Chapter 6
ANGEL
“Are you sure you don’t want to ski with us?”
Haley gestures at the carpet lift with her ski pole, and Ronan quickly dodges to avoid being jabbed by the tip. “You could learn to ski, too, Mom. It would be fun.”
Ronan grabs the end of her ski pole and gently angles it back towards the ground. “Watch where you’re pointing those, okay?” he says kindly. “We want to make sure we don’t accidentally hit someone.”
“Oh!” Her eyes go wide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Her lower lip pokes out. “Does that mean the lesson’s over? Because I was being unsafe? That’s what our PE teacher does when the boys get too rough.”
“No, the lesson isn’t over,” he replies with a smile. “That was part of the lesson. Learning to ski isn’t just about figuring out how to use the skis. It’s learning about safety.”
Relief brightens her expression. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.” She glances over her shoulder at the small beginner slope Ronan’s going to start her on. “I guess I need to be extra careful, since there are a lot of little kids here. And I’m so much bigger than them.”
“That’s a good idea,” I tell her. “But I think that as long as you follow Ronan’s instructions, you’ll be just fine.”
“Because he’s a pro,” Haley agrees. “And a medic.”
“Not a pro,” Ronan says with a chuckle. “You won’t see me running down the double black diamonds anymore.”
“But you’ve been skiing for thirty-five years,” she points out. “That’s what you said. That’s even older than my mom.”
His smile fades for a second. Because he doesn’t like being reminded of his age? Or because he doesn’t like the reminder of how much older he is than me?
Personally, it doesn’t bother me. Sure, eleven years is a pretty big gap. But it’s not like he’s old enough to be my dad or anything. And besides, most days I feel a lot older than twenty-eight.
Ronan doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who would stress overly about his age.
Especially not when he’s clearly still in the prime of his life.
His brown hair doesn’t show a hint of gray, and his face is still relatively unlined except for a few tiny creases that appear when he smiles.
Though I haven’t seen his muscles since the half marathon last summer, I haven’t forgotten the feel of them pressed against me at Blissful Brews the other day.
Plus, he just has this air of confidence to him.
Like he knows who he is and makes no apologies for it.
I saw it in the way he dealt with Phil, which I have to admit in hindsight was pretty darn sexy.
He even carries that confidence into skiing—gliding across the snow like his skis are an extension of his body.
That’s another reason I don’t mind staying at the base of the hill while Ronan accompanies Haley to the top. This way, I get the best of both worlds. I get to watch Haley learn to ski and see Ronan looking extremely capable and sexy while he’s teaching her.
“Thanks for making me feel old,” Ronan says to Haley. His smile is back like it was never gone.
“Not as old as Frank,” she replies. “He’s sixty-five. He told me.”
“Haley.” I catch her attention. “It’s not really polite to talk about adults’ ages. Remember what happened with Mrs. Adamson?”
She makes a face. “Mom. I was seven when I said she looked old. I wouldn’t tell her that now.”
Ronan makes a choking sound. “You told Mrs. Adamson she looked old?”
“I was seven,” Haley emphasizes. “I know better than that now.”
“Yes, you do.” I give the braid poking out from beneath her hat an affectionate tug. “But what do you say we let Ronan get started on the lesson? And I’ll be right down here, taking lots of pictures.”
“Keeping an eye on me?” Ronan teases.
“It’s not that,” I reply. “I just thought it would be nice to watch. And this way, I can take some videos of her learning to ski instead of spending all my time trying not to fall.”
And I didn’t want to take advantage of Ronan’s generosity by having him find me a lift ticket and discounted rentals on top of Haley’s, but I’m not saying that part.
Ronan’s gaze softens as it meets mine. “I could help with a refresher. Take you down some of the easier slopes.”
I can imagine it. Ronan skiing right beside me, protecting me, putting his hands on my body to show me the correct posture, the two of us squeezed together on the ski lift, and maybe it stops midway so we’re all alone in the air—
“Can we go up?” Haley asks. She bounces on her skis. “Are we ready, Ronan? I’m ready. Are you?”
I can’t help but laugh at her exuberance. “Patience,” I remind her. “Ronan is the teacher, remember. When you’re in school, you don’t tell Mrs. Casey to hurry up, do you?”
Haley has the grace to look sheepish. “Sometimes. But I apologize after.”
Ronan chuckles. Then he pats Haley on the head. “Okay, Speedy. Let’s do this.” Then he shifts his attention to me. “I mean it, Angel. If you want to go skiing, I’d be happy to take you.”
