Taytum
Three years is a long time to live in the “what ifs.” At twenty-two, I wasn’t that same nineteen-year-old hiding in the shadows of a basement, but as I stood in front of the mirror, the nerves felt exactly the same. I’d finally messaged him back, and tonight was the night we were actually going to see if the spark from three years ago was still alive.
I picked out a pink wrap shirt that hugged me in all the right places and my favorite black jeans. I ran a straightener through my hair until it was a sleek, blonde curtain. I looked like a woman who knew what she wanted, even if my stomach was doing somersaults.
The problem? Ryder had moved, and I was directionally challenged on a good day.
“I’m literally turning in circles, Ryder,” I said into my Bluetooth as I cruised down a dark backroad.
“Just… hold on,” he muttered. Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled my speakers. My eyes went wide. “Ryder! Are you seriously peeing while on the phone with me?”
“I’m a multitasker, Taye. Get over it,” he chuckled, the sound of flushing following shortly after. “Take the next left. I’m standing in the driveway.”
When I finally pulled up, there he was. He looked older, broader, and even more trouble than I remembered. He hopped into my passenger seat, the familiar scent of cedar and laundry detergent filling the small space. In his hands were two clinking road beers.
“Really? Road beers?” I teased, though I was already smiling.
“Tradition,” he said, handing me one.
As I pulled away, a country song-one of my absolute favorites-started humming through the speakers. I didn’t even think about it; I just started singing. To my surprise, Ryder’s gravelly voice joined in, hitting the chorus with me. We were shouting the lyrics, laughing between the lines, and for a second, it felt like those three missing years had never happened.
We got to the bar, and the bravado came right back. “Just so you know,” he said, leaning against the doorframe as we walked in, “I don’t really dance with girls. I just kind of do my own thing. Don’t expect me to be out there twirling you around.”
Duly noted, Walter,” I said, hiding a smirk.
Ten minutes later, I watched, mesmerized, as Ryder ended up on the dance floor with an older woman who had to be at least sixty. He was spinning her around, laughing and making her night. It was the sweetest, most ridiculous thing I’d ever seen. He wasn’t the “predator” Carly had warned me about; he was just… Ryder.
The drive back was quieter. We didn’t go inside right away; we just sat in my car in his driveway, the engine ticking as it cooled. The conversation shifted from jokes to the real stuff. He told me about a close friend who spiraled into drugs, his voice losing its edge as he recounted the stories of a life that had gone off the rails. I just listened, leaning my head against the seat, realizing how much he carried behind that smirk.
“You know,” He said, looking out the windshield. “I never do this. I never just sit in a car and talk to a girl for hours.”
“Maybe you’ve just never met a girl worth talking to,” I whispered.
He looked at me then, his gaze heavy. “Come inside Taytum.”
“I don’t know Ryder…”
“What, are you a prude?” he challenged, that familiar spark back in his eyes
“I am not a prude!” I snapped, falling right into his trap.
We ended up tangled in his sheets, the banter finally dying down as we rediscovered the chemistry that had been simmering since I was nineteen.
Ryder
I’d been waiting for this night since the day she left my basement three years ago. When she pulled into the driveway in that pink shirt, looking like a dream, I knew I was in trouble.
The road beers were a test-to see if she’d still give me that smart-mouthed look. She did. And when she started singing that country song? I was gone. Most girls try to act “cool” around me. Taytum just acted like Taytum.
At the bar, I told her I didn’t dance. And I don’t. But the old lady reminded me of my aunt, and I couldn’t say no. I saw Taytum watching me, a soft look in her eyes, and I felt that “soft spot” growing into something much bigger.
Sitting in the car with her afterwards was the highlight of my year. I don’t talk about the heavy shit-the friends I’ve lost, the things I’ve seen-but with her, the words just came out. She didn’t interrupt; she just listened.
I didn’t want the night to end. I called her a prude just to get her inside, knowing exactly which buttons to push. But once the door was closed and she was in my arms, the games stopped. She wasn’t just the girl from my basement anymore. She was the only girl I wanted in my room.