Ropyr
January 2026
I hated routines when I was growing up. Okay, I can't say I hated them, they just didn't exist in my world. My parents thrived on chaos. The louder the noise in the house, the happier they were. When I moved in with my aunt and uncle at sixteen, there was still chaos, but a quieter kind.
I was born and raised in Coral Wind, Florida, on the coast. We were an hour south of Miami. My dad, Bobby, co-owned a construction company. The company did really well financially. By the time I was eight we had moved into a gated community, and my mother couldn't wait to join the country club. Louise Woods adjusted to the new bank account balance immediately and quit her job as a gas station manager.
Gone were the discounted Wal-Mart and TJ Maxx clothing, replaced by genuine name brands. Mom's favorite was Versace, but I think she enjoyed saying the name more than she enjoyed wearing the clothes.
"Versace. It rolls right off your tongue, sweet girl," she would say during our mother/daughter brunches at the clubhouse.
I loved my mom. She was the best mom, all my friends said so. I looked like her. We were both average height, about five-three. She kept her brown hair in soft curls cascading down her back while I preferred to keep my straight. I also kept bangs because I was teased in kindergarten about having a big forehead. Both of us had lightly tanned skin from the Florida sun, but my legs and chest were covered in freckles.
My parents grew up in Honey Bell, South Carolina. They were high school sweethearts who ran away at eighteen. Instead of graduating and going to college, they relocated to Florida and started their happily ever after, fairy tale life. I grew up knowing what it meant to be loved. I saw how fiercely my dad adored my mother and they taught me to never settle for less.
As much as I loved my mother, I was the definition of a daddy's girl. Bobby Woods hung the moon as far as I was concerned. He spoiled me when I never asked for anything. I was his Sunshine Girl. My mom said I was his twin. Same taste in music, same sense of humor, and a love of fast cars. He raced stock cars on weekends, and I had my own Pit Crew jumpsuit. I stayed on the sidelines with his crew while Mom cheered for him from the stands.
The three of us were a happy family. We never yelled at each other; we never abandoned each other. When we needed to discuss a disagreement there was a two-minute timer we used. Each person had until the time ended to make their point. If a solution couldn't be reached after everyone had their two minutes, we could say "pause" and revisit the discussion on another day.
It was a Woods house rule that nobody went to bed angry. We gave hugs and said "I love you" before turning in for the night.
It wasn't until my sixteenth birthday when something my mother calls the Unforgivable happened.
Before I knew what was happening, my mom packed my bags and put me on a train to Honey Bell. My dad's older brother, Douglas, and his family would be taking care of me. She said it was temporary, only until she could figure out what to do next.
I guess she never figured it out because I'm twenty-eight now and still in Honey Bell.
I knew absolutely nothing about my parents' hometown. They never talked about it. I visited a few times when I was a little kid, but I didn't remember anything.
My uncle Douglas ran the family auto repair shop. Trina was his wife. They met at a David Bowie concert in their twenties, which was funny because while living with them music was something foreign. The house was mostly quiet, except for when Dawson was home. He was almost two years older than me and didn't hide the fact that he didn't want me to live with them.
When he was home, he was locked in his room with the stereo at full volume. He plays bass in a rock band called Wrong Turn Tuesday now and he never talks about Honey Bell. He never comes home either.
I can't lie, when my mom dropped me off at the train station, the day after my birthday, I was furious. I begged her not to send me away. I didn't see it as her protecting me. I thought she was punishing me. So, I did what any teenager would do. I told her my mother that I hated her, and I never wanted to speak her again.
Douglas picked me up at the station in Wren's harbor, two hours from Honey Bell. He looked like my dad. Black hair streaked with grey, forest green eyes, six feet tall. My dad kept a long beard; Douglas had a mustache and thin scruff. He wore a Navy baseball cap; my dad never wore hats.
He was a man of few words; my dad was not. I didn't know how to be quiet either. During the ride to Honey Bell, I was restless. I tried listening to music, then an audiobook, but I couldn't focus. I sent my friends texts from the train but now fourteen hours later, no one had responded. One of the messages hadn't been delivered; I guess Alyssa blocked me after the Unforgivable.
"Were you in the Navy?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Twelve years. It was a good life, until it wasn't. Trina wanted me home to help with Dawson. He was in the terrible twos. Still is if I'm being honest."
I laughed, a small one. Douglas didn't take his eyes from the road, but I could tell he smiled.
