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Ryan doesn’t become a saboteur on purpose.
And really, saboteur is a pretty dramatic word to be using in the first place. Sabotage implies the ruination of something wanted, and Carson has made it very clear that he’s not interested in romance at the moment.
So really, Ryan’s just doing him a lot of tiny favors that all add up to one huge favor, which is what anyone would do for a friend slash housemate slash co-parent. And sure, it didn’t start out on purpose, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve some credit for doing it.
Really, Carson would be grateful if he knew, and the only reason he doesn’t is because it just never comes up and really isn’t all that relevant anyway. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Ryan has actively kept it from him.
It starts like this: Ryan’s sitting in the living room doom scrolling on his phone when Carson calls from his office, “Ryan? You here?”
He’s in Carson’s doorway in a few strides. “Hey man, what’s up?”
“I’m about to get on a discovery call and it’ll probably take a while, but Bess let me know she saw Julia Branch in town and that she mentioned coming by to talk to me today. If she comes in the next couple hours, can you get the door and maybe get some basic info from her?”
“Like phone number and email?”
“Yeah, but also maybe what she needs help with? But just her contact info is fine. I’ll have to call either way.”
“You got it,” Ryan says, flashing a thumbs up. “Anything else?”
“No, but thanks,” Carson says, with a tired smile. “I’m not complaining about having the work, but I don’t know how many more clients I can take on, so I’m grateful for the help.”
“Any time,” Ryan says, shrugging, and returns to the couch.
When he hears knocking 40 minutes later, he grabs a pad and pen from beside the phone and opens the door to a smiling Julia, whose face quickly falls in disappointment.
“Hi, Julia,” he says.
“Is Carson here?” she asks, craning her neck to peer around him.
Ryan bristles a little, but thinks he manages to still sound professionally friendly as he says, “He’s on a call at the moment. He asked me to let you know he’s sorry he can’t speak to you today, but I’m happy to take your contact information, and he’ll get back to you.”
“Oh,” Julia says, looking even more disappointed. “Well I suppose I could always come by later in the afternoon...”
“He’s booked solid for the rest of the day,” Ryan finds himself saying, in spite of the fact that he’s pretty sure it’s not true. “But like I said, I’m happy to take your contact information, as well as any message you’d like to leave him.”
Julia sighs, resigned.
“Well, all right. Can I leave these with you?” she asks, holding out a covered foil muffin tin that Ryan takes, a little reluctantly. “They’re bran muffins,” she explains. “Carson’s favorite!”
“Yum!” Ryan says, placing the pad on top of the lid, and hoping that had sounded less sarcastic than it was. “And your number?”
She gives it to him, along with good times to reach her (which is apparently any time day or night so Ryan doesn’t know why she bothers). After he thanks her one more time for the gross muffins, she finally leaves, and he shuts the door with a heavy sigh.
In the moment, he doesn’t think to question his irritation, but he probably would have blamed it on the bran muffins anyway.
It continues like this: a few days later he walks downstairs to find Bess on the phone.
“Of course, Ms. Goldthwaite, I’ll tell him,” she’s saying. “No, as I said, he’s out at the moment and I’m not sure when he’ll be back. But I’ll let him know to call you as soon as possible.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows at her as he walks into the kitchen and she rolls her eyes, gesturing at the phone.
“Mmhmm,” he hears her say as he heads for the coffee maker. “Mmhmm. Okay, Ms. Goldthwaite. Thank you, Ms. Goldthwaite. Have a wonderful day. Yes, I have all your information written down. Okay. Okay, bye!”
Ryan hears the thump of the phone in the cradle before Bess strides into the kitchen and slumps onto one of the bar stools. “Another new client for Carson?” he asks, laughing a bit.
She nods. “Most of them aren’t so bad, but I think she thought if she talked long enough I would somehow conjure Carson for her.”
“At least she didn’t bring bran muffins,” Ryan says.
“Ugh, seriously!” Bess agrees, wrinkling her nose. “Wasn’t it shocking how much Carson likes those?”
“I would have said horrifying, but pretty much.”
“Yeah, that works better. Anyway, I was actually on my way out, but if you’re gonna be around, can you give this message to Carson?” Bess holds out a piece of paper, and Ryan takes it, nodding, folds it up to put in his pocket, and promptly forgets about it.
He finds it the next day when he’s checking his pockets while doing laundry, but it doesn’t seem worth giving it to Carson by then. He isn’t exactly desperate for new clients anymore, and he seems too overwhelmed to deal with someone as chatty as Margaret Goldthwaite.
