In the Stillness - By Andrea Randall Page 0,56

air. I was supposed to be okay with that—it’s what I’d wanted in the first place. Still, once my heart started piecing itself back together, it began to ache again for the smiling boy on the Amherst common who kissed me like he meant it, a minute after meeting me.

* * *

“Who knew ordering a cake would be such an event.” Tosha fakes being out of breath as she meets me in the produce section. Deliveries are just coming in and we have to dodge dollies of squash and asparagus as we fill our baskets. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

“I’m feeling trapped, to be honest. Eric and I can’t be married anymore. I don’t love him and it’s just getting uglier between us by the day. That can’t be good for the boys. But, knowing Eric, he’ll press that it won’t be good for them if we split up their home now, especially with everything going on with Ollie . . .” I kneel down in front of a huge basket of yellow squash and start picking through them.

“It’s a bad reason to stay in a bad marriage, Natalie. A disability. You can’t do that to either one of you, or the boys.”

“Ugh, I know.” I sigh as I stand. “Luckily after next week, the boys will be at my parents’ for a week, so we’ll have time to sort through some shit while they’re gone.”

“Remember,” Tosha elbows me, “come stay at our place while you get everything squared away and find yourself a place to live.”

I nod and we head to the check-out. It makes sense that I would be the one to leave the apartment. Eric lived there before we even lived together—it’s his. I’m thankful, though, for the generous trust fund my grandmother Baker left to me when she passed away. I’ll be able to live off that for a little while, while I find a job.

Unless Eric and I can work it out . . . no, not an option on this side of the table.

As Tosha and I leave the market, I roll my eyes at the “Manning Farms” truck. Apart from seeing Ryker’s dad when I was eight months pregnant with the twins, that name is the most I’ve seen of Ryker since the stairwell in 2002.

Until he hops out of the back of the farm truck.

“Ryker,” I whisper as I stop dead in my path, causing a woman to bump into me from behind.

“What?” Tosha mouths “sorry” to the woman behind us as she pulls me to the side. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I set my bag on a nearby ledge and walk almost trance-like toward the mid-sized box truck. I should be running in the opposite direction. Far away. I have no way of knowing what the last ten years have done to him.

Tosha shouts unabashedly after me. “Natalie! Where are you going?”

As soon as “Natalie” springs from her mouth, Ryker stands straight and turns in my direction.

Holy shit, it’s really him.

With erratic breaths, and my heart slamming against my throat, I maintain my march toward him, needing confirmation that he’s really standing there and this isn’t the final straw in my psychological breakdown. He wipes sweat from his brow with his forearm, then takes off his gloves and rubs his eyes for a second before seeming to blink me into focus.

Yeah, it’s really me.

He’s more muscular than he was the last time I saw him. He’s the size he was before he left for deployment. Tanned and dirty, he takes my breath away. Still, this can’t be happening. I stop ten feet from him and stare a second longer than is socially acceptable. Miraculously, my vocal cords work.

“Ryker?” I shake my head, certain I’ve tumbled off the edge.

A lopsided grin takes over his face as he shakes his head, too.

“Natalie.”

Chapter 23

It’s him. He just said my name . . .

My jaw loses tension and the late-May air around my body is suddenly frigid. Neither one of us moves, until someone I assume is a co-worker walks up to him. I remind myself that Tosha’s car is a short fifty-yard dash away.

“We’re all set, Ryker, just bring them the inventory sheets and they say we’re good to go.”

That guy just said his name, too.

“All right, Steve-o. Thanks.” Ryker slaps him on the shoulder—but never looks at him— grabs some papers, and walks toward me.

Tosha calls from behind me as she approaches. “Seriously, Natalie, what are you do—” I hear our bags

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