By the time we pulled into the driveway I felt comfortable. I wasn't angry anymore. My parents may not have liked living here, but I was going to make the most of it.
Twelve years later, I'm lying in bed with my boyfriend. Jeremy's thirty and the most requested dentist in three counties. He's so sweet and funny. Everyone who knows him loves him. I fell in love with him for the first time at sixteen, but that was puppy love. I learned who I wanted to be and what I wanted from a relationship that first time around.
He moved out to Colorado for college. I stayed in South Carolina. When I was nineteen, I took a flight out there to visit a mutual friend for his twenty-first birthday. Jeremy and I reconnected. There were some trust issues we had trouble overcoming, so we didn't officially start dating again until he came back to Honey Bell.
The alarm clock sounded at six in the morning. I swore that after college my days would not begin before eight a.m., and they didn't until Jeremy moved in with me.
The first thing I registered was the weight of Jeremy's arm across my ribs, a warm, heavy anchor in the cool darkness of our bedroom. The second was his voice, a low rumble against my ear.
"Flight's at noon, Riles."
My eyes fluttered open to the faintest grey light seeping through the blinds. 6am. The red numbers on the clock glowed accusingly. I groaned and burrowed deeper into the pillows, pressing my backside against the solid warmth of him. "Why are we awake at 6am if your flight is at noon?" I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. "That's six hours from now. We could be sleeping. We should be sleeping. Sleep is important for, you know." I wiggled my hips back against him suggestively. "Hormone regulation."
He chuckled, the vibration traveling through his chest and into my back. His hand, which had been resting on my stomach, slid up under my sleep shirt, his palm flat against my skin. "Is that what we're calling it now? Hormone regulation?" He nuzzled his face into my hair, inhaling deeply. "I just didn't want to miss any time with you. Six hours will go by like that." He snapped his fingers by my ear.
I turned my head to the side, trying to see his face in the gloom. "You're a sap. A big, sentimental sap who's robbing me of precious sleep."
"Is that right?" His voice was a low, teasing growl. He shifted, his morning interest pressing insistently against my lower back. "Well, maybe I was thinking we could engage in some direct hormone regulation. Bypass the middleman."
A slow smile spread across my face. I rolled over to face him, the sheets tangling around our legs. The room was still dim, but I could make out the outline of his jaw, the messy red hair falling over his forehead. He was so handsome it still sometimes caught me off guard. "Direct regulation, huh? That sounds very efficient."
"Extremely," he murmured, leaning in to kiss me. It started soft, just the gentle press of his lips on mine, a slow, sweet good morning. His thumb stroked my cheekbone, and I sighed into his mouth, my body already responding, waking up faster than my brain was. This was my favorite part of the day, this quiet time that belonged only to us, before the world and its demands intruded.
"Colorado's going to be cold," I said against his lips, my hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.
"I'll think of you to keep warm," he promised, his kisses trailing down my jaw to my neck. He found that spot just below my ear, the one that always made my toes curl, and I let out a soft hum of pleasure. His hand left my face and slid down my side, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip before dipping lower to cup my bottom, pulling me flush against him.
"Jeremy," I breathed, my hands tangling in his hair. The cute, sleepy banter was evaporating, replaced by a familiar, building heat.
"Shh," he whispered, his mouth moving back to mine. This kiss was different. Deeper, more demanding. His tongue swept against mine, and I met it with my own, a slow, sensual dance. He rolled me onto my back, settling over me, his weight a delicious pressure that grounded me. The sleep shirt I was wearing suddenly felt like an unnecessary barrier. As if reading my mind, he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over my head, his eyes dark as they roamed over my bare skin in the dim light.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice husky. He lowered his head, his lips closing over my nipple. The sharp, wet heat of his mouth made me gasp, my back arching off the bed. His other hand came up to palm my other breast, his thumb circling the peak until it was a tight, aching point. He switched sides, giving each the same devoted attention, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive me slowly crazy.
My own hands were busy, exploring the hard planes of his back, the muscles shifting under my touch. I slid them down, under the waistband of his boxers, to grip the firm, smooth skin of his bottom, pulling him harder against me. I could feel how much he wanted me, and it sent a thrill straight through my core.
"Ropyr," he groaned, lifting his head. His eyes were intense, fixed on mine. He kissed me again, hard and hungry, as he shed his own shorts. There were no more barriers between us now, just skin on skin, the friction of his body against mine sending sparks everywhere. His knee nudged my legs apart, and I opened for him willingly, my body a live wire of anticipation.
