Chapter 8 #2
Ronan glances away from the road for a second to look at me. “And did Taylor accept?”
“He did.” I smile at the memory. “It was really sweet.”
As Ronan’s attention turns back to the road, his expression turns pensive.
My instinct is to try to read into it—is he bothered by the idea of a proposal?
By two men getting engaged? I don’t imagine it’s the latter—in all the time I’ve known Ronan, I’ve never gotten the impression that he’d be bothered by it.
More likely, and more worrisome, is the possibility that he doesn’t like the idea of himself getting engaged.
Stop it, I scold myself. This is our first official date. It’s a little premature to be thinking about engagements.
But that’s where I’d want it to go, if things worked out between us. I’d want the stability for Haley, first off. And I’d want the commitment for myself. I’d want to know that the man I loved was willing to vow to take care of me in sickness and in health, and I’d want to swear the same to him.
First date, my inner voice of reason reminds me. It’s the first date. How about seeing how that goes before anything else?
But I’m saved from any further silent debate when Ronan pulls into the parking lot behind The Laughing Goat. It’s a fairly new restaurant that uses local, farm-to-table ingredients, and while I haven’t eaten here yet, I’ve heard good things.
When we get inside, I don’t miss the admiring glances Ronan receives from the female diners closest to the entrance. And when he shrugs out of his jacket, several women stare blatantly at him, no doubt noticing the breadth of his shoulders and the bulge of his biceps.
But Ronan pays them no attention. His eyes are only for me.
His hand rests on my lower back as we follow the hostess to our table in a gesture that feels both possessive and protective.
Once we’re seated—at one of the best tables in the restaurant, no less, right near the fireplace and with plenty of space between us and the other customers—Ronan reaches across the table to take my hand.
“Is this table alright? I asked for one that was more private. And I thought, with it being so cold, you might like being near the fireplace. But if you’d rather sit somewhere else—”
“This is perfect,” I interrupt. “I can’t think of a better place to sit.”
He regards me for a second. “Okay. I just want to make sure.” Another of those tiny flickers of uncertainty moves across his face. “Like I told you before. It’s been a long time since I did this. And I know it’s been a long time for you, too. So I want to do things right.”
I’m incredibly curious as to why Ronan hasn’t dated in years. Assuming he’s telling the truth about it, and I can’t think of a reason why he wouldn’t.
Unless he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security, that insecure voice in my head suggests. Unless he just wants to get you into bed, and he thinks this will be the quickest way.
After a moment’s consideration, I shove the idea aside.
Ronan is arguably one of the best-looking men in all of Bliss.
He could have pretty much any single woman in town if he wanted, and probably some of the married ones, too.
So it wouldn’t make sense for him to go through all this effort with me if all he wants is to find someone to hook up with.
“Angel?” Ronan looks at me with concern. “Are you sure this is alright? We can leave—”
Crap. I need to stifle my insecure imagination before it ruins our date. With a bright smile, I answer, “I’m sure it’s alright. I just—” I cast about for a new topic and settle on, “I was thinking about before we left my house. When you smelled me?”
Faint spots of pink rise in his cheeks. “Did I?”
“I’m pretty sure you did.”
A moment passes before he smiles sheepishly. “I was. Smelling your hair, that is. Or at least, I think it’s your hair.”
I only just stop myself from grabbing my hair and sniffing it. “What about my hair?”
“It smells like cupcakes. Actually, everything about you does.”
Warm fizzes fill my chest. “You think I smell like cupcakes?”
“Yes. That’s the best way I can think of to describe it.” His thumb rubs across the back of my hand. “You smell amazing. Maybe it’s weird to say that, but you do.”
I make an immediate mental note to order more of my shampoo. Possibly a dozen bottles of it, in case it goes out of stock. “It’s called Buttered Vanilla,” I say. “It’s my shampoo.”
“Buttered vanilla.” Ronan nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
A brief silence follows as we just stare at each other. My pulse speeds. A tingly heat starts in my belly and spirals out. My focus narrows on his lips, and I wonder if it would be inappropriate to kiss him right here.
“Angel,” he starts.
“Hi!” Our server arrives at our table, bearing a water pitcher and a basket of bread. “Good evening. How are you tonight?”
Tearing my gaze from Ronan, I look up and immediately recognize her.
Vienna is new in town, but pretty much everyone knows her.