His effort — or lack thereof, really — turns out not to matter anyway.
“Did anyone talk to Meg Goldthwaite earlier this week?” Carson asks at dinner a few nights later. “I ran into her outside the bakery earlier, and she was upset I hadn’t called her.”
“I did,” Bess says, “but I—”
“It’s my fault,” Ryan cuts in. “Bess gave me the message to pass along and I forgot about it. Sorry, Carson.”
Carson shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal. I was able to smooth things over with her pretty easily; it was just unexpected, so I was curious.”
“What’d you get at the bakery?” Nancy asks, and shrugs when everyone looks at her. “I’m just saying, if there’s dessert, I’m interested.”
“I didn’t get anything,” Carson says. “I was just walking by when Meg came out.”
“Then what’s in that bakery box in the fridge?” Ryan asks.
Carson flushes. “Eclairs.”
“Ooh, from Meg?” Bess teases.
“Once we cleared everything up, I told her I could meet with her here this afternoon. She brought them with her. She was just being generous!” he finishes, a little defensively.
The others all laugh at this, but even as he does so, Ryan feels a stab of irritation that Meg had managed to get to Carson in spite of his effort to block her.
A shift occurs like this: he’s on the phone with yet another “potential client” a few weeks later, in the middle of assuring her he’s writing it all down, Isabella, when Bess and Ace walk in. They both give him meaningful looks at the total lack of paper or pen in use, and he waves them away.
It’s not like he’s not passing along most messages to Carson, but it’s also not like Carson can take the entire above-35 female population of Horseshoe Bay on as clients, especially not when they’re so obviously interested in taking up more of his time than the average person. Someone has to filter people out, and why shouldn’t it be the person taking the bulk of the calls?
Ace and Bess head into the kitchen, and Ryan follows them a few moments later.
“This is out of control,” he complains as he sits down on a stool, interrupting their hushed conversation.
“Another new client?” Bess asks, needlessly, and Ryan nods.
“Isn’t that good?” Ace says, a little puzzled.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “If that’s all they were interested in, sure. But instead I’m like some Regency mama trying to keep rakes away from her eligible daughter.”
He says this as a joke, so he’s not sure why it bothers him when both Bess and Ace crack up.
“It’s not that funny,” he gripes, after several moments.
“Sorry,” Bess gasps, “I just pictured you as Mrs. Bennet and—” she breaks into laughter again.
“Mrs. Bennet is a bad example,” Ace says, still chuckling. “She would be out there recruiting.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, well forgive me for not wanting to subject myself to more lectures on how grateful I should be to Carson for opening his home to two orphans.”
“Jesus,” Ace says, as they both quickly sober.
“You and Nancy aren’t even orphans,” Bess points out.
“Well, don’t try telling Isabella Shaffer that unless you have time to spare.”
Ace and Bess both grimace at this, and Ryan sighs heavily.
“Honestly, I don’t really know why most of it bothers me so much,” he admits. “Obviously I want Carson’s practice to do well.”
“Obviously,” Bess says, and Ryan thinks he catches an odd note in her tone, but it’s not enough of anything to pursue.
“Maybe you’re just feeling a little — left out?” Ace suggests, and when Ryan gives him a questioning glance, continues, “I mean, I imagine you’re used to being the object of a lot of attention, you know? But now not only is it all focused on Carson, you’re also being asked to — facilitate it, or whatever.”
Ryan takes a moment to process this. “So you’re saying I’m jealous of Carson?”
“I wouldn’t use that word,” Ace says, cautiously. “But maybe a few degrees away from that?”
“Nah,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “I mean, I get what you’re saying, and it’s not that it doesn’t make sense if you just look on a very surface level. Like, why does everyone think Carson is the most eligible bachelor in Horseshoe Bay and I’m just a pitiable recipient of his charity?”
Bess makes a sound of protest, and Ryan shakes his head dismissively.
“I don’t mean everyone everyone,” he continues. “But when you think about it, when you look at my history, how could I compare? Lucy and Tiffany died because of my family; I abandoned my child; I’m broke and unstable and basically—”
“Ryan,” Bess breaks in gently. “Those things are about bad choices Everett made, not you.”
He sighs and looks down at his hands, folded together on the counter. “I’m still complicit,” he says, quietly, “but even if I concede that point, from the outside it doesn’t look great.” He looks back up at them and shrugs. “I’m just saying, if I were a woman in Horseshoe Bay, I’d want to stay as far away from me as possible.”