He didn't enter me right away. Instead, he kissed a slow path down my body, over my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, making me squirm. He settled between my thighs, his hands gripping my hips, and looked up at me. The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated worship. Then he lowered his head and put his mouth on me.
I cried out, my hands fisting in the sheets as his tongue found my most sensitive spot. He knew exactly what I liked, exactly how to drive me wild. He started with soft, teasing licks, circling my clit, before becoming more focused, more relentless. The pleasure built quickly, a tight coil in my belly, winding higher and higher with every pass of his tongue. I was gasping his name, my hips moving restlessly against his mouth, chasing the release that was just out of reach.
"Jeremy, please," I begged, my voice ragged. "I need you. Now."
He lifted his head, his chin glistening, a triumphant smirk on his face. He moved back up my body, positioning himself at my entrance. "I've got you," he promised, and then he was pushing inside me, a slow, deep, deliberate stroke that stole my breath. He filled me completely, stretching me in the most exquisite way. He paused for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against mine.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too," I managed to say, my voice trembling.
Then he began to move. He started with a slow, deep rhythm, his hips rolling into mine. It wasn't just sex; it was a conversation, a connection. Every thrust was a statement, every retreat a question. I wrapped my legs around his waist, meeting him stroke for stroke, our bodies moving in perfect, primal sync. The room filled with the sounds of our breathing, the soft slap of skin, the quiet murmurs of pleasure and encouragement.
The pace quickened, the slow, sweet rhythm giving way to something more urgent, more desperate. His hand slid down between us, his thumb finding my clit again, rubbing tight, hard circles that pushed me right to the edge. The coil in my stomach snapped, and I came with a sharp cry, my body convulsing around his, waves of intense pleasure crashing over me.
He followed me over a moment later with a guttural groan, his body tensing as he found his own release, pulsing deep inside me. We collapsed against each other, sweaty and breathless, our hearts hammering against each other's chests. He stayed inside me for a long time, just holding me, his face buried in my neck.
After a few minutes, he rolled off me, pulling me into his arms. I laid my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as it slowly returned to normal. The sun was starting to rise in earnest now, painting the walls in soft shades of pink and gold.
"Well," I said, my voice still a little shaky. "That was certainly a very effective form of hormone regulation."
He laughed, a deep, contented sound that rumbled through my entire body. He kissed the top of my head. "I aim to please. Think it'll work this time?"
I closed my eyes, a feeling of profound hope and contentment washing over me. "I don't know," I said honestly. "But it was a damn good try."
Jeremy and I had the marriage talk four years ago while slow dancing at a friend's wedding. I wasn't completely against it, but my idea of marriage was skewed after what happened with my parents. He understood. He told me to come to him if my mind changed and he wouldn't bring it up again. Then, about six months ago when one of my employees became pregnant, I developed a severe case of baby fever.
He was on board right away. He talked about being a dad all the time, even when we were teenagers and thinking about the future. We agreed that we didn't have to be married to start a family, and we started trying that very night.
After having sex that morning, we went into the kitchen where I made breakfast. Bacon and waffles, his favorite. I cooked, he cleaned. We never formally made that agreement, but that became our routine.
I sat the small round table and watched him. How the muscles in his back flexed every time he moved. Jeremy was in good shape from years of playing baseball. He started when he was eight and played until his junior year of college.
"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you to Littleton?" I asked, finishing my coffee.
"I would love for you to, but Jayden said she has a big announcement and only wants me and our parents there. She wants to tell us before sharing it all over social media. You know how she is," he drained the dish water and dried his hands as he faced me.
"Do you think she's pregnant again?" Jayden Lane was the opposite of her brother. Jeremy was solid and focused. Jayden was flaky and a little on the wild side. She didn't think about consequences, she just lived in the moment. She was the girl posting "yolo" on her Facebook page along with a picture of her standing up in a convertible as a friend drove down the highway.
"She better not be. She's only sixteen. I made her promise not to have another one until you had our first."
A laugh escaped me, a real, genuine laugh that made my chest feel light. "That is such a Jeremy promise to make. You're out here negotiating your sister's reproductive choices on my behalf."
He just shrugged, a small, confident smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the counter. "Jay may have her issues, but she doesn't break promises. At least not our promises."