There’s something in his expression that tells me he has a pretty good suspicion why I turned down his initial offer of an extra lift ticket and equipment rental. And it’s not because I secretly want to watch him.
At least, I hope that’s not what he’s thinking.
Cheeks heating at the thought, I quickly say, “Maybe.”
He looks at me for another long moment before turning to Haley. “Alright. Follow me to the carpet lift. I know it doesn’t look like much from here, but remember, this is just the first stage of learning. When you’re feeling more solid on your skis, we’ll try some of the other beginner slopes.”
Haley gazes up at Ronan with a grateful look that makes me feel unexpectedly teary. “Thanks, Ronan,” she says. “In case I forget to say it later. I’m really glad you’re teaching me to ski.”
For a moment, Ronan looks taken aback. Then he seems to shake it off and flashes her a smile. “It’s no problem.” His gaze moves to mine. “I’m happy to be here.”
As I watch them head off to the carpet lift, Haley trailing close to Ronan and mimicking his movements, I allow myself a moment of what-ifs, even though I know I shouldn’t.
What if things between Ronan and I really do work out?
What if this is only the start of many more Saturdays like this, with the three of us going skiing and hiking and taking trips like an actual family?
What if, on the nights when Haley goes to a friend’s house for a sleepover, Ronan and I have our own special date night?
We could go nighttime skiing, or have dinner out, or stay home to watch a movie and order pizza.
And when it gets late, we’d head to bed together, and Ronan would peel off my clothes and kiss me all over.
I’d run my hands across the ridged muscles of his chest and stomach, finding his ticklish spots and making him shiver.
Then we’d make love—-by then it would be love, and not just sex, and—
From my jacket pocket, my phone buzzes, rudely interrupting my fantasy.
My cheeks flame hot as I realize I was just thinking about sex with Ronan at the base of the baby hill with dozens of parents and kids around me.
They don’t know what I was thinking. Of course. But still.
As I’m fumbling with my jacket—how many freaking zippers does it need?—I hear Haley call out, “Look, Mom! I’m heading up!”
And indeed she is. Haley’s standing proudly on the carpet lift, nearly a foot taller than the younger kids around her.
And Ronan’s keeping pace with Haley as he walks up the slope sideways on his skis.
She gives me a little wave before turning her focus back to the lift.
Then Ronan lifts his hand and flashes me a smile that makes my heart go all fluttery.
Though I’ve told myself time and again over the last week that I don’t need a man, that Ronan and I are just friends, that he’s just being helpful because of Hazel, not to get disappointed when nothing comes out of this, it doesn’t stop me from hoping.
Maybe, I allow. Maybe this time, I’ve found a good one.
By the time I retrieve my phone, I’ve nearly forgotten why I was reaching for it in the first place. Then I see a new text message on the screen and remember the buzz that so rudely interrupted me.
I don’t recognize the number, but as soon as I read the message, I realize exactly who it’s from.
Justin.
Haley’s dad.
Her deadbeat dad who I haven’t heard from in years.
Her dad—although, can I really call him that?—who dumped me unceremoniously as soon as I told him I was pregnant, proclaiming that he wasn’t interested in being a parent and if I was going to insist on keeping the baby, I’d be doing it on my own.
Anger flares hot as I read his message.
Hey, Ang. Sorry I haven’t been in touch in so long. Can we talk? I’m back in the area, so we could meet. Or if you’d rather, I can call.
I squeeze the phone hard enough for the edges to bite into my palm. My jaw tightens to the point of pain.
Sorry he hasn’t been in touch?
Can we talk?
When Haley was little, I gave him every chance to have a relationship with her. I sent him photos, updates, and offered for him to meet her. I didn’t even press for child support, though I had every right to, because I wanted to keep things civil.
Well, and he was broke. Unemployed. Pissing away the little money he had on alcohol, from what I heard. So it wasn’t like there was anything for him to give me, anyway.
Haley and I were fine on our own, I assured myself. We had my mom to help. We had a place to live. I had a job with employers who’d give me an advance on my paycheck if I needed it, and never gave me a hard time if I had to call out last minute.
We’ve been fine.
For nine years—no, nearly ten, if I’m counting being eighteen and pregnant and scared to death of having a baby on my own—Haley and I have been just fine.
And now Justin wants to talk?
I glare at the phone so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t burst into flames. I’m sorely tempted to fling it into the snow, but reality reminds me that I can’t afford to buy a replacement.