Neither Bess nor Ace say anything, simply staring at him with expressions that look like they’re trying very hard not to be pitying.
He laughs a little, hoping to break the tension.
“Look, I’m not that upset about it,” he says. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t make sense for me to be jealous of Carson. I think I just need something more to do than be Carson’s unofficial secretary.”
Ace starts to say something but is interrupted by his and Bess’s text tones. They pick up their phones, and Bess looks at Ryan. “Well, do you wanna help track a potential ghost?”
“Not especially,” Ryan says, but he’s already standing up to grab his coat.
He has a revelation like this: at some point, the household starts watching Great British Bake Off together. Or at least Carson and Bess start, and first Ryan and then Nancy get pulled into it. It’s not boring per se, but to say it’s not thrilling may be the understatement of the century.
Carson loves it though, and Ryan finds himself enjoying his enjoyment of it, and eventually, he starts enjoying it in and of itself. Around Week 5, he starts to think he might be able to do some of the more basic tasks himself. The biggest hurdle for most of the bakers is the time limit, and time is something he has no shortage of. And if someone as scatterbrained as Julia Branch can bake, there’s surely no reason he can’t.
He starts by googling “easiest recipes for beginner bakers,” but even those results look pretty complex. Then he remembers Carson saying something during Biscuit Week about how much he likes shortbread. The search results for “easy shortbread recipe” seem much more manageable.
He watches a few YouTube videos to be sure, chooses one of them to follow, and reads through the recipe several times before beginning.
It takes him twice as long as the recipe says it will, he has to text Nancy to help him find the vanilla extract, and there’s flour pretty much everywhere by the time he slides the cookies into the oven. The resulting cookies wouldn’t earn him any handshakes for uniformity, and a few get a little too crisp, but overall he’s pretty proud of himself, all things considered.
He’s prouder still when Carson comes home and his eyes light up at the sight of a plate full of shortbread.
“Who brought these?” he asks around a mouthful of cookie. “Mrs. Hoort? She said—”
“I made them,” Ryan cuts in, trying to sound casual.
Carson’s brows raise as he takes another bite. He waits to finish chewing this time before he says, “Wow. Well, they’re really good.”
Ryan laughs a little. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I just didn’t know you baked,” Carson says, popping the last of the cookie in his mouth and reaching for another one.
Ryan just shrugs and watches Carson chew, oddly enthralled by the way his eyes flutter briefly closed as he takes the next bite. He’s so distracted by a crumb on the edge of his top lip (and even more when he licks it away with the tip of his tongue) that it takes him an awkward amount of time to realize Carson’s spoken again.
“Sorry, what?” he asks, snapping out of whatever the hell that was.
“Did you make these because you remembered I liked shortbread?” Carson repeats, and for whatever reason the smallest edge of panic grips Ryan.
“Um, the recipe just seemed like it would be hard to mess up,” he hedges, telling himself it’s not a complete lie.
“Ah, well, I’m glad it worked out for me,” Carson says with a grin, picking up a third cookie. “I’ve got a brief to write, but would you listen for the door if you’re gonna be around? Mrs. Hoort—”
“Isn’t Adrianna Hoort like 80 years old?” Ryan can’t stop himself from asking.
“First of all, she’s married,” Carson says, a little sternly.
Ryan snorts a little derisively. “Have you met Conrad Hoort? That man has been ancient since I was in grade school and can’t string two intelligible sentences together. Adrianna—”
“Second,” Carson interrupts, “I’m pretty sure Mrs. Hoort is in her late 60s. And regardless, I take clients of all ages.”
“Because that’s what I meant,” Ryan mutters, rolling his eyes. Carson sighs heavily, and Ryan starts to feel a little bad. “Anyway,” he says, “of course I’ll listen for the door. You want me to grab you when she comes?”
Carson considers this. “It’s probably for the best, but if she’s here for more than 20 will you come tell me I have a call?”
“Happy to,” Ryan says, grinning, suddenly feeling even more justified in the increasing number of messages he keeps — forgetting — to give to Carson.
They go their separate ways — Carson to the living room and Ryan to the couch — and Ryan forgets about the odd feeling he’d had watching Carson eat until Adrianna Hoort has the audacity to show up with a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies.
He takes the plate into the kitchen and sets it reluctantly next to his shortbread while Carson greets Adrianna, who’s insisting he have a cookie before they meet.