The way he said it, so sure, so absolute, sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with caffeine. It was the certainty in his voice, the unwavering faith he had not just in his sister, but in us. In this future we were building, one carefully timed ovulation cycle at a time. I set my mug down with a soft click. The coffee was forgotten. The flight to Colorado was forgotten. His sister's big announcement was forgotten. All I could see was him, leaning there in our kitchen, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
He must have seen the shift in my eyes because his smile faded, replaced by something darker, more intense. He pushed off the counter and closed the distance between us. He didn't say a word. He just took my hand, his grip firm and sure, and led me out of the kitchen.
My heart started to pound, a frantic, excited rhythm. This was new. This was different. Jeremy was a man of habit, a man of propriety. Our intimacy, while incredible, was confined to specific locations. The bed. The shower, occasionally, if we were feeling particularly adventurous. The couch was for watching Netflix, for Sunday naps, for lazy weekends. It was not a place for this.
He stopped in front of the sofa and sat down, pulling me to stand between his knees. He looked up at me, his eyes sweeping over me. I was still wearing the short silk robe I'd thrown on when we got out of bed. His hands came to the sash, his fingers working the knot. He pulled it slowly, the silk whispering through the loops. The robe fell open, and he slid it off my shoulders, letting it pool in a heap on the floor at my feet. The cool air on my naked skin made me shiver, but it was his gaze on me, hot and possessive in the bright morning light, that truly set me on fire.
He was still fully dressed, a stark contrast that sent a thrill of power through me. I reached down, hooking my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head. I tossed it aside, my hands immediately exploring the warm, hard planes of his chest. I straddled his lap, my knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs. I leaned in and kissed him, a soft, deliberate press of my lips.
"I'm in charge now," I whispered against his mouth.
He just nodded, his hands coming to rest on my hips, his thumbs stroking my skin. He was giving me the reins, and the trust in his eyes was intoxicating.
I started to move, a slow, deliberate rocking of my hips against his shorts. The friction was maddening, a perfect, teasing pressure through fabric. I kissed him again, deeper this time, my tongue sweeping into his mouth as I set a languid, sensual rhythm. His hands tightened on my hips, but he let me control the pace, let me dictate every movement.
I wanted more. I needed to feel him, all of him. I leaned back, my hands braced on his shoulders for balance, and made quick work of pulling down his shorts. He lifted his hips, helping me slide them and his boxers down just enough. He sprang free, hard and thick and ready. I rose up on my knees, positioned myself over him, and slowly, so slowly I could feel every inch, I sank down.
A guttural groan escaped his throat as I took him in, his head falling back against the couch. I paused for a moment, my body adJeremyg to his fullness, my forehead resting against his. We were joined, connected in the bright light of our living room, a place so mundane it made this act feel shockingly intimate.
Then I began to move. I started with a slow, grinding circle of my hips, savoring the way he filled me, the way every nerve ending lit up. I was in complete control, setting the pace, the depth, the angle. I watched his face, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes fluttered closed as I rode him. It was the most powerful feeling in the world.
I picked up the pace, rising and falling, my movements becoming more fluid, more confident. The couch springs creaked in time with our rhythm, a lewd counterpoint to our soft gasps and moans. His hands roamed my body, sliding up my back, tangling in my hair, cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my tight nipples. I leaned forward, capturing one of his thumbs in my mouth, sucking on it gently. His eyes flew open, locking with mine, the raw desire in them almost undoing me.
I sat up straighter, changing the angle, and he hit that perfect spot deep inside me. A sharp cry of pleasure tore from my lips. I rode him harder then, my body taking over, chasing the release that was building, a tight, hot coil of pleasure low in my belly. I could feel his control starting to fray, his hips beginning to thrust up to meet me, but I was still the one leading this dance.
"Ropyr," he breathed, his voice strained. "I'm so close."
I reached between us, my fingers finding my own clit, rubbing tight, hard circles. That was all it took. The world splintered apart, and I came with a sharp cry, my body convulsing around his thick length. My inner muscles clenched and pulsed, and that sent him over the edge with me. He slammed his hips up one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and I felt him pulse, a hot, deep flood of warmth that seemed to go on forever.
I collapsed against his chest, my body boneless and trembling. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as we both struggled to catch our breath. The morning sun streamed in through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
As his breathing slowed, I felt a strange, profound shift inside me. It wasn't just the physical aftermath of incredible sex. It was something else. When he came inside me that time, it felt different. Deeper. More significant. It was a feeling so powerful, so certain, it was almost like a premonition. It was a quiet, unshakeable knowledge that we had just done everything right. That this was it. This was the moment. I didn't say a word, just laid there with my head on his chest, a secret, hopeful smile touching my lips as I listened to the steady beat of his heart.
