Ronan
ronan
I lifted my hands over my head and rested them flat against the headboard. A low groan left me as my joints popped, and my muscles stretched. Sunlight blinded me as my eyes fluttered open. I felt groggy but rested .
When was the last time I’d slept that hard? I didn’t know if I ever had.
Then, all at once, everything from last night hit me like a semi. I bolted upright in bed, my heart pounding as I looked to the side, finding the bed empty. Had it all been a dream?
But no. It hadn’t been. I knew it hadn’t been. We’d slept together, and at some point in the night I woke to find myself wrapped around her, my arm draped across her. Our bodies fit together like missing puzzle pieces, and I knew I should’ve moved away, but I couldn’t. I only nestled deeper against her and fell asleep again.
I knew she’d been in my arms only a few hours ago, but where was she now?
As if on cue, something clanged from the other room, and I found myself barreling out of bed and blindly rushing toward the sound. As soon as I stumbled into the hallway, the scent of something cooking hit me and my mouth immediately began watering.
I skidded to a stop when I got to the kitchen. It was like a vision out of my fantasies. There she was, her hair twisted in a messy bun and her fluffy robe wrapped tightly around her. She hummed quietly to herself, a tune I didn’t recognize.
“Willow?” My voice was raspy from sleep. She didn’t hear me, and I took a hesitant step forward. Roughly, I cleared my throat, waiting for her to acknowledge me. When she didn’t, I rested my hand on her shoulder, and she jolted.
Whirling around, her eyes were huge as she stared up at me. She pressed her hand to the center of her chest, huffing out a laugh. “You scared me,” she breathed.
“Sorry.” I rubbed the back of my neck as she turned back toward the stove and snatched up a spatula. I forgot I even had that.
When she looked at me again, she had a bright smile on her face.
I swore angels sang, and the clouds parted, revealing rays of golden sunlight.
She’d never looked more gorgeous than she did at that moment.
“What are you doing?” I asked, and she twisted to the side, giving me a full view of the stove. I swallowed thickly. I’d need to make sure she shut it off later.
“I’m making pancakes. Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet.”
“You didn’t have to cook.” I moved to the microwave, double-checking that it was still unplugged. “Where did you get everything?”
“You had most of the stuff I needed.” She shrugged. “And you brought the rest from my place last night. But you really need to get groceries. Your cabinets are so empty.”
My face flamed. “I don’t cook,” I muttered, the admission sending a wave of embarrassment through me.
“Like, ever?” When I looked at her, she was staring at me like I had four heads. I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly.
“I don’t know how. Every time I try, I burn it. So it’s just easier to pick food up or microwave something.”
She shook her head. “You could’ve come over any time. I would’ve shared my food with you or taught you how to cook.”
“Yeah? When could that have happened?” I teased. “Before or after you berated me about my trash on your side?”
She turned fully toward me and pointed the spatula accusingly. “Your trash is always on my side.”
“It is not,” I laughed, pulling the fridge open. It was fuller than it usually was. Willow just bought groceries and didn’t want her stuff to go bad, so I brought it to my place.
I grabbed a bottle of water before leaning against the counter. She rolled her eyes as she turned back to the stove and flipped the pancake onto a plate. She moved onto chopping strawberries, and I clenched my jaw as the knife sliced through each berry.
“Be careful,” I said, moving closer.
“I work with knives every day,” she muttered, but I didn’t care. Because all it would take was one slip, one moment of distraction, and she’d hurt herself.
“Why don’t you let me cut them?” I took another step forward, leaving the bottle on the counter.
“I can do it,” she laughed. “Don’t let me interrupt your routine. Do what you need to. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”
My lips rolled between my teeth as I watched her pour another pancake on the hot pan. It sizzled and bubbled, showing just how hot it was, and I scrubbed my hand over my mouth.
“We can go to the diner,” I rasped, my heart in my throat. “You don’t have to cook.”
“I’m almost done.” She glanced at me again, her brows pushed tightly together. Steam and heat billowed from the stove. I tapped my fingers against each other, trying to calm down. “, you’re hovering.”
I hadn’t realized I’d moved even closer, crowding her. I took a large step back, my fingers still tapping together. “Why don’t I?—”
“I’ll be fine.” She laughed again, and the sound was bright and airy. “I’ve been cooking most of my life, Ro. I’m around knives and hot ovens every day. Have a little faith in me.”