She doesn’t say anything about Ryan, but he takes a cookie anyway out of politeness and maybe spite. He takes a bite and is mid-revelation that there’s something off about them when she cheerfully says, “Oh yes, and I ran out of raisins, so I added prunes!” He coughs a little, trying not to visibly gag.
If he’s honest, they’re not the worst thing he’s ever eaten, but seriously, as if oatmeal raisin wasn’t bad enough, prunes? Does she hate them? He narrows his eyes at Adrianna, who’s staring at Carson, enraptured, and as if she’s not old enough to be his mother, Ryan thinks, admittedly a little meanly. His eyes dart in the same direction as hers, and he notices Carson’s eyes fluttering closed in seeming pleasure, just like when he’d eaten the shortbread.
This time Ryan recognizes the feeling that shoots through him: resentment. He ponders it as Carson and Adrianna head into the office and Carson closes the door behind them. He goes through the rest of the day pondering it, perpetually half-distracted by it, though he thinks he does a good enough job fronting that no one else really notices.
It’s not until he’s nearly asleep that night that he recalls his conversation with Ace and Bess and realizes: he is jealous. But not, as Ace had thought, of the attention Carson’s been getting. He’s jealous — shamefully, absurdly jealous — for the attention Carson’s giving.
He reacts to this epiphany like this: he enters the kitchen the following morning to find Carson pouring himself coffee.
“Hi,” he says.
“Morning,” Carson replies, turning toward him.
Ryan suddenly feels vulnerable, like just with this one glance Carson will be able to tell what he’d been thinking about all night. He looks around a little desperately and notices the plate Adrianna Hoort had left is gone.
“What happened to the prune cookies?” Ryan asks, careful to sound nonchalant.
“I threw them out,” Carson says, looking at him strangely. “I assumed you just finished yours to be polite. Did you actually like them?”
“God no! I thought you did though.”
“Well, that’s good news, because it took all my concentration to look like I wasn't disgusted. So I guess we’re both good actors.”
“Guess so,” Ryan says, relieved for a brief moment until the implication of that hits him. “Wait, so were you just pretending to like my shortbread?”
“Are you serious?!” Carson exclaims. He gestures toward the plate. “They’re over half gone, and most of that’s my doing.”
“Or maybe you threw them in the trash to make me think you’d eaten them,” Ryan points out.
“Good lord,” Carson mutters, setting down his mug and striding over to the other counter. He shoves an entire cookie in his mouth and chews for a moment before asking, “Is that enough proof for you?” with his mouth full.
Ryan flushes, half pleased and half embarrassed that he’d even argued about it.
“I suppose,” he says slowly, and Carson rolls his eyes as goes back to pick up his cup of coffee.
“I’m going to work,” he says, walking toward his office. He turns at the doorway and leans against it for a moment, taking a sip of coffee.
Ryan watches him, even as he tells himself not to, drawn in again by the way Carson’s eyes flutter closed as he savors the sip and the way his tongue darts out to lick a drop of coffee off the rim of the mug as he lowers it from his mouth.
“Just a suggestion,” Carson says, catching Ryan’s eye and grinning, “but baking can be a good distraction. Maybe practicing your shortbread recipe will help you get over your paranoia.” His smile widens and he winks before turning toward his desk.
“Haha,” Ryan calls after him, weakly, grateful Carson can’t see how red he knows his face has gotten. He places his palms flat against the counter and leans forward, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths.
You’re just confused, Ryan tells himself, and unfortunately, it rings just as true as it had the previous thousand or so times he’d repeated it to himself last night; that is, not at all. But still, it wouldn’t matter if he were certain of his feelings. Carson isn’t interested in romance at the moment, and even if he were, Ryan wouldn’t be what he’s looking for.
“I won’t be home for dinner tomorrow night,” Carson announces during a lull in the conversation at the table that night.
“Okay,” Nancy shrugs.
“Why?” Ryan asks, trying desperately to keep his tone neutrally curious.
Carson chews the bite he’s just taken slowly.
“I’ll be at the Hoorts,” he finally says. “I tried to get an invitation for all of us, but Adrianna didn’t seem especially keen on the idea, so I dropped it. Sorry.”
“I mean if those cookies are any indication of what you’re in for,” Bess says, wrinkling her nose, “I am perfectly happy to not be invited.”
Nancy and Ryan both nod vehemently in agreement.
