Chapter 4
ANGEL
Why is there never a convenient hole to jump into when you need it?
After two days spent thinking about Ronan, rewinding our time spent together and picking it apart minute by minute, agonizing over whether I should call him or if it was nothing more than a polite offer he hoped I wouldn’t take him up on, debating if bringing cookies to his house to thank him would be nice or make me seem like a stalker, and this is how I see him again?
Sweaty from trying to make a giant pile of snow in my yard. Hair all messed up because I haven’t even run a brush through it since I got home from work. My breath? I don’t even want to think about it. But based on the garlic parm chicken tenders I had for lunch, I’m going to assume it isn’t good.
And to top things off, Haley just commented on Ronan’s muscles. His muscles. Of which he has a lot. At least he did during the half marathon, and, judging from the stretch of his jacket across his shoulders and the fit of his worn jeans, they haven’t gone anywhere.
But he’s going to think I’ve been talking about him. Admiring him. Mentioning all his muscles to my nine-year-old daughter.
Augh.
My face feels so hot, it’s a miracle the snow isn’t melting around us.
“This is our ski hill,” Haley announces, oblivious to my inner embarrassment. She gestures at the three-foot hill we’ve been working on ever since she got home from school.
Ronan glances back at me. His gaze lingers on my face, almost like he’s memorizing it. That same indecipherable something I saw the last time he was here flickers in his eyes. “A ski hill? Who’s planning on skiing on it?”
Given its current size? No one.
“Well,” I start, “it’s still a work in progress. Hopefully, if we keep working on it for a few more days, we’ll make something tall enough to ski on.”
He frowns at the hill in confusion. “You want to go skiing in your yard?”
“So I can learn to ski,” Haley explains. “Mom found Gran’s old cross-country skis in the garage and she said I could use them. So we’re going to make a mini mountain in our yard, and I’m going to go skiing.”
Judging from Ronan’s expression, he doesn’t understand. And how could he? As nice and helpful as he is, he’s never had a daughter come home begging to learn how to ski and had to come up with a cost-free way of making it happen.
But on top of being nice and helpful, Ronan also has an abundance of tact. So instead of being dismissive or telling us we should just get tickets to Stowe, he looks at Haley and nods. “That makes sense. Convenient, too, having it right in your front yard.”
“I know!” Haley flashes Ronan a blinding smile. “Once we have the mountain—well, mini mountain—built, I’m going to practice every day. Mom said we could watch some videos about skiing, too. So I can learn the techniques.”
“I’ve only been skiing a few times,” I explain to him. “And not since I was a kid. So I thought it might be good to watch some videos as a refresher.”
“On Gran’s cross-country skis,” he says. “I see.”
Suddenly defensive, I say, “I wouldn’t let Haley go down an actual mountain in them. But a little slope in our front yard with me watching seems safe enough.”
Ronan’s mouth thins. For a second, I think he’s annoyed with me. Then he puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a little squeeze. “It does sound safe,” he agrees. “And I think it sounds like a great idea.”
I look at him in surprise. “You do?”
A small smile tips up his lips. “I do. There’s no reason Haley can’t ski down a simple slope with cross-country skis. As long as she has the proper safety gear, of course.”
Inwardly, I wince. I hadn’t gotten that far with the idea yet. But he’s right. I can’t have Haley skiing in her bike helmet, no matter how little of a hill it is. Which means I’ll have to start searching online for a ski helmet on sale. Hopefully, one with fast shipping.
As if he read my mind, Ronan says, “Enzo sells ski helmets at his store. Rossi’s Outfitters? I can ask him about it.”
I’ve been in Enzo’s store, and as nice as it is, everything he carries is way over my budget. So I just smile and say vaguely, “Oh, I’ll find something online. But thanks.”
“So you’re going to help?” Haley prods. She bounces on her feet, clearly eager to get back to work.
“Haley,” I say, my voice lightly scolding. “Ronan is not going to help. He stopped by to say hi. Not to shovel a bunch of snow.”
“Actually.” Ronan looks at the mound of snow again before turning back to me. “I was going to work out when I got home. But shoveling snow is just as good.” His eyebrows rise in question. “If that’s okay? If you two would rather work on it yourselves…”
Like the other day when he offered to help with the lights, I nearly offer him an out. Surely, he can’t actually want to help make Mini Mount Nilsson in my front yard.
