Leave Me Breathless

Ryan Willis is the epitome of peace and freedom. To me, he is the cure, and I love the idea that the cause can’t touch me so long as I’m with him. Can this be my new life forever? I smile and close my eyes, the gentle swing of the hammock hypnotising. He is an unexpected gift after living amid so much ugly for so long. I’m safe here in Hampton. And I’m safe here with Ryan. So I should stay . . . right?

The hammock suddenly jerks, and my eyes flip open as Ryan dives in to join me. ‘Whoa!’ I cry, tossing the spoon aside and grabbing the fabric on both sides. He laughs as he settles at the other end, his feet by either side of my head. I shift my own legs to mirror him. ‘You’ve ruined my peace,’ I grumble playfully, placing my hands on his thighs and stroking in wide circles.

‘I am your peace,’ he replies without hesitation, grinning knowingly around his spoon. My hands pause in their strokes, one eye narrowing on him. This only encourages a bigger, more satisfied smile from Ryan. Maybe I should be concerned that he’s so very right. Yet I’m not. It doesn’t mean he has to know the gory details as to why I feel that way. Last night, he pressed me too hard. The way he looks at me, the way he is with me. I don’t want that to change. If he knows my story, he will treat me differently. I don’t want to be some kind of victim to him.

‘I want to paint your lake,’ I declare, poking at his cheek with my big toe.

‘I know,’ he replies simply, turning his face into my foot and gnashing his teeth playfully. ‘Like I said, it’s all yours.’ Our smiles collide. ‘Just let me know when, and I’ll pick you up. You can put all your equipment on the back of my truck.’

‘Maybe I’ll close the shop early one day, if that’s okay with you.’

‘I’d have you here every minute of the day if I could,’ he says, the statement breezing out effortlessly and naturally. I study him, searching for any clue that his declaration has surprised him as much as it has me. I find nothing; he just flashes me a half smile, as if he’s aware of what I’m doing and he’s further reinforcing his declaration. I’m about to yell, You can! because I’d love nothing more than passing the days away here with him – painting, cuddling, eating his ice cream, making swings, showering outside, and painting bridges. But this isn’t just about him and me.

‘Have you spoken to Alex this morning?’ Ryan’s daughter is his priority. Not me. She’s been so accepting and encouraging, but I don’t want to overstep the mark. First and foremost, Ryan belongs to her. I respect that.

‘I’m picking her up from her mother’s later this morning.’ He digs deep into the tub and licks the spoon before tossing them aside. ‘Until then’ – he struggles up from his back, making the hammock swing precariously – ‘you’re all mine.’

I yelp as we’re rocked, my hands clinging tightly to the sides. ‘What about the shower?’ I say on a laugh, steam now billowing up from the concrete tiles in the stall.

‘The shower can wait.’ The sight of his big, strong, manly frame negotiating the hammock as he crawls toward me is really quite amusing. He moves forward a few inches gingerly, gasps and stills when we wobble dangerously, waits for us to stabilize, and then moves forward again. And repeat. More than once, I’m certain we’re going to be flipped and tossed to the ground, my whole body tense.

When he’s halfway to me, he obviously decides he’s going about it all wrong and launches himself the rest of the way, landing on me with a grunt. I laugh hard, grabbing at his shoulders to stop him toppling out. It doesn’t work. The sky flips up on me, and my laugh turns into a squeal as the sense of falling takes over, the speed and gravity making my stomach cartwheel. ‘Ryan!’ I close my eyes and wait for impact, our tangled bodies seeming to take forever to reach the ground.

‘I got you,’ he says calmly, performing some kind of stealth shoulder turn that has him landing on his back and me splatting onto his chest. He grunts on impact. ‘That didn’t quite go as I planned,’ he chuckles, helping me to untangle my limbs from his.

‘You clumsy oaf.’ I wedge my palms into his chest and push myself up. ‘I was quite happy relaxing in the hammock.’

‘But I wanted a cuddle,’ he whines, seizing my shoulders and hauling me down again. I’m engulfed in his arms, to the point I can’t breathe. But still it’s heaven.