Carson rolls his eyes.
“She had good intentions with the cookies,” he says. “Anyway, then it works out. I’m sure you’d all be bored anyway.”
“Well, I heard Ms. Hoort was back in town,” Nancy says, “so tell her I say hi if she’s there, will you?”
“Yeah, Adrianna mentioned she’d be there,” Carson says. “So I’ll tell her.”
“Alicia Hoort was one of my favorite teachers,” Nancy explains to Bess and Ryan. “Although I guess it’s Alicia Carver now.”
Carson shrugs.
“She divorced recently, so I’m not sure,” he says and then immediately freezes, regret flashing over his face.
“I knew it!” Ryan exclaims. “I told you Adrianna had ulterior motives!”
“Adrianna is just being neighborly,” Carson says stiffly. “And like Nancy just said, Alicia was her 5th-grade teacher. She and Kate started teaching in Horseshoe Bay the same year, and if Adrianna had any ulterior motive, I’m sure it’s just to reconnect old friends.”
“No offense,” Nancy says, “but you’re not disproving Ryan the way you think you are.”
“Okay, but Adrianna’s motives are irrelevant anyway. Like I told you,” Carson begins, and they all chorus the end of the sentence with him: “I’m not ready for anything new.”
Bess, Nancy, and Ryan break into laughter after this, but Ryan can still hear Carson mutter, “Well I’m not,” to his plate.
It ends like this: Carson’s in his office when Ryan comes home from running some errands. They hadn’t crossed paths in the morning, so Ryan goes in to say hello.
After they exchange pleasantries, Carson leans back in his chair and says, “You know, I had an interesting conversation with Isabella Shaffer today.”
Ryan feels his heart drop into his stomach as he sits down in the chair across from Carson. He tries to sound casual as he says, “Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm,” Carson says. “She accused you of losing me clients.”
Ryan shifts uncomfortably. “Look, Carson—”
Carson laughs, and Ryan breaks off, uncertain of how to react. Carson leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Ryan, I’m not mad.”
“Really?” Ryan says, unconvinced.
“Really,” Carson affirms. “I appreciate all you’ve been doing for me lately. There’s no way I could take on everyone who calls as a client. Just — maybe you could tell me who you’re turning away so I can avoid these kinds of encounters in the future?”
Ryan stares at the desk, feeling like his cheeks are on fire. He nods as he mumbles, “Okay.”
“Thank you,” Carson says. “And just so we’re clear,” he pauses as if considering his words, before continuing, slowly, “based on what Isabella told me, I think your judgment has been fairly sound, but—”
He pauses again, and Ryan manages to make himself look up.
Carson has his lips pressed together, brow furrowed a bit, and Ryan prompts, “But—” in spite of the pit of dread expanding in his stomach.
“But,” Carson finally continues, “someone potentially being romantically interested in me doesn’t mean their case is without merit.”
Ryan flushes again.
“That’s not the only reason—” he begins, defensively, but Carson holds up his hand to cut him off.
“I believe that, Ryan; I just want to make sure it’s made clear for the future.”
“It’s clear,” Ryan says, shortly. He wants to feel irritated that Carson feels the need to say it at all, but he’s too irritated with himself, not to mention filled with guilt, for the fact that he can’t truthfully claim it’s unwarranted.
“Thank you,” Carson says, quietly. He looks down at his hands, then, tapping a thumb thoughtfully on the desktop. Ryan fidgets in his chair, unsure what to do now.
“You know, something else Isabella said got me thinking,” Carson says after a while. “But I’m not sure if it’s just wishful thinking on my part.”
He looks at Ryan, then, and Ryan stares back, not sure where he’s going with this train of thought, or how to react.
“What was it?” he manages to ask.
“She said you were acting like a jealous boyfriend.”
Ryan thinks it might be a miracle he doesn’t immediately have a panic attack. He overcompensates by saying, stiffly, “Okay, I feel like she’s being a little dramatic.”
Carson tilts his head at him, quizzically.
“That’s what I’m not so sure of,” he says, calmly, although his hands are fidgety in a way that Ryan thinks might be nervousness.
“Look, you said yourself you had more clients than you could handle. If I turn away people like Isabella Shaffer who are so transparently not in need of actual legal help, I don’t see how—”
“Yes, but why are you set on—”
“I was trying to protect you, Carson!” he snaps, louder than he intended.
“From what?!” Carson asks, voice rising a bit to match Ryan’s. “Or should I ask for whom?”
