Riders block, p.22
Rider's Block, page 22
Eric processes what I said for a few moments, and I could kiss him for how seriously he's taking the whole situation. I mean, not kiss him, kiss him. I just appreciate that he’s thinking it over before showering me with the pity most people do. Cutting him off right before he says anything, I add on for good measure, “That’s why it was kind of hard on us when my brother had such a difficult time having a kid. He wanted to be a father more than anything, but biology dealt them a difficult hand. My father couldn’t want to be a father any less, and he ended up with not one, but two accidents.”
“You are not an accident,” Eric cuts me off shortly. “I don’t want to hear that phrase come out of your pretty little mouth ever again, understand? You’re the best thing to happen to me, and just because your father wasn’t man enough to think the same thing shouldn’t make you think any less of yourself. You say he still lives in California?”
“Yeah.”
“And you never see him?”
“Nope.”
“I’m not asking this with any ulterior motive necessarily, but why do you still live there, then?”
I pause for a second because no one has ever asked me that outright. “Because I don’t want him to take that away from me, too. I like California. I was excited when we moved there, and I really felt like I fit in the way of life there. He left right before I finished college, and at the time I was dating someone”—Eric is not subtle in the breath of air he lets out—“and honestly I just didn’t want to uproot my life just because he decided he couldn’t commit. It’s a big state, he can have his space and I can keep my corner of the world that I built myself. Mom didn’t have anything that was hers other than us, her family. When Dad left it felt like she lost everything. She was completely devoted, almost blindly, and even though she put everything she had in it, she could never make up for the fact that he just wasn’t all in. And when he left, she had nothing. That’s terrifying to me.”
Eric nods that slow, understanding nod of his that is both respectful and a little challenging. But if anyone gets ownership and the need to accomplish something, it’s Eric. As if reading my thoughts, he slowly says, “I get it, Red, I do.” Then a little sheepishly he adds, “You said you had a boyfriend at the time?”
I try to suppress my smile at his obvious discomfort. “Yeah, Jeff. Our friend group kind of centered around our relationship. He was nice, but it was never…well, how do I put it. I sort of always felt like when he went out with the guys he would be the type to accidentally cheat. Not because of anything malicious, but just because he was never really…all in. I don’t know. And then when the stuff with my dad happened…he just didn’t know how to handle me with having emotions. I was always so steady. When my dad left it sort of wrecked me, and I guess he wasn’t used to seeing me cry.”
“Are you—” He pauses for a second, gathering his own emotions “—are you saying he left you in the middle of all of that?”
“He stuck around for a bit, but yeah. Sort of lost my whole friend group with it, actually. I got so mopey for a while I stayed at home, and he won them all over. I still see them sometimes, but not a ton.”
“You’re killin’ me, Red.” The pain in his eyes warms my heart, but I don’t want anyone’s pity—especially not Eric’s—so I change the topic.
“Okay, enough sob stories for the night, want to play cards or something?”
“Cards? You want to play cards?”
“I don’t know, is there a chessboard around here that I don’t know about? We could do that instead?”
“You should hope not, I’d whip your ass in chess.”
“Really?”
“I’m a man of many hidden talents, Mia.”
“Prove it.”
A chessboard is located within fifteen minutes (he drove all the way to the main house to find one) and he spends the rest of the night proving me to be very inept at a game I thought I was good at. I’ve played plenty of chess, and I usually win. But not against Eric. There was a game where he checkmated me in three moves. Three! I didn’t know that was possible, but there was no way around it.
It’s practically morning by the time we call it quits, and I go to bed feeling a few degrees lighter. Now he knows. He can understand why I’m just not interested in anything but equal amounts of crazy.
Chapter twenty-nine
"Meant to Be," Bebe Rexha + Florida Georgia Line
“You sure you’re ready?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing else you want to do?”
“Nope, anything else will be over-editing.”
“You’re ready to press send? Right now?”
“Right now, right now.”
“Want me to do it?”
“Please? I kind of want to throw up.” The look on Eric's face let's me know he's going to wait until I'm a bit more confident before hitting send. Which is fair. I can't do it right now. I stand up and pace a bit more, trying to burn off steam.
After two straight weeks of time spent side-by-side at the computer, a week waiting for my editor’s feedback and then applying what she changed…it’s time.
How the hell is it time? What am I going to do if I STILL get denied? Cry. A lot. That’s what I’ll do. Because if it gets denied at this point, maybe it’s time to hang up my hat. Even though I’ve hit my financial goals, there are things I still wanted as an author. I think it’d be kind of cool to end up on the big screen, sure. I think it’d be pretty awesome to hit a million copies for one book. I think it’d be pretty cool to switch genres and have my fan base switch with me. But if this one doesn’t land, I’m not sure I have much more in me.