It wasn’t that I thought she was incapable, but she was needlessly putting herself in danger. Not life-threatening danger, but—well, it could be life-threatening. What if she tripped and face-planted on the pan? Or what if she dropped the knife and it somehow stabbed her in the stomach?
It was unlikely. I knew that. It was completely illogical and ridiculous, but my mind couldn’t stop playing out worst-case scenarios.
I knew I had to leave her alone or she’d turn the knife on me.
With a deep breath, I took another step back. I couldn’t stop watching her, though. She moved like a waltz. It was beautiful.
Another breathy laugh left her as she finished plating the pancake and turned toward me. She popped her hip to the side as she folded her arms over her chest. “You don’t trust me in your kitchen? I promise I won’t burn the place down.”
Fuck, I hadn’t even thought of her starting a fire. I leapt forward, and she playfully swatted my outstretched hands away.
“You’re making me nervous.” She laughed again, and even if she meant for her words to be lighthearted, they made me stop. I didn’t want to make her nervous, but I couldn’t stop. “If you want to help,” she grabbed the bowl of strawberries, “put this on the table please?”
She batted her lashes at me, and I chuckled, rolling my eyes as I grabbed the plate. By the time I was done putting the silverware, napkins, and fruit on the table, she was heading my way with the platter of pancakes.
“You don’t have syrup,” she said. “I think I have some at my place.” She chewed her lip as she stared at the door. “I have honey, too. If you prefer that.”
“I’ll go get it,” I blurted. The smile she gave me was full of relief, and I reached for her hand. “There’s no rush to go over there. It’ll still be there when you’re ready.”
She gently squeezed my hand before she let go and moved back to the kitchen. I hesitated for a moment, my gaze fixated on the stove. I needed to check it, but she wanted syrup. I’d check when I got back.
I’d never moved so quickly in my life. I found the glass jars of syrup and honey and sprinted back to my place. I dropped the jars off at the table as I rushed to the kitchen, touching each knob on the stove to make sure it was off. Quickly, I checked the microwave again and let out a small breath.
The door .
I gave Willow a tight smile as I soared past her. Why couldn’t I just stop ? Why did I have to do this? Why couldn’t I be normal?
I locked and unlocked the door, and when I was done, I braced my hand against the wood, breathing deeply. She probably thought I was insane— I thought I was insane sometimes. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop.
Was she staring at me? Probably. I felt her gaze on my back.
With a deep breath, I forced a smile on my face and turned toward her. She didn’t say anything as I sank into my usual chair. She piled strawberries on her pancakes before pouring maple syrup all over them.
“You didn’t have butter,” she said softly. “I forgot to tell you to grab it from my place.”
“Do you want it?” I got to my feet, but she stopped me with a hand on my forearm.
“I’m okay,” she murmured, her eyes flicking between mine. “Are you okay?”
I licked my lips as I sat back down. “Fine.” I grabbed a few pancakes before pouring syrup over them. “Thanks for breakfast. This looks incredible.”
“.” Her voice was soft, almost coaxing. I adjusted my grip on my fork. It took all I had to turn my gaze to her.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?” Patience dripped from her voice as she stared at me. Silence stretched between us, but she just stared, waiting.
I knew she wanted to know what the fuck was wrong with me, what I’d just done, and why. I took a deep breath, and it rattled through my chest.
“I have OCD,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I looked back at the pancakes, watching as the syrup soaked fully into the spongy surface. “I’ve had it for as long as I can remember, but it got worse after Trin. After what happened.”
Her brows furrowed slightly. “Is that why you…the horn?” she asked, her tone careful as she pointed at the front window.
“You noticed that?”
Her lips tipped up in a small smile. “It’s kind of hard to miss it,” she said gently. “What else do you do?”
No one had ever asked me that before—not with genuine curiosity, not with the kind of softness that didn’t feel like judgment. I felt my heart crawl up my throat.
“I—I have rituals,” I admitted, the words tumbling out like they’d been trapped inside too long. “It’s a numbers thing. Seven. I have to do things seven times—tap my fingers, lock and unlock doors, honk my horn. I check the stove even when I know it’s off, and I have to make sure the microwave is unplugged.”
