Page 52 of Left of Forever

“Think you’d have to hold something against me to get me off,” I say, and his grip around my hand squeezes tighter. “But.” I’ve got a brilliant idea. New rules. “What if we say we can’t do anything we’ve done before?”

“Meaning?” He licks his lower lip.

I can’t resist teasing him a little. “Meaning, we couldn’t pull over and fuck in the back seat—”

“Jesus, Byrd.”

“—but last night was the first time I came on your thigh.” I give him a slinky grin. “We could get creative.” Somehow this is another justification in my brain.

His jaw works in fits. “I have always appreciated your creative-thinking skills,” he grits. I’m not sure if it’s his palm or mine starting to sweat where they’re pressed together.

“Thank you. They’ve served me quite well in the past. I was a big fan of yours last night, too.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Good,” I declare. “Now pipe down so we can listen to my birthday anthem.” I hit Play on my phone and turn the volume up. He grins at the road and kisses the back of my hand again.

The switchback road that leads us up to Montetesta Ranch is lined in soft, wheat-colored grasses that sway in the breeze, the occasional California poppy bursting through, plus a medley of cypress and other evergreens. The climb feels never-ending, until it finally crests and deposits us at a two-way stop. To the left and in the distance is the manor I saw from the website, and according to the sign in front of us, to the right lies the guest cottages and tasting room, where we also check in.

The tasting room is a condensed version of the manor; white stucco with black trim and terra-cotta tiles on the roof. A deck littered with tables and chairs wraps around it on all four sides.

“Reservation for the Byrds?” asks a woman from behind the counter when we stroll in. She looks like she’s barely older than Sam. Emilia, according to her name tag.

“Should be two reservations, but yes,” says Ellis at my side. When she pauses wiping down the glass in her hand and gives us an owlish look, I can predict what’s coming next.

“You called and updated your reservation to one cottage…?” she trails off, eyes darting back and forth between us.

Ellis and I turn to each other. “Silas,” we say in unison.

“I’ll text him,” I say, but Ellis shakes his head silently, already pushing Call on his phone and walking out.

“Sorry,” I say to the girl. “We’ll need to change it back to two cottages, if that’s all right.”

She grimaces. “We had a waiting list for this weekend. I called the first name on the list already.”

I shut my eyes. This isfine. No big deal. I already had designs on hooking up with him, anyway. This isn’t an insurmountable problem, exactly. I’m not going to lie to myself and act like this is the Thing that will make me prematurely jump my ex without appropriately addressing the issues we’re unearthing on this trip.

I would have last night.

“Silas and Micah swear it wasn’t them,” Ellis says, stepping back into the room.

“Sage wouldn’t do this,” I say suspiciously. “You don’t think…?”

He gives me a quizzical smile. “You think he’d try toParent Trapus?” He laughs. “Now?”

I try to call Sam to find out, and it goes to voicemail after two rings. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” I say with a sigh. “They’re all booked up now.”

“Should I take you to the cottage, then?” asks Emilia. “You’ll have a few hours to settle in and explore the grounds before your cooking class.”

“Cookingclass?” I struggle to keep the annoyance out of my voice. I bake six days a week, and as much as I love what I do, I’m not exactly gunning to spend my birthday in a kitchen. Still, I realize Sam probably thought he was planning a nice surprise and I try to recover. “That’ll be fun,” I say, faking a smile.

We climb back into the truck and follow Emilia in her golf cart over to the rows of cottages. They’re tiny. We’re about to be squeezed from all sides. It’s dramatic, I know, but it feels like thelast forty-eight hours might’ve been as successful as they were because we had space to separate, too, and I’m suddenly worried the extra pressure could crack us.

When we step onto the small porch with our bags in hand, Ellis looks over at me and says, “We’re okay,” with a nod.

I realize I’m holding my breath, and I blow it out on a nervous laugh. “We’re okay.”

It’s his turn to laugh anxiously when he unlocks the door and steps in. At least 75 percent of the room is occupied by a bed.