Eric stops my hand as it mindlessly goes to itch the spot right above my cast that’s been driving me crazy recently. He’s been a saint helping me through this diligently for weeks. I don’t want to ask what time or tasks he’s had to trade to be at my side whenever I’ve needed him. He somehow knows whenever I’m about to break down and ask for help, and he’s there offering it without prompting.
The typing is the most apparent thing I’m not able to do with one hand, but there are little things, too. I’ve noticed that every time I mentally prepare myself to open a peanut butter lid, it’s already halfway off and only loosely needs some work. The picture of him running around my little kitchenette, halfway unscrewing all of the jars I have so I don’t “technically” have to ask for help has me smiling for three whole days.
But I leave in a week.
The reality of it sinks in as I stare at the email Eric helped me type up to my agent, Sarah.
The whole reason I’m here is sitting in that attached file. Regardless of what the publishers say, my job here is complete. I did it.
Eric reaches down to squeeze my leg as he asks, “Want the honors? Or would you like me to press send?”
“Can you do it?”
Eric has talked to my people a few times here and there and made fast friends with my crew, so he wastes no time in hitting the send button before I can second-guess myself and is pulling me out of my chair to spin me around in a hug, chanting, “You did it! You did it! You did it!” So many times I threaten to lose the muffin he brought me early that morning. “We’re going to celebrate, alright, Red?”
“What do you have in mind?”
With a wink and a dip of his hat he heads toward the front door saying, “You’ll see. Come on, let’s go see Penny.”
We spend the whole ride going over every possibility of what could happen for my book. From the absolute absurd, amazing wild cards all the way down to the most logical negative options, and something about talking through all of the possibilities puts my mind at ease. By the time we make it to Penny’s shop, I’m ready to celebrate right along with him. After looking at a few things himself, Eric leaves me to talk with Penny at the front register while he runs a few errands of his own.
“And you have no idea what you’re doing to celebrate?” Penny asks, leaning almost completely over the counter so she doesn’t have to talk too loudly.
“Not a clue, do you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Damn, I really was hoping you’d know since he insisted we come here first.”
“Well, I’m glad you came by. You did it! It’s done and submitted. How do you feel?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. On one hand I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but on the other hand I just need to know if it gets picked up before I can fully relax. I don’t know. I’m relieved and uneasy. It’s a weird place to be in.”
“Doesn’t help that you’re leaving us next week. That’s got me in a funk, I’ll admit it.”
“Don’t say that! I already feel weird about it.”
“All I’m saying is that you know you have a home here whenever you decide to quit being stubborn and accept it.”
“Well, pot, speaking of stubborn, have you gone on a date with Dean yet?” Dean decided he was done playing it cool and announced to Eric and me the other week at my cottage that he’s just going to go for it. It’s direct, and I love it. I told him he had my full support, and Eric just grunted and clapped his back in a maneuver that I translated to be approval without words. He keeps me updated, so I know the answer, but even though she hasn’t said yes yet his spirits are only increasing with each conversation he has with her. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Aside from the sweet things Eric does for me that I’m stuffing away into a different part of my mind to deal with later.
“No, kettle.”
“The man has asked you on a date, what, like five times this week?”
“Seven.”
“So, once every day?”
“Yes.”
“And you kept track?”
“Not hard to keep track of when it’s every day.”
“So, are you ready to quit being stubborn yet and just put the poor guy out of his misery and marry him yet?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! That’s a little forward thinking of you, don’t you think?”
“So is moving and uprooting my whole life just because a guy is being nice to me.”
“Mia. You can’t be so blind. He’s not just being nice to you.”
“He’s had plenty of time to be blunt and act on it, and he’s not. I can’t stay for hints.”
Penny thinks to herself for a second before asking, “That’s not entirely wrong.”
“And if I’m being honest, Dean has been blunt, and you still haven’t taken him up on it. So, yeah, pot, you know I’m right.”
“If I go out with Dean, will you stay?”
“That’s not even related, and you know it.”
“It’s closely related.”
“The answer to that is no, but I do want you to finally say yes to Dean.”
“I think I might.” Penny’s cheeks immediately blush, and I don’t have enough control over myself to hold in the squeal that involuntarily erupts from my lips. She rolls her eyes and tells me to hush it. “If you make too big of a deal about it, I’ll have to reconsider.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I might.”
“When are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know, maybe the next time he asks?”
“Has he asked today already?”
“Nope.”
“Are you coming to dinner at the ranch tonight?”
“I don’t think there is dinner at the ranch tonight.”
“What? Since when?”
“Since Nancy texted me that we’re doing a big celebration for you tomorrow as a congrats for your book instead.”
“Huh, guess I missed that text…” I say, pulling out my phone. I look up for a second to see Penny’s smile increase.
“Sounds like Eric wants you all to himself tonight.”
***
Eric returns to Penny’s shop thirty minutes later with a few paper bags filled with mysterious items he won’t let me look at. I ask repeatedly what his plans are for the evening. And he tells me repeatedly that’s for him to know and for me to find out.
