Maybe Now (Maybe 2)

Sydney: Nope. Just got out of the shower.

Ridge: Oh, yeah? So you’re naked?

Sydney: I have a towel on. And no, you aren’t getting a pic.

Ridge: I don’t want a pic. I want you to open your front door and let me in.

I glance toward the living room, then look back down at my phone. He’s here? I only left his apartment an hour ago. I rush to the living room with worry in the pit of my stomach. I hope nothing is wrong. Surely Hunter didn’t do anything stupid after I pulled away.

I look through the peephole and there he is, staring at the door. I leave the living room light off since I’m opening the door with only a towel on. Ridge slips inside my apartment. I close the door, it’s dark, I’m suddenly no longer wearing a towel. Ridge’s mouth is on mine and my back is against the living room wall.

Ridge isn’t really the type to just show up without telling me first, but I don’t mind it.

I don’t mind it at all.

What I do mind is that he’s dressed and I’m not.

I pull off his shirt and unbutton his jeans. His mouth is everywhere, but his hands have me caged against the wall. He kicks off his pants and then picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He starts toward the bedroom, but realizes we’re way closer to the couch, so he turns and lowers me to the sofa.

We’re still kissing when he lowers himself on top of me, and then he’s inside me and it’s incredible. I am so in love with this man.

He stops kissing me for a moment, so I let my head fall back onto the cushion, and I relax as he kisses my neck. When he reaches my mouth again, he pulls back and stares down at me. He brushes my hair back, and there’s just enough light from the window shining down on us so that I can see every emotion in his eyes. He’s looking at me with so much feeling when he says, “I love you, Sydney.” He pauses above me so that I’m focused on his words and nothing else. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”

I close my eyes because the impact of his words hits me everywhere. I had no idea how much I wanted those words. Needed those words. And he knows I would never ask him to admit that or compare us to his last relationship, but here he is, wanting to diminish any shred of doubt I might have had while at his apartment tonight. I repeat his words silently, never wanting to forget this moment. This feeling. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”

His warm mouth presses gently against mine, and his tongue slides past my lips, delicately searching for mine. When I kiss him back, I wrap my hand in his hair and pull him as close as I can. For the next several minutes, Ridge proves to me just how much I mean to him without speaking or signing another word.

Even when it’s over, several minutes go by with our lips still connected. Every time he tries to stop kissing me, he can’t. It’s just one kiss after another after another. He eventually buries his face against my neck and sighs against my skin. “Can I spend the night with you?”

His question makes me laugh. I don’t know why. It just feels like it’s a given at this point. As soon as I nod, he grabs my arms and pulls me up with him, then lifts me and carries me to the bedroom. He lays me on the bed and then crawls under the covers with me, wrapping his bare legs around me. I love that neither of us are dressed. This is a first.

I kiss him on the nose and want to sign to him, but it’s dark. He also can’t read lips in the dark, so I grab my phone.

Sydney: That was completely unexpected.

Ridge: Do you prefer your boyfriend to be more predictable?

Sydney: I prefer my boyfriend to be you. That’s really my only requirement. Just be Ridge Lawson and you can date me.

Ridge: I’m pretty good at being Ridge Lawson. You’re in luck.

We are so cheesy. I hate us and love us.

Sydney: Unexpected or predictable, I like all the versions of you.

Ridge: I like all the versions of you, too. Even if the rest of our lives were predictable, I’d never get tired of you. We could live the same day over and over and I’d just ask for more.

Sydney: Like Groundhog Day. I feel the same way.

Ridge: You make routine something I actually look forward to. If you told me you wanted us to go wash dishes together right now, I’d get excited.

Sydney: What if I asked you to do laundry with me? Would that excite you?

The light from our phones makes it possible for me to see him when he looks at me. He nods slowly, like the thought of doing laundry with me turns him on. I grin and look back at my phone.

Sydney: Would you look forward to eating the same meal every single day?

Ridge: I would if I were eating it with you.

Sydney: Would you be able to drink the same drink every single day?

Ridge: If I were drinking it with you, I would still be thirsty for it on my deathbed.

Sydney: Oh, that’s a good line. Keep going.

Ridge: If I could hear music, I would listen to the same song over and over and never tire of it as long as I was listening to it with you.

I laugh.

Sydney: I see you still have the same self-deprecating deaf jokes you’ve always had.

Ridge reaches out and touches my mouth. “And you have the same beautiful smile you’ve always had.” His thumb runs over my bottom lip, but his eyes grow intense as he stares at my mouth. “Same smile…same laugh.” He pulls his hand from my mouth and lifts up. “This feels like a song,” he says. As soon as he says it, he rolls over and turns on the lamp. “Paper?” He opens my top drawer. He doesn’t find paper, but he finds a pen. He faces me with a look of urgency. “I need paper.”

I roll off the bed and walk to my desk. I grab a legal pad and a book for him to place it on. He grabs them out of my hands before I’m even seated back on the bed; then he starts writing lyrics. I’ve missed watching this so much. He writes a few sentences, and I lean over his shoulder and watch him.

Same seats on the couch

Same drinks when we go out

Same smile, same laugh

You know I’ll never get enough of that

He pauses for a moment, then he looks at me. He smiles and hands me the pen. “Your turn.” It feels like old times. I take the pen and the legal pad and think for a moment before adding my own lines.

Same clothes on the floor

Same dog at our door

Same room, same bed

I wouldn’t wish for anything instead

He’s staring at the lyrics when he hops off the bed and starts looking around the floor. “Jeans?” he says. I point to the living room. He nods, like he forgot we came to my bedroom naked. He points over his shoulder. “Guitar. My car.” He rushes out of my room, and a minute later, I hear him walk out my front door. I look at the page and read through the lyrics again. I have two more sentences written when he makes it back to my bedroom with his guitar.

When everything is changing

Baby you’re written in stone

He sets his guitar on the bed and looks over the lyrics, then motions for the pen. He tears out the lyrics and starts writing out chords and notes on another page. This is my favorite part. This is the magic—watching him hear a song that doesn’t even have sound and doesn’t even exist yet. The pen is flying over the paper frantically. He pulls the lyrics back in front of him and starts adding to them.

Feels like we made it

Got something of our own

Maybe it’s predictable

But I can’t complain

With you and me

All I need

Is more of the same

More of the same

He hands me the notepad and pen and picks up his guitar. He starts playing, and I’m reading the lyrics, wondering how he does this with such little effort. Just like that, he’s created a new song. An entire song from nothing more than a few sentences and a little inspiration.

I begin to write another verse while he plays the chords.

Same songs in the car

W

e never need to go too far and

I won’t leave you alone

Just stay the same baby

I’ve always known that