to think about how much better my night could be if Ryan were actually here. And then I heard his voice behind me.
“I’m so sorry.”
I turned, and there he was.
Ryan.
Tie loosened, sleeves rolled higher, hair messier than when he left, eyes tired but earnest, like he’d been running on adrenaline and worry. That mix of exhaustion and determination always made my heart thud like it was trying to escape my chest.
“I’m done with my food already,” I said flatly, setting my phone down, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.
He nodded too fast, a little flustered. “Yeah… I’m really sorry, Em. It was not my intention.”
I pushed my chair back. “Sure. Can we go now? My daughter is waiting.”
He nodded again, quick and guilty, and followed me. The walk toward the car felt heavy, each step echoing the tension I was trying to swallow. This date was too much of a flop. Too awkward, too emotional, too… everything. I was already imagining Morgan’s text later asking how it went. I’d have to lie. Or cry. Probably both.
A few minutes later, he joined me by the car. Unlocked it. I slid in without waiting for him to open my door. He got in after me, started the engine, and just sat there for a moment, the quiet thick between us.
Finally, he turned toward me, eyes searching mine, and said, “I’m really sorry, Emily. Miranda called to tell me an unfortunate incident happened at work—”
I cut him off with a short, tired sigh. “Yeah… well, I hope you’ve solved it.”
He nodded slowly, jaw tight. “I did. But I really wanted this to work. Tonight. Us.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Seems like the universe is against us working, huh?”
He looked at me—long, intense, like he was trying to read me under the dim dashboard light. Then, with a quiet confidence, he muttered, “Fuck the universe.”
I blinked, almost laughing despite myself. And before I could say anything else, he leaned across the console, pulled me close, and kissed me.
The kiss hit me like a freight train. I returned it with everything I had, hands fisting his shirt, fingers tangling in his hair.
We kissed like we were angry and desperate, like three years of missing each other poured into that one frantic, chaotic moment. Every ounce of frustration, longing, and need surged through that kiss. When we finally broke apart, we were both gasping, hearts hammering, eyes locked like nothing else existed.
He rested his forehead against mine. “You looked so beautiful tonight, Em,” he whispered, voice low, almost trembling. “I’ll be damned if I let you go back home without repeating it over and over again.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Ryan… I don’t know. Maybe us being together is not the solution to all this right now.”
He pulled back just enough to study my face, serious and intense. “Why? You need more time? More time for what?”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “You have a fucking girlfriend.”
“Fuck the girlfriend,” he said immediately, like it was obvious, like it didn’t even need thought. “I already told you I want you. She’s not my girlfriend.”
I rolled my eyes, forcing a smirk. “Men. Y’all would do anything to get into a girl’s panties.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked, one brow raised, amused.
“Just… never mind,” I muttered, exasperated. “Just take me home.”
He sighed deeply but didn’t argue. He put the car in drive, pulling out of the lot, the tension between us thick and heavy, yet strangely… comforting.
The ride back was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine. Occasionally, I sniffed quietly, trying not to cry.
My gaze stayed glued to the streetlights passing by, pretending I was calm. But every glance at him reminded me why I couldn’t stay mad, why I couldn’t stay distant, and why part of me always wanted him, even after everything.
“You know,” he said after a long pause, voice soft, “I hate that I made you wait.”
I didn’t look at him. “It’s fine. Really. Not like this night was going perfectly anyway.”
“Not perfect?” he teased, one corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “You’re telling me a kiss like that wasn’t perfect?”
I snorted, unable to stop myself. “You’re delusional.”
He laughed quietly, low and warm, and I felt my chest tighten in that familiar way. “Maybe. But you love it.”
“Love what?” I asked, rolling my eyes again, trying to keep my guard up.
“That I’ll never give up on you.”
I let out a soft huff, half amusement, half exasperation. “Ryan…”
“Yeah?”
“You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged, grin still playing on his lips. “But somehow… it works.”
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “You make it way too hard.”
“You make it worth it,” he said simply, eyes locking onto mine. “Every damn time.”
By the time we pulled up to my place, the tension between us hadn’t gone anywhere. He parked, stepped out, and reached for my door. I opened it before he could, stepping onto the pavement, heels clicking softly.
“Thanks,” I said, clipped, careful. I didn’t want him to see the mix of relief, frustration, and longing twisting inside me.
He leaned against the car, voice dripping with mockery but still warm. “Have a wonderful night’s rest.”
I chuckled, dry and tired, worn out. “You too, Ryan.”
He drove off, leaving me standing there, the cool night air brushing against my face, heart still racing like it would never calm down.
I unlocked the door with my spare key and stepped inside, kicking off my shoes, praying Morgan was asleep. I needed to slip away into my room, to disappear for a while. But then her voice rang from the kitchen, bright and teasing:
“Emily? Is that you?”
I groaned, sinking into a nearby chair. “Yeah… Morgan. It’s me.”