Or maybe he does, a silent, hopeful voice whispers. Don’t you hate it when people assume things about you? Like that you must be dumb because you never graduated from college or that you don’t have goals for the future just because you work as a server? Don’t you know better than to assume?
I do.
Which is why I decide to take Ronan at his word and reply, “No, I’d be happy for the help. But…” I cast about for a way to thank him. “Will you come in for something to eat after? Or at least some cookies and something warm to drink?”
“Oh, yes,” Haley blurts. She nods enthusiastically. “We made more cookies last night. And mom makes great hot chocolate with all the toppings.”
Ronan hesitates. His expression is inscrutable.
The little spark of hope I allowed myself threatens to extinguish.
Why did I have to bring up coming inside to eat? It’s too much. Clearly. And I’ve made him uncomfortable. Now he’s trying to figure a way out of this.
And on the heels of that, why do I care? Haven’t I been telling Hazel for years that I like being single? If Ronan doesn’t want to be here, that’s fine.
Ronan gives my shoulder another quick squeeze before releasing it. Then he says, “Cookies and hot chocolate sound like the perfect after-shoveling snack.” With another of those smiles that sets my stomach fluttering, he adds, “I’d love to stay for some, if you’ll have me.”
“She has a lot of energy,” Ronan comments while casting a quick glance towards the living room, where Haley’s watching her third go-round of Rudolph so far this season.
After more than an hour of frenzied shoveling, accompanied by repeated pleas for “just five more minutes” and “three more scoops of snow” I finally put my foot down and told Haley we were done for the day.
It was partly for her sake and partly for Ronan’s, who, judging from his slightly shell-shocked expression, had vastly underestimated the enthusiasm level of a nine-year-old in the lead-up to Christmas.
“She does have a lot of energy,” I agree. Shifting my attention from Ronan to the pot of hot chocolate bubbling on the stovetop, I give the thick liquid a stir. “I guess I’ve gotten used to it. But I can see how it might be a little overwhelming, otherwise.”
He picks up another candy cane and starts peeling the wrapper from it.
As he concentrates on removing the ultra-thin cellophane without breaking the candy—who designed the wrapping, I want to know, because it’s near impossible to get off in one piece—he replies, “I didn’t mind.
That’s not what I meant. I was just surprised. ”
“That she didn’t give up after fifteen minutes of shoveling?
” Turning away from the stove, I reach into one of the upper cabinets to grab some mugs.
“As an adult who worked all day, I would have. But kids that age can just keep going. Until they hit the wall, that is. Then they don’t want to do anything except complain that they’re not really tired and the very mention of bedtime is akin to a federal crime. ”
As I’m rising onto my tiptoes to get Haley’s favorite mug, which, of course, is shoved all the way to the back, Ronan reaches past me and snags it.
His body bumps against mine, and heat surges through me.
My heart makes an uneven skip. Then he hands the mug to me with a smile that momentarily steals my breath.
“Not a fan of bedtime?” he asks. “I remember those days. Drove my poor mom crazy over it. She’d tell me to go to bed, and I’d come up with every excuse in the book.
Homework I forgot about. A lost toy. I was thirsty.
My stomach hurt. And the best one—I must have been eight or nine—was when I secretly changed all the clocks in the house so my parents wouldn’t know when I was supposed to go to bed. ”
I set Haley’s mug on the counter, lining it up with the two already there.
Then I open the bag of mini marshmallows sitting on the counter nearby and pour them into one of the half-dozen bowls I’m using for our hot chocolate topping buffet.
“That’s actually pretty clever,” I tell him. “Did it work?”
Ronan places an unwrapped candy cane in another bowl and begins working on another. His lips curve up. “I thought it was very clever. My parents? Not so much. Especially not when my dad overslept the next morning because I’d changed the clock he used for his alarm.”
Laughing, I say, “I guess that’s a good thing about using cell phones for everything. It would be a lot harder to change the time.”
“True. Although there’s one guy I know from the Army—Matt—who’s a genius with computers. He has a daughter, Dove, who’s following in his footsteps. She’s only… three, I think? and she’s already figured out how to sneak onto his laptop. Not to do anything bad, of course. She just thinks it’s fun.”
“That’s amazing.” I set the marshmallows aside and move on to the chocolate sprinkles. “So. You have a lot of friends with kids?”