Chapter 7
RONAN
Having Angel in my kitchen feels unexpectedly right.
During the drive back from Stowe, there were moments when I wasn’t sure if I’d made the right decision. Moments when self-doubt took over, pushing aside the eager anticipation I’d felt earlier when Angel accepted my invitation to come over for dinner.
What if I’m getting myself in too deep? I asked myself. What if this gives Angel and Haley ideas about things I’m not prepared to give? What if I end up hurting them both because I’m not the kind of man they need?
But then I’d look at Angel sitting beside me, so damn pretty with her cheeks pink and freckled from the sun, and she’d turn to me with this cute little smile like she was just happy to be there, and I’d forget why I was second guessing myself.
Or I’d start worrying, only to catch a glimpse in the rear view mirror of Haley dozing in the backseat—She hit the wall, Angel whispered five minutes into the drive, but then again, she was so excited, she’s been up since five AM—and a swell of affection would sweep through me.
I made Haley happy, I realized. Because of something I did. And it felt really good.
Not that I haven’t helped people before. Obviously, I have. But it’s different this time. I can’t quite put my finger on why, or even how. It just is.
As we walked through my front door, the self-doubt re-emerged.
Now I’ve done it, I thought. Stopping by Angel’s house was one thing.
So was giving Haley ski lessons at Stowe.
But inviting them into my home? Letting them see the private parts of my life—old photos and diplomas and the collection of funny souvenirs I’ve found on my travels?
I’ve just made things a heck of a lot more complicated.
But just like my worries in the car, they dissolved quickly.
It didn’t feel uncomfortable or intrusive to watch Angel wander around my living room, lingering in front of each photo to study it with interest.
I didn’t mind having Haley plop herself right down on the carpet so she could pet Murphy. And it didn’t bother me when she took it upon herself to grab a toy from Murph’s basket in the corner of the room to play with him.
It didn’t even feel strange when Haley scaled the ladder to the loft without asking, prompting Angel to scold, “Haley Jean Nilsson. You’re supposed to ask before you just go off exploring other people’s houses.”
Already up in the loft, Haley peeked over the railing with a sheepish expression. “Sorry. I’ve never seen one of these other than on TV. It’s really cool up here. Kind of like a treehouse, but inside.”
I told her to stay up there as long as she wanted. Because really, it’s not like she could get into trouble up there. Not when it’s only furnished with a couple of chairs and a bookshelf, stuck up there more to keep it from looking empty than actual purpose.
Now Angel and I are in the kitchen, organizing the groceries we bought for dinner, and Haley’s back in the living room playing with Murphy again.
Somehow, Angel seems to have made herself more comfortable in my kitchen in the last ten minutes than I’ve managed in nearly a year.
I keep finding myself stopping just to watch her; admiring the bounce of her step and the swing of her hips and the pleased smile that keeps appearing whenever she finds something new to admire.
“You have a pot filler,” she comments as she pauses in front of the stove.
One hand twitches towards the faucet I installed at my mom’s insistence—Pot fillers are a must, she informed me when I showed her my plans for the kitchen—but haven’t used once because I keep forgetting about it. “I’ve always wanted one of these.”
I cross the kitchen to stand beside her. “I guess I’m old school,” I admit, “but I’m used to filling my pot at the sink. Not using one of these.”
“You never use this?” Angel shoots me a surprised look. “Didn’t you say you renovated the entire kitchen? Why install one if you don’t want to use it?”
I extend the faucet experimentally, then push it back to the wall. With a smile, I reply, “My mom insisted. Back when I first worked up the plans, I showed them to her. She had a lot of ideas. The pot filler was one of them.”
Angel turns to face me. “Does she come to visit often? Your mom and…” Trailing off, her face creases in apology. “Sorry. I just realized I don’t know about the rest of your family. Unless you’d rather not talk about them.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell her. And surprisingly, I don’t.
Telling Angel about my family feels right, just like everything else has since she’s gotten here.
“My parents are still married. They live in Maine. Just outside York Beach, which is where I grew up. I try to visit them at least every other month, and sometimes they’ll come here. ”
Angel sets the package of pasta she’s carrying on the counter beside the stove. “York Beach? I went there once when I was a kid, and loved it.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t a bad place to grow up,” I agree. “Busy during the tourist season, but the rest of the year, it was pretty quiet.”