He drops me off at my little cottage and tells me to dress for the outdoors. I throw on my red boots, stiff Levi’s Penny says make my butt look good, and a breezy top. I try on four different tops. It takes a lot of brain power for me to decide on something that says “this isn’t a date” while also wanting to look nice because it kind of sort of feels like a date. Not a real date, my mind tries to assure me. Just two people hanging out after working long hours together to accomplish a joint goal.
Plus, my cast kind of made everything look stupid.
I won’t get it off until a while back in California. I’ve already had the Fort Collins doctors send over all of my information to my doctors back home. So, I’m stuck with this thing for a while longer. I try not to think about how it’s going to feel to look down on Eric’s signature while he’s not there, but that’s a problem for future Amelia.
Current Amelia is just marginally thankful that the cast and my favorite boots match.
I’m snacking on a few cubes of cheese when I hear Eric’s knock at my front door. It’s become so familiar over the last few weeks that I could recognize it anywhere. He knocks the same way every time, and for whatever stupid reason, his knock is what finally sets the reality of knowing I’m leaving here off.
Shoving those feelings aside, I head to open the door to a sight that causes my heart to skip a few beats. I’m glad I opted for the slightly “nicer” shirt, because standing in front of me is the Eric that will now forever be etched in my brain.
He’s got on his nice hat—not his usual working hat—a deep navy-blue button-down and stiff Levi’s of his own that are a constant in his wardrobe. He’s brought me a lot of flowers over the past few weeks, but never a full bouquet like the one in his hand. Simple white peonies paired with lush greenery and a few carnation stems are extended in my direction.
“You did it, babe. Book complete. Now do you want to take these with us or put them in water?”
I’m momentarily stunned by the casual way he makes me feel like the most accomplished person in the whole wide world, and something about the way he says “babe” just feels a little different tonight.
“Can we take them with us? What are we doing?”
“Yeah, let’s take them, I think you’ll wish you had ’em if we leave ’em behind. Now come on, Red. Let’s get going.” Then looking down at my shoes I hear him whisper under his breath, “Perfect.”
He drives us over to the stables where I see Roper outside of his pen, fully saddled up. “Eric, what are we doing?”
“I can’t let you leave here without getting back on a horse, but I promise you I’ll be right there the whole time.”
“Are you riding with me?”
“Of course.”
“On the same saddle?”
“I think I’ll have a heart attack if I see another horse race off with you by yourself, so yes. Plus, you still have your cast, so you’re stuck with me, babe.” I roll my eyes before opening the door and hopping out. This is dangerous. I barely survived the first time we shared a saddle, and that was when we weren’t on talking terms. Now that we spend so much time together? And I’m actively convincing myself I’m not in love with the man? These are shark-infested waters.
Roper accepts the pats to the nose I offer while I promise him not to try and make a two-person ride too uncomfortable for him. But he doesn’t seem to mind whatsoever when both of us climb up into the saddle. Well, Eric climbs up into the saddle. I’m placed in the saddle by two very strong hands that felt right at home claiming my hips as he lifted me to where I needed to be situated.
Eric easily guides the three of us out past the pen and into the wide-open spaces of the pasture. We don’t talk much, but that’s largely because the way our bodies are touching is causing both of us to periodically catch our breaths. Just like last time, I sink into using him for support, and it feels too right. And just like last time, he rests his arms on my legs when he’s not actively steering Roper around sets of trees.
Torture.
Pure, perfect, absolutely divine torture that I’ll think about in years to come as arguably one of the most physical, romantic moments of my life. You could cut the tension with a knife, but it feels like Eric has no plans of doing so. Sure, when he leans down to tell me something, his breath is at the shell of my ear in a way that gives me immediate goosebumps. And I swear I feel the ghost of a kiss at the crown of my head at one point. But that’s it. Nothing else.
By the time we reach our destination I’m all riled up, and the sun is clearly about an hour away from setting. We’ve only ridden for about fifteen minutes, so it can’t be too far away from the main house, but it could be four hours away for how secluded we feel.
Eric steers Roper over to a nearby tree, then he leans over, and I swear he’s intentionally talking so that his breath hits my ear. “I’m going to tie him up this time, so he doesn’t run on us. We’re not that far from the house, but I don’t want to risk him getting barn sour again.” He gets off the saddle, and I start to maneuver my way down, but he beats me to it. Those hands reach for me again in a way that feels like he’s been doing it for years. And who am I to complain? I’ve had impeccable self-control for weeks around this man who is every woman’s dream. If I want to enjoy the way his hands dwarf my hip bones, then I’m going to enjoy the way this man’s hands dwarf my hip bones.
My eyes are a little glazed over when he looks at me with that bit of smug confidence I’ve grown accustomed to. “It’s almost sunset, and this is one of the best viewing spots on the property. Want to help me set up?” I nod and he grabs a picnic blanket and a few containers of food out of Roper’s saddlebag.
