“That’s some serious shit,” Addison says. “The shine?”
“Every time Kailey smiles.”
Kailey’s dimple pops out as a smile covers her face. Addison grabs the list from me. “You did not write that, Ryder?” She looks down, reading it. “Well, hell, you did!” She smacks her husband in the arm. “Why haven’t you ever written something like that about me?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kailey
I’ve moved a few times in my life. I was only one when my parents moved our family into their current house in Northern California, so I don’t remember that. I moved into my college dorm, then to New Orleans for graduate school. I moved into my sister’s guest house after I graduated and found out I was pregnant. Most of those moves involved me packing my car full of boxes and clothes until I couldn’t see out the back window. They involved sweating and lifting and many trips back and forth to the car, days of organizing and getting things just how I wanted them.
Today’s move-in is completely different. I’ve had my booty parked on the sofa all day. Ryder hasn’t left my side. He’s directing this whole thing via telephone or via Maggie. Everything from the biggest details to the smallest—like making sure the television works and the refrigerator has food—has been taken care of. He wants every piece of furniture in place, and every piece of clothing hung neatly in the closet before I arrive. I’m trying not to laugh, but he seems to think the stress of me seeing an unpacked box might send me into pre-term labor.
So in the hotel room, I wait. I could watch television or play games on my phone, but nothing is as entertaining as watching Ryder direct all this. He’s trying to anticipate every possible thing I might need or want. Watching him make the grocery list for Maggie was hilarious. He must’ve asked me five times what I wanted on the list. He Googled common pregnancy cravings, and foods you should eat the first trimester of pregnancy. It’s over the top, but sweet at the same time, and reminds me of the man I first met. The one who took me around the festival, visiting all the food tents.
Watching him, gratitude fills my heart. I’ve been angry at him. I still am. He hurt me, but he’s trying. He’s trying really hard, which is more than I thought he’d do. That’s more than a lot of women in my position get. He’s willing to put his life, his career on hold to take care of me and this baby. I have to give him credit for that. Besides, he looks sexy doing it, his jeans hanging perfectly from his hips, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his biceps, and those blue eyes that seem to read my soul.
It’s almost five in the afternoon when Geoffrey finally comes to the hotel. It’s good to see him. His is a friendly face, and even though he’s security, I’d much rather spend time with him than Maggie. He’s nicer. I assume he’ll be driving us to the house, but he delivers quite different news.
“The ambulance is out front, sir,” Geoffrey says. “They should be up with the gurney any minute.”
He can’t be serious. “Someone hurt?” I ask, hoping against hope that thing is not for me.
Ryder smiles down at me like he got away with something. Why did I not anticipate this move? Malibu is a good hour away. No way would he let me sit upright for that long. And it’s so late in the day now, we are liable to hit traffic, increasing our drive time.
“The doctor’s orders said . . .”
“This is overkill,” I say. “I could lay in the back of the car.”
“Can’t wear a seatbelt that way,” he says.
“Then I can recline the seat. I don’t need an ambulance!” I turn to Geoffrey, hoping for an ally. “Help me out here.”
“I voted for a limo,” he says with a grin.
“Yes,” I say, throwing up my hands to Ryder. “A limo. Lots of room to stretch out.”
“Not gonna happen,” he says.
Fighting with him isn’t good for me or the baby, so I try another tactic. “Please.” Geoffrey busts out laughing. He’s on to my ways. I give my belly a rub. “Tell Daddy we want a limo.”
Smiling, I look up at Ryder, expecting him to be smiling back at me or shaking his head in disbelief, but instead, he’s just frozen, staring at me.
“Daddy?” he says softly, like he’s trying it on for size.
My hand moves just slightly, as if my fingers want to reach out for his, but they’re holding back. Still, it’s enough that Ryder notices, kneeling down beside me. No matter what happened between us, we are still this baby’s parents. There’s something unique and special about that, something neither one of us shares with anyone else. At least, I don’t think he does.
“Mommy wants a limo,” he says quietly.
“Mommy doesn’t want an ambulance,” I correct, not wanting him to think I’m becoming a diva and demanding chauffeur-driven limousines.
“You’ll lay down the whole way?” Ryder asks.
I sense him bending, and I can hardly believe it. I’m going to get my way. “Yes, I promise.”
A smirk comes over his face. “Let me carry you over the threshold?”
Unable to help myself, I start to laugh, mimicking his rough voice. “Not gonna happen.”
He chuckles and, without taking his eyes off me, says to Geoffrey. “Cancel the ambulance, and get us a limo.”
“Us?” I ask.
He places his hand down on my belly. “Us.”
*
Maggie steps out of the front door as Ryder and I exit the limo. I look up at the house. I was so angry before that I didn’t really appreciate how beautiful it really is—the flowers, the windows, the stone driveway—it’s all magnificent.
It’s a far cry from my sister’s guest house. If you have to be on bed rest, this is definitely the way to do it.
“Keys,” Maggie says, handing them to Ryder.
He immediately hands me a set. Surprised doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling. I told him I didn’t want this house, but now he’s giving me keys. Isn’t that a relationship thing to do?
And by handing me keys, he’s acting like I’m free to come and go as I please. We both know my bed rest limits that, but the gesture is appreciated, anyway. He’s letting me know I can walk away. He wants this to be my choice, staying with him.
Am I overthinking? Maybe I’m reading way too much into all this. Perhaps he simply doesn’t want me to lock myself out!
“If you want me to handle Kailey’s affairs, I need her information,” Maggie says to Ryder.
“What information?” I ask her, and Ryder turns to me. Apparently, Maggie can’t be bothered to speak to me directly.
“Any monthly bills you need taken care of?” he asks me. “Car note, insurance, student loan, that kind of thing?”
“Oh,” I say quietly.
Is this normal for him? I remember that article my sister found on that scary website where it was rumored he’d keep a girl around for the length of his tour then send her packing. Did he pay her bills, too? If I do this, does it make me some kind of “kept” woman? Like, he owns me or something? Does it make me a prostitute? I’m not having sex with him, but . . .