Lakeside

The Culler Place

He shouldn't be enjoying this quite so much, and he knows it, but it's only the eighth straight day of torrential rain and Ryan is about to go out of her skin. He's all but sure, now, that she only survived the winter by migrating back and forth between here – her lakeside home – and crashing with friends in the city.

Cell reception went out yesterday, which is partially to blame for her current state. Lines to the closest tower probably got taken out by some trees. Soggy as the ground is, it's actually a little surprising there are still safe routes in and out of their lakeside community.

There was that brief respite this morning, when she realized she had a few spreadsheets saved to her laptop that she could finish out... but now those are done and she's itching for something to do. She's been bumping around inside, circling back to her laptop like a homing pigeon to check and see if anything has changed with the internet connection.

He's given up on trying to talk her out of doing that.

To steer clear of the pacing, and the sighing, he's retreated out onto her porch, sheltered from the rain by the overhang. Her deck chairs aren't like those at the old Johnson place, no rockers to lull you back and forth, so he's tilted himself back onto the hind legs of the furniture. Took him about as long to find his center of balance as it did for her to complete those spreadsheets. Also has the heel of one bare foot anchored to the porch rail, just to make sure he doesn't go sprawling, the other leg hooked up over his extended knee.

When it gets a little closer to noon he'll give up reading the well-thumbed book in his hands and go check on Ryan. See if she's ready to venture out for some food. They'd been invited over to visit with Tori, on bed rest in the later stages of the pregnancy.

Also would be a good chance to stop by his house, check and make sure Daisy Mae is alright. Grab a few more pairs of the essentials he's starting to run out of. Wasn't really planning on spending the past few days at Ryan's. That sorta – happened.

Not that he's complaining.

He'd be fooling himself to say that he resists her at all. That twinkle of mischief in those green eyes? The way she purses her lips together, just slightly askew, and crinkles her nose? And definitely when she flips her hair and laughs, beckoning for him to follow.

Their vow to take things slow once she moved back to the lake fell apart the day he'd brained himself while trying to fix the plumbing under her kitchen sink. She'd gone to look over the store's books with Tori, returning sooner than he'd expected. Seeing double for a few minutes was well worth it, in the end.

Tom blinks, smiling to himself when he realizes he's been re-reading this same set of pages over and over again. Or was he even reading them at all? Sometimes it's just more fun to let his mind wander naturally back to his favorite thing to think about: Ryan.

Slowly he rearranges himself and lowers his chair to return all four of its legs to the ground. His watch and phone were inside, still on the bedside table where he'd put them the night before. With the cloud cover there was no sun to help his estimation of the time, but if his stomach was any indication... He thumps the book closed as he glances back towards the house, intent on getting up to check on Ryan – only to find her standing, framed by the screen door, watching him.

"How are you so relaxed right now?"

He examines her posture, arms folded over her chest. Still about to go out of her mind for lack of something work related to do. Tom shifts to let the book thump down onto the boards, landing somewhere behind his chair as he offers her a one shouldered shrug, "How are you not?"

Ryan counters his question to a question, scowling at his contented smile, "I asked first."

Tom lets loose a low chuckle, beckoning her to him. When she doesn't budge, he stretches sideways to tip the screen door open with his fingers. "C'mere. Come sit with me a minute."