I paused, trying to organize the chaos in my head into something that made sense. “But it’s more than that. It’s like…I’m always waiting for something bad to happen. I’m always afraid that the people I love are going to get hurt—or worse. That it’ll be my fault if I don’t do something to stop it. The…the rituals help me feel in control. They help me protect everyone. I know that sounds insane but?—"
Her hand slid across the table and rested on top of mine, cutting me off. “That sounds exhausting,” she murmured. “I had no idea.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Most people don’t.”
My eyes met hers again, and the sincerity in them nearly gutted me. She wasn’t pitying me. She wasn’t even trying to fix me. She was just… there . Steady and unflinching, not judging me or giving me unwanted advice. It felt like she wasn’t afraid of the mess I was, and that just made my heart bleed a little bit more for her.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” she finally asked. “I don’t want to mess up your…rituals?” She stumbled slightly over the word. “Will you have a bad day if you don’t do them?”
“My anxiety will get worse,” I mumbled. She understood, but it was still embarrassing. It made me feel broken, like less of a man.
“Do you talk to anyone? A therapist or…anyone?”
It was a logical question, and one my mother kept bugging me about. I couldn’t help my humorless laugh that escaped me. “I used to. Years ago.”
“And you stopped going?”
I took a deep breath. “It was hard to relive what happened every week. Sometimes it felt like I was doing better, then Thursday would come, and I’d rip that wound wide open again. I never got anywhere, so I quit going.” I shrugged casually, but the sting of failure still burned in my chest.
Who quit therapy? Who failed at it?
“I used to go, too,” she admitted.
It caught me off guard and my brows rose. “Really?”
Her lips curled into a bittersweet smile. “It was after I left Daniel. My therapist is actually why I ended up moving here. She said I should go on a trip—she didn’t mean a cross-country road trip, but that’s what I did.” She laughed breathily as she trailed her fingertips over the back of my hand. “I drove up the coast for weeks, stopping in cute little towns. But my goal was Maine. I’d always wanted to visit, and when I got here…” Her eyes had a faraway look to them as she smiled. “I felt like I was finally home, like I could finally breathe. The week I was here, I found this place. It felt like it was fate, you know? Like it was meant to be. Then I went back to Ohio, packed only what I needed, and never looked back.”
“I can’t imagine doing something like that,” I said. “You’re incredible. That’s—that’s amazing.” A little chuckle escaped me. “I didn’t know that’s how you ended up here.”
She waved me off, but a smile still played on her lips. “It was reckless, honestly. But I think it worked out.” Her smile slowly fell, and her hand on mine tightened slightly. “Do you think you’ll ever go back? To therapy, I mean.”
I swallowed thickly. “My mom keeps bugging me about it.”
“So…no?” she teased, and I grinned.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Do you think I should?” She tilted her head to the side at the question.
“I can’t make that decision for you,” she murmured. “But whatever you choose, I’ll support you.”
I tapped the table a few times before slicing into my pancakes. I needed to change the subject. That was too heavy of a conversation for the morning.
“What are your plans today? I assume you’re off work?” I asked around a bite of food. I nearly groaned at the flavor. How had she managed to make the best pancakes I’d ever tasted with the few things I had in my kitchen? “These are amazing.”
“Thanks.” She laughed, taking a bite. “And yeah, Gracie told me to take the next few days off. When do you go in?”
I shook my head. “I don’t. I’m off until you go back.”
“What?”
I chewed slowly. “What?”
“You took off work?”
“Yes…” I was confused. “Of course I did. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
She didn’t say anything, just stared at me. “I can’t believe you’re a real person,” she said. The corner of my mouth lifted in a grin. “I don’t have any plans today.”
“Great,” I said, cutting another piece. She stabbed a strawberry with her fork. “Will you go to the beach with me?”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “The beach? Why?”
I didn’t want to tell her what I had up my sleeve. But her journal said our first date was at the beach, of course. So, I wanted to take her there. If I told her that, I was worried she’d think I was a creep.
Instead, I just finished my pancake and moved onto the next one. She bugged me about it for the rest of breakfast, but I just smiled. And when she ran off to get dressed and I cleaned up the kitchen, I couldn’t help but think how normal everything felt.
How right it all felt.
She slotted perfectly into my life, and if she decided she didn’t really want to be with me, I knew the pain would kill me. But I had to try—I had to make her really fall in love with me.
And that started with a day at the beach.