“Did you spend much time at the beach?” she asks. “I remember the water being really cold. But I guess if you live there, you’d get used to it?”
I chuckle. “Somewhat. But I was more interested in hiking than swimming. Plus, during the summers, I used to help my parents out at their store. They owned a shop right in York Beach. One of those places that made custom T-shirts and other touristy stuff. Once I was old enough to actually be helpful, I spent a lot of time there.”
Angel’s expression brightens with interest. “Oh, that sounds fun. Do they still have the store?”
“They sold it a couple of years ago. They weren’t planning on retiring yet, but they got an offer they couldn’t refuse.
Now, my mom’s in a bunch of crafting clubs, and my dad recently got involved with the local government.
Plus, I have a brother who lives up in Freeport with his wife and two kids. So my parents head up there a lot.”
“That’s nice.” Her gaze turns wistful for a moment. “I’m glad your family is close.”
A weight presses down on my chest. “I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive—”
She touches my hand. “You didn’t.” Lips curving slightly, she adds, “First off, I asked about your family. Just because I lost my parents doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about yours.”
“Still.” I wrap my hand around hers. “I don’t want to make you sad.”
“You’re not. Trust me.” Angel’s smile widens. “I’m the furthest thing from sad.”
My heart lifts. “Oh?”
“Of course I am.” Her voice lilts up with enthusiasm. “This has been a great day. I got to watch Haley learn to ski, which was awesome. Plus, having lunch at the lodge, and coming here to see your house, meeting Murphy…” Angel laughs. “Skiing and playing with a dog? I think you made Haley’s year.”
“And what about you?” I ask impulsively. “What would it take to make your year?”
“My year?” As she thinks, her cheeks go pink. “This is pretty close, I think.”
Pride swells inside me. And with it comes the urge to do even more—to truly make her year instead of just getting close.
“It’s been a pretty great day for me, too,” I reply. “I’ve really enjoyed it so far.”
Angel arches an eyebrow at me. A teasing glint comes to her eyes. “So far? Are you implying that my dinner could be less than enjoyable?”
“Of course not.” I glance over at the ingredients set out on the island. There are a lot more than what I use when cooking, and that’s being generous. “I can’t wait for dinner. If it’s even close to as good as your cookies, it’s going to be amazing.”
Angel follows my gaze. “I hope so. But I don’t want to get your hopes up only to disappoint you.”
My heart tugs. “That’s impossible. You could never disappoint me.”
Her surprised gaze jumps to mine. “Ronan.”
I lace my fingers between hers. “I mean it, Angel. You—”
“Mom! Ronan!”
As Haley bursts into the kitchen, Angel yanks her hand from mine. The pink that only just faded from her cheeks comes rushing back. Disappointment slashes at me, sharp and unexpected.
I liked holding her hand.
I liked touching Angel, full-stop.
And now that I’m not, my hand feels cold and empty.
“What is it?” Angel asks. She picks up the box of pasta and turns it over in her hands. “And inside voice, remember?”
Haley nods. “Okay,” she replies in a much quieter tone. “I was wondering…” Her eyes widen pleadingly as she looks between Angel and me. “Could I take Murphy outside to play? I think he’d like it.”
Angel glances at the window, where dusk is settling in outside it. “I’m not sure about that, Hale. It’s getting dark. And with all the woods around…”
“The backyard is fenced in,” I tell her. “And I’ve got security cameras out there. Plus, there are alarms on the fence that’ll go off if it’s tampered with.”
When Angel frowns, I belatedly worry that I shouldn’t have said anything. If Angel doesn’t want her daughter going outside when it’s starting to get dark, who am I to interfere? “Sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean—”
Angel flashes me a quick smile. “It’s fine.” She pauses. “So you think it’s safe out there?”
“I know it’s safe,” I reply. “Alec helped with the security. And you can watch the cameras from inside.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and open the security app, then navigate to the feeds for the backyard. “See? You can see everything.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? And what about Murphy? If it’s too cold for him…”
As if he knows we’re talking about him, Murphy comes trotting into the kitchen and sits down with a loud thunk at our feet. Then he gives me a look that mirrors the one Haley just gave us. With a laugh, I say, “He won’t be cold. He loves playing outside. In fact.”