Chapter 221
He offered a slightly sheepish grin. “Call it a borderline compulsion. That floor was… genuinely distressing to my sensibilities.”
“Then I entrust it to your capable hands,” I conceded, rising and stepping out to grant him space.
Ryan worked with surprising efficiency, swiftly restoring the floor’s shine and even giving my desk a thorough polish.
“What are your plans for getting home?” I inquired as he finished.
“Undecided. Likely brave the rush-hour bus gauntlet,” he replied with a wry twist of his lips.
“Ride back with me, then,” I offered.
Ryan’s face brightened perceptibly. “Thanks, Ms. Murphy. That’s incredibly kind.”
At seven, I navigated the evening traffic towards home, Ryan a quiet presence in the passenger seat.
A glance in the rearview mirror unexpectedly snagged on his reflection. His gaze held mine, and in that dim light, I saw a sudden, unfamiliar depth–a complexity absent in his usual sunlit clarity.
Seeking to diffuse the sudden charge, I ventured lightly, “Someone with your looks must surely have a girlfriend?”
“No,” Ryan answered simply. “Family rules are strict. Dating’s off the table.”
A soft, surprised laugh escaped me. “The model of obedient kid, then?”
“Hardly,” he countered, a low undercurrent in his voice. “If anything, I lean towards rebellion.”
I managed a dry chuckle. “That face must buy considerable leeway, I imagine. A touch of rebellion probably doesn’t diminish their affection much.”
“Not really,” Ryan said, a shadow momentarily darkening his features. “Aside from my grandfather, there’s not much genuine care directed my way.”
“And your parents?” The question escaped before I could cage it, and I instantly regretted it, sensing I’d stumbled onto painful ground.
“My father died when I was seven,” Ryan said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “My mother… work consumes her. No time for me. It’s always been just Grandfather and me. We’re each other’s anchor.”
“Ryan, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, the words feeling inadequate as I mentally kicked myself for probing the wound.
“It’s alright,” he said, the brief vulnerability shuttering behind a mask of resolute calm. “I’ll be graduating soon. I can hold my own in whatever comes next.”
“Your grandfather must be getting on in years,” I said gently. “Make sure you earn enough to look after him properly.”
“Yeah, I will,” he affirmed.
As he spoke, my eyes flicked back to the mirror, meeting his gaze again. The depth I saw–that unsettling amalgam of solitude and a shadowed weight–felt jarringly incongruous with his youth. A shiver traced my spine. The invisible burdens children carry when families fracture.
The thought instantly summoned an image of Yvonne. Post-divorce, she too would inevitably fade from my daily life. A knot of resignation tightened in my chest.
We soon reached the complex’s underground garage. As I popped the trunk to retrieve my things, Ryan lingered nearby, his gaze resting on me.
Suddenly, something small, dark, and unnervingly quick skittered over my foot, accompanied by high-pitched, frantic squeaks. In that instant, primal fear shot through me—every hair stood on end—and pure instinct screamed to find higher ground.
Ryan froze momentarily, stunned by my sudden, undignified scramble onto him. Instinctively, his arms shot out, wrapping around me, lifting me clear off the ground.
Two panicked mice squealed, darting erratically along the wall. The cramped garage offered no easy exit, trapping them in a frantic, channeled tank.
Lifelong, paralyzing terror of rodents seized me. Trembling violently, I clung to Ryan with desperate, octopus-like tenacity.
A low chuckle vibrated in Ryan’s chest. With a swift, almost nonchalant nudge of his foot, he sent one panicked mouse skittering further away. "Ms. Murphy,” he said, clear amusement warming his voice, “I confess, I didn’t picture you being frightened of mice.”
Silence descended, broken only by my ragged breathing. Slowly, my hammering heart began to steady. The mortifying reality crashed over me; I was clamped onto Ryan like some terrified marsupial.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “My apologies for that spectacle,” I stammered, hastily disentangling myself, smoothing my hair, and snatching my bags before fleeing towards the elevator.
Ryan followed at a discreet distance, a trace of lingering amusement on his lips. “Seems the complex pest control is somewhat lacking. I’ll register a complaint with management.”
“Yes, thank you,” I mumbled, keeping my gaze firmly fixed ahead.
Around nine-thirty, a notification buzzed: a message in the residents’ group chat from the property manager. The culprit had been identified: an elderly resident covertly keeping chickens in her garage, the unsanitary conditions predictably attracting rodents. She’d been issued an immediate cease and desist order.
Reading the update, my suspicion solidified: Ryan had clearly followed through on his promise to management.
Later that evening, around nine, my phone buzzed with another message from Yvonne: [Mom, if I delete the photos from my phone, will they vanish from yours too?]