Ryan is suddenly aware how far he’s leaned forward in the chair, and he shifts back a bit as he asks, confusedly, “I don’t — what? You’re the one who keeps saying you’re not ready for romance!”
“No, I said I wasn’t ready for anything new.”
“Okay, well same difference.”
“It’s totally different,” Carson says, heatedly. “New would be Jean Rosario, who only knows any of us in a legal context, or Isabella Shaffer, who I probably couldn’t have pulled out of a lineup two months ago. New would be Alicia Carver, who I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade and who, in the interim, has basically lived a whole life I know nothing about.”
“Okay...” Ryan says, letting his voice trail off. Carson doesn’t say anything else, so he says, “I guess I’m still not understanding the issue then.”
“God, you absolute fool,” Carson groans, sitting back in his chair and raising both hands to massage his temples despairingly.
Ryan doesn’t know what to say, and finally, Carson shifts forward again, standing up and placing both palms on the desk, leaning forward to look down at him.
“You know we’ve known each other most of our lives?” he asks, with soft intensity. “I realized that the other day, and it honestly feels unbelievable. I think because I’ve felt so many different ways about you. I’ve feared you, hated you, been irritated by you—”
“I’m not saying all of that’s not justified,” Ryan interrupts, “but is this going somewhere that’s not just further insults?”
Carson closes his eyes and inhales deeply as if to calm himself. Ryan watches him warily but is still surprised when Carson’s eyes reopen and he leans even further forward to meet Ryan’s gaze.
“And,” he continues, firmly. “In the last year, I’ve watched you blow up your life to do the right thing. I’ve watched you work to become the kind of person I used to wish you’d realize you could be. I invited you into this home because I believed you wouldn’t take it for granted, as something owed to you, and you’ve proven me right. So much for you lately has been hard and painful and you’ve done it anyway, come out the other side a better man. I thought you and I—” he breaks off, shaking his head and settling back on his heels a little.
Between what Carson’s saying and the intense way he’s looking into his eyes, Ryan’s completely overwhelmed, so it takes him far too long to make sense of what he’s saying. When understanding finally hits him several moments after Carson falls silent, he can’t do much more than reach forward to place a hand over one of Carson’s and whisper, “Carson,” a little brokenly.
“Ryan,” Carson says, his whole demeanor softening. “We share a daughter. We’re already a family. Other than Nancy, you probably know me better than anyone else alive. I get that it would be a shift in our relationship, and sure, you could call that new. But from where I’m standing, it’s just an addition. You aren’t new to me. That’s the difference.”
Ryan closes his eyes and takes his own deep breath.
“I didn’t think—” he starts to say.
“Yeah, well I’m used to that,” Carson teases softly, and Ryan gives a startled laugh, grateful for the way it leaches the tension from his body.
Carson flips his hand under Ryan’s so their palms meet and grips Ryan’s hand, pulling at him. Ryan stands and lets Carson lead him around the desk. Carson turns and props himself against the desk as he pulls Ryan to stand between his legs, releasing his hand and placing both of his on Ryan’s shoulders, squeezing a little. He skims his hands upward to the sides of Ryan’s head and tilts his head down, leaning forward to place a kiss on Ryan’s forehead before wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer.
Ryan shrinks in on himself a little so he can wrap his arms around Carson’s waist and hook his chin over his shoulder and just lets himself be held. He sighs, finally able to let go of the anxiety he’s felt around Carson since he first identified the reason for his jealousy.
“Now that we’ve cleared all that up,” Carson says softly, after several minutes spent trailing the fingers of one hand up and down Ryan’s back, “do you think you’ll find it easier to give me all my messages?”
Ryan smiles, moving to press his face into Carson’s shoulder.
“Isabella Shaffer’s seen nothing of jealous boyfriends yet,” he mumbles.
“Ryan,” Carson scolds, but the effect is ruined when he laughs.
Ryan straightens, leaning back in Carson’s arms to look him in the eye. He smiles widely.
“I’m just kidding,” he says. “I promise to stop being so — protective.”
“I don’t know if that’s wholly necessary,” Carson says, thoughtfully, running his palms from Ryan’s shoulders to his chest. “Maybe you could just find a different way to be protective.”
“That I can do,” Ryan says, nodding.
“Good,” Carson murmurs, twisting the fingers of one hand in Ryan’s shirt and letting the other slide up to cup the back of Ryan’s neck and draw him forward for a gentle kiss.