Page 162 of Bone Deep
Jen's smile softens. “He had help.” Then she shrugs. “But yeah. It was his idea. He wanted to help Tyler hard launch his collection.” She gestures around the ballroom. “And raise money for THRIVE.”
My eyes dart around the room. Suddenly I recognize the faces. The silver tuxes. The volunteers. They’re all from the center. The older ones, at least. My eyes are now wet.
Anthony and Chance appear beside us, apparently catching the end of the conversation. “And the dinner tonight?” Anthony adds.
I look at him and he grins. “Ryan gathered everyone in the over-eighteen group at THRIVE who's interested in cooking.” My mouth falls open. Anthony points toward the back of the ballroom. “They're making the entire meal.”
“What?”
“The hotel's kitchen is supervising,” Anthony clarifies, laughing. “But Butters is basically running them like a catering crew.”
I stare at him. Then around the room. Then back at the program in my hands. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can’t— “I can't believe he did all of this.”
“I can,” Chance says firmly. “But don’t be angry with him. Tyler wanted to surprise you. He swore Butters to secrecy.”
Angry? A dozen emotions are crashing through me right now. Anger is not one of them. Wonder. Disbelief. Pride. I swallow hard, then look directly at Anthony. My voice comes out rough. Wet. Certain. “Tell me where the kitchen is.”
Anthony's eyebrows shoot up.
“Where is he?” The words catch in my throat, but I push them out. “Where is my man?”
A shriek erupts from Harper. Cricket grabs Jen's arm. Dita gasps. Anthony's face splits into a massive grin. “It’s about damn time.”
I narrow my eyes. Anthony only laughs. Then jerks his head toward the back hallway. “Come on.” He starts walking. “I'll take you.”
As I follow him, Chance reaches out and smacks a hand against my shoulder. His smile is warm. Certain. “You got this.”
Forty-Seven
More Than Words
Spencer
Anthony leads me through a set of service doors at the back of the ballroom and down a short hallway. The sounds of the event fade behind us, but the closer we get to the kitchen, the louder everything becomes—pans clanging, voices calling, the hiss of burners. Then we step through the doors, and the sight leaves me breathless.
Ryan stands at a prep station surrounded by a half dozen kids from THRIVE. Bonnie, Jacob, and several others I recognize straightaway. They're gathered around him in a semicircle, watching intently as he demonstrates something on a plate. His sleeves are rolled up, a white chef's coat stretches across his broad shoulders, and atop his head is a gigantic floppy chef's hat.
He's smiling as he explains something, using his hands while the kids nod and ask questions. They're completely locked in, engaged, and enchanted by him. Just like everyone else.
Just like me.
Ryan reaches for a garnish, then pauses. His head lifts. Those green eyes find mine from across the room, and a huge, dopey grin spreads across his face.
My heart detonates.
There he is.
There. He. Fucking. Is.
Before I can get in my own way, I'm already moving. Ryan's smile grows as I march straight across the kitchen, grab his hand, and start dragging him away.
“Uh—” Ryan starts.
“I'll bring him back in a minute,” I interject.
A chorus immediately erupts behind us. “Ooooooooh.”
Ryan starts laughing.
