Page 124 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Don’t do that. Yeah, you’re struggling. Who wouldn’t be? But every day you’re standing up.” His hand creeps over mine where it rests on the bed between us. “That’s bravery.”
I look down at his hand on mine, and the breath hitches in my throat. His touch is warm and solid.
He nods at the placement of his hand. “Is this okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch as his fingers slowly slide over mine. The touch is tentative, like he’s giving me every opportunity to pull away if I want to.
But I don’t want to pull away. The way his fingers, calloused from guitar strings, interweave with mine feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“I didn’t think I’d feel like this,” I whisper, the admission slipping out before I can stop it.
“Like what?” Ryder asks, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand.
“Like I could feel anything other than numb or broken.”
“You’re not broken.” Ryder’s free hand comes up to cup my cheek. The careful touch makes my eyes flutter closed. “Maybe a little bent, like the spring in the music box.”
I lean into his touch, feeling more grounded than I have since my parents died. “Can you fix me just as easily?”
His palm presses against my cheek, and his thumb brushes across my cheekbone, giving me a cocoon of safety and connection.
“Ally,” the nickname pours out of him like music.
I open my eyes and find him looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read. The moment stretches between us, weighted with something I’m not ready to name. My heart hammers in my chest, and suddenly the intimacy feels too much.
I pull back slightly, and Ryder’s hand falls away from my cheek at the same time.
Ryder clears his throat softly and looks around the room again, his gaze landing on something by my closet. “Is that your camera bag?”
I follow his gaze. “Yes.”
“Your parents wanted you to use it to capture your adventures, right?”
“If I ever have one again.”
He looks up at the blank space where the paintings were. “I think taking down something ugly that was frightening you is huge. It’s brave. You should document it.”
My stomach tightens. “I haven’t used it since...”
“I know.” There’s purpose in his voice. “But maybe you could take one photo. Just one. Capturing something in this moment.”
“Ryder…”
“What about the music box?” he suggests, nodding toward my nightstand. “That wouldn’t be a big deal, would it?”
A knot ties between my shoulder blades.
He smiles and throws a thumb toward his chest. “Or me, if you want proof that I actually did something helpful today.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh. “You want me to take your picture?”
“I’m just saying, I’d make an excellent subject.” He’s teasing now, trying to lighten the mood. “Very photogenic. Great hair.”
I shake my head, but I’m already thinking about lighting and angles.
“One photo,” Ryder says again, softer this time. “That’s all. Just to prove you still can.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
