Untethered

25 | Secrets Unlocked

IN CASE YOU MISSED IT: CHAPTER 24 WAS PRIVATE

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When Emma opened her eyes, she did not see pines towering over her, or feel the gentle swaying of the dock beneath her. Turning over, she realized Ryan must have carried her inside sometime during the night. Her heart stuttered when she caught sight of him in the bed next to her. A muscled bicep was draped over his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. Every so often, he would make little noises like he was dreaming, making her lips twitch into a fond smile. She was about to get up, when her name whispered across his lips. She froze. He didn't move or say anything else, and while she was tempted to wake him up by tasting those smooth, sculpted lips, she wanted time alone with her thoughts more.

Fifteen minutes later, Emma had carefully extricated herself from the bed, and was curled up in the old porch swing with her coffee, inhaling deeply. The fresh, spicy scent of pine-laden air filled her senses, and curled around her in a wave of nostalgia.

Suddenly she was five-years-old again, camping with her grandparents. As soon as she heard the early morning birdsong breaking the stillness, she'd jump up and creep out of bed. Stealing out onto the little porch, she'd find her Grandpa, and climb into his lap. She'd snuggle against his chest, as he drank his morning coffee, they would watch the forest come to life around them.

It struck her that, while it did not cover the breadth of her memories, this setting was the essence of what she cherished about him. It was moments like this—the stillness, the smell of the forest, black coffee, and the faint, sweet scent of pipe-tobacco that conjured up the image of him that she held in her heart. The one that was the sum-total of who he was, and how she remembered him whenever he came to mind. His rumbling, faintly wheezy laugh, the lilt in his voice when he teased her, making her giggle along with him, and his kind, twinkling eyes.

She never knew a gentler, more tender-hearted man; he wouldn't even kill a spider. Once, when some hornets built a nest under the eaves on the house, he bundled up in head-to-toe winter gear, in the middle of summer. After he smoked the nest, he walked two miles to relocate them to the nearby woods. When she asked why he didn't just kill them, he asked her why he should kill them needlessly, when it was only a little more effort to find them a more appropriate home.

He'd gazed down at her with kind brown eyes, ever the patient teacher. "Even the smallest life has significance, Emmy. It shouldn't be up to any one person to decide who is worthy of living or dying."

Most people never saw anything but a quiet, good-natured man, but he always showed her his more vulnerable side, his true depth. It was like he knew she needed it.

He always took a little bit more time with her. He taught her how to fish, find and pick edible berries, build a fire, navigate the woods, and so much more.

He taught her to learn by watching and listening. Because of him, she felt strong, smart, and capable. All the things she longed to be; all the things her mother wasn't.

It occurred to her, as she reminisced, that Ryan made her feel the same way.

It was really bothering her that she was having so much trouble telling him that she loved him, too. In the back of her mind, though, nagging doubts lingered. She was plagued by the fear that she would get so caught up in him that she would lose herself.

A little sigh escaped as the magic of the night before came back to her. He'd made love to her without actually doing the deed—not just her body, either. He knew what she needed—what she craved to feel, and to hear. He knew how to make her feel cherished and special instinctively. Which, honestly, is exactly what made her so uncomfortable with him from the beginning. He understood her in spite of the walls she put up. And she couldn't hide from the uncanny connection she felt toward him.