"We should go," he said after a few minutes. I held onto him tighter, wanting to stay right there with him. How could we possibly be away from each other for a whole week? We hadn't spent more than a few days apart since being back together. We had the occasional conference in Atlanta or Charlotte, and I had my weekend getaways with friends from culinary school, but a whole week? Never.
I kissed his chest and up to his collarbone. He had my name tattooed over his heart and I had his. I was his and he was mine, the way it should have always been. I never should have left him. "What if we didn't?" I asked, pouting as I looked at him.
He grinned and pushed my hair from my face. "Do you want to be on Jayden's bad side? Remember when that girl started a rumor about her a few months ago? Jay slashed two of her tires and put marbles in her gas tank. I'd rather not feel that wrath."
"Ugh. Fine." I held his shoulders for balance as I stood from the couch. I tied my robe closed and headed back to the bedroom. "Are you hungry? I can make you some lunch to take," I said when he followed me to the closet. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a purple sweater.
"I already ate. Twice, remember?" He winked at me.
I rolled my eyes, smiling, and got dressed.
He drove me to Sunshine's, the diner I owned with my dad. He wasn't a co-owner on paper or any legal document, but he should have been. I did okay on my own, but things really picked up when he moved to Honey Bell last year. Now people from all over were coming to my little place for home-cooked Woods specialties.
When I unlocked the front doors, the smell of vanilla coffee took over my sense. "'Morning, Daddy!" I called into the empty, dark space. The light was on in the kitchen.
My dads tepped out holding a coffee mug that had the mascot from Coral Winds High on it. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail. "'Morning, Sunshine," he smiled. He's called me Sunshine since the day I was born. He said I came into he world smiling, brightened everyone's day. I thought he was crazy until I saw the newborn hospital pictures.
"How ya doin', Mr. Woods?" Jeremy asked.
My dad rolled his eyes. "Jeremy, it's been years. Son, call me Bobby already."
"No can do. I was raised to respect my elders."
"We have this conversation every week and I don't like that you call me your elder. I'm your girlfriend's dad. We're on a first name basis."
Before they could continue this banter from last week, and the week before, and every week since they first met, I turned to face Jeremy. "Don't you have a plan to catch?"
"I do, yes," he kissed me gently because my dad was right there, watching us. "I'll call you when I board, and when I land, and every chance I get."
"You better," I kissed him harder, with more emotion, a silent thank-you for the morning we shared. I didn't care if my dad was there. I grew up watching him and my mom practically maul each other. "I love you."
"Love you, too, babe," he backed away toward the door. "Love you, too, Mr. Woods!"
My dad raised his coffee mug. "You, too. Have a safe flight."
Once the door closed behind Jeremy, my dad and I went into the kitchen. Most of the prep was done already thanks to the man who didn't sleep. On the weekends I opened at noon. During the week the diner opened at six in the morning for the people who had to work early. I opened and ran the place by myself until I could hire someone to work that insanely early shift. Pressley walked in wanting to apply for a job after I had been open about a year.
She was my age, married young to a guy who joined the Marines. He was overseas and she was afraid of flying, so she stayed here in Honey Bell. She didn't have much experience cooking, but she had been waiting tables since she was fifteen. I hired her right away. When she showed an interest in being more involved, and indirectly asking for more money, I showed her the ropes in the kitchen and walked her through the recipes. She caught on incredly fast and was handed a set of keys. She works the morning shift through the week now. She comes in at five every morning and stays until one-thirty. I gave her weekends off. She still came in sometimes to have social interactions.
I stood at the salad chopper, adding carrots one by one. Dad was at the other end of the counter chopping and dicing potatoes. The radio played 38 Special and my dad quietly sang along.
"When are you two getting hitched?" He asked, again. He asked that question twice a month.
I felt tense every time he asked. I never liked the answer I gave because I knew deep down it wasn't the answer I wanted to give. "I don't think we should. Marriage can be messy, y'know? We're happy with how things are right now."
"Ropyr, look at me," he took my hand off the salad chopper and turned the machine off. "Jeremy isn't me, and you're not your mother. You two are the real deal. You have to trust yourself. I know you trust him."