Free Must Be Love: (Nicole and Ryan) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 1) by Claire Kingsley Page A

okay," I say.
    "I'll be honest," Ryan says. "I'd like to throat punch that guy right about now."
    I laugh. Man, it feels good to laugh. "I'd pay good money to see that."
    A waitress brings our dinner. Roma's pizza is simple, and greasy, but holy shit is it delicious. Huge slices of pepperoni cover the thick cheese. It’s positively sinful. We chat about the festival a little, but it isn’t long before we’re on to other things: movies we've seen and want to see, places we've been, where we'd love to go if we had the chance. For me, it’s Europe. For Ryan, the Caribbean. Watching him smile, I think I might trade in backpacking through Europe for a white, sandy beach with a shirtless Ryan. We joke and laugh, poking fun at each other. I can’t remember the last time I was so relaxed. So free.
    I giggle as a string of cheese sticks to my chin. Ryan reaches across the table and runs a finger down my jaw to wipe it off. He sits back with this pensive look on his face, that insanely cute little furrow between his eyes.
    "What?" I ask.
    "Nothing," he says. "I just, kind of wondered if I should do this or not. But I'm glad I did."
    "Why?"
    "Why am I glad? Well, the sight of you with cheese on your face was worth the cost of dinner," he says.
    I laugh, but wipe my chin with a napkin, just to be sure. "No, dummy, why did you wonder if you should do this?"
    He opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak, then closes it again, glancing away. I hesitate, wondering if I shouldn't have asked. I meant it to be flirtatious, a reason for him to say something nice about wanting to see me. Then I could say something sweet back. Isn’t that how it works? Fuck, I’m so bad at this.
    His eyes move back to mine and his dimples pucker with his smile. "I just wasn't sure if you'd want to hang out, you know, outside of official festival business."
    My shoulders relax and I smile back. "Yeah, this has been great."
    He doesn’t reply—just sits there staring at me, his gaze so intense I can’t move. What is going on in that head of his? Has this turned into a date yet? Is that what I want? The longer he holds my eyes, the harder my heart pounds in my chest, and the more I think maybe the best thing would be for us to get out of here and go back to his place. Now.
    Ryan blinks, almost as if he’s startled. "I, um, I need to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."
    He leaves to use the restroom and I check my phone, more to anchor myself to some sort of reality than because I want to check my messages. I stare at the screen, not really seeing it. My feelings are a tangled mess, like splashes of color, all mingling and blending together. What is happening to me?
    My ears perk up to the conversation in the booth behind me. I swear I heard my name. I don’t really want to eavesdrop, but the sensation they are talking about me is so strong, I lean my head back and listen.
    "That's what I heard."
    "Wow. I didn't see that coming."
    "I know, isn't it strange? I guess she moved back in with her parents."
    Oh my god, they are talking about me.

    "So she left him?"
    "I think. Or maybe he kicked her out, I don't know. I heard she’s hanging around with that guy who bought the old church up the highway. I can't remember his name. Doesn't that seem kind of fast to you?"
    "Totally. It's sad. Some women just can't be alone."
    I feel the color drain from my face and my stomach turns over. Is that what people are saying about me? That I can’t be alone? I want to turn around and argue—tell them I am a strong, independent, successful woman. I work for a prestigious firm in Seattle and I make my own way in the world. I don’t need anyone. But I’m too stunned to do anything other than stare at the table.
    Ryan slips back into his seat across from me. "Hey, sorry. Do you want to go get some dessert and a drink somewhere?"
    I blink at him. "Um, no. I think I should get home."
    "Is everything all right?"
    "Yeah," I say, with a flippant wave of my hand.