It’s not just because she’s nice—which she is—but she went through some terrible stuff when she first moved here.
Months later, things have settled, and she’s happily living with her fiancé, Caleb, and their rescue dog, Zeus.
“Hey, Vienna,” Ronan replies with an easy smile. “How are things going?”
“Oh, good,” she replies. “How about you?”
Ronan glances at me. His gaze softens. “I’m very good.” Then he shifts his attention back to her. “I ran into Caleb the other day and he said you’re taking classes now. Training to be a paramedic, right?”
She nods. “Yup. The classes are going really well. In another year—”
The pager at her waist buzzes, and she jolts a little. “Oops. That thing still startles me. But I’d better check on my order. Can I get you two something to drink while you’re looking at the menu?”
“A glass of Pinot Grigio for me, please,” I say.
“A light beer for me,” he says. “Whatever’s on draft. Thanks.”
As Vienna hurries away, I watch her, thinking.
Vienna’s my age; give or take a year. Her now-fiancé, Caleb, is almost twenty years older. Things are working out for them, obviously, since they’re due to be married this coming Valentine’s Day.
Ronan’s only eleven years older than me. Compared to Caleb and Vienna, that’s nothing.
“So,” Ronan says after taking a sip of his water, “I was thinking, after dinner, we could take a walk through the park to look at the decorations. Or we could go back to your place and you could show me some of your artwork. What do you think?”
“Both sound good,” I reply. “Maybe we could do both? I told Miranda I wouldn’t pick up Haley until ten. So I think—”
From my purse, my phone chimes with an incoming text.
As much as I’d like to ignore it, that’s something a single mom can’t do. Chances are, it’s nothing more than a spam caller trying to sell me on an extended warranty, but if something’s wrong with Haley…
“Sorry,” I say while reaching into my purse. “I know it’s rude, looking at my phone while we’re having dinner. But if it’s about Haley—”
“Of course.” Ronan makes a quick it’s nothing gesture. “Don’t even worry about it.”
As I pull out my phone, a sense of foreboding closes in around me.
My heartbeat quickens.
I’m not sure if someone who’s not a parent would understand.
But there are just times when I’m seized with this certainty that something’s wrong with Haley—like when she broke her arm on the playground at school and I felt a phantom twinge in the matching spot only minutes before, or when she snuck out of the house when she was six and got herself stuck up in the maple tree.
The feeling of wrongness is so strong; my fingers tremble as I pull out my phone.
When I see that the message isn’t from Miranda or, God forbid, the hospital, the relief is overwhelming.
But when I actually read the message, the relief disappears as quickly as it came.
Ang. Your lawyer contacted me. He said I shouldn’t call you directly. I just want to talk to you. Is there someplace we can meet?
As I stare at the message, tears of frustration and anger burn behind my eyes.
What is he doing?
He hasn’t cared about Haley in almost a decade. Why now? Because I’m not kidding myself into thinking this is just a hey, long time no talk kind of thing. He’s not contacting me to say he’s sorry for being an asshole and wants to make amends for it.
No, he wants something. Something I’m not going to want to give.
“Angel?” Ronan’s voice is soft. Worried. When I jerk my gaze up from the phone, his expression is creased with concern. “Is Haley okay?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes. She’s fine.” I take another steadying breath. “If you’ll just… hang on.”
I quickly send a text to my lawyer—thankfully, he knew my mom, so he’s giving me a discounted rate—to let him know about Justin’s most recent communication. Then I shove my phone back into my purse and try to force a smile. “Sorry. I just…”
Just what? How do I explain without ruining our date already?
Ronan takes my hand, nearly swallowing it with his much larger one. The feel of it soothes me. It releases some of the pressure building in my chest. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “But I’m here if you want to talk.”
Part of me wants to gloss over it. To bring up a different, lighter topic.
But if I want to know, truly know, if Ronan’s serious about me and everything that entails, I have to be honest with him. Which is why I reply, “That was a message from Justin. Haley’s dad. We haven’t spoken in years. And… I’m not particularly happy to hear from him.”
I swallow a laugh at the gross understatement that is.
Ronan frowns. “I thought he wasn’t in the picture.”
“He’s not.” My voice turns sharp. “He hasn’t been. Ever.”
I’m held up from the rest of the story by Vienna appearing with our drinks. But once she leaves with our dinner orders, I continue, “It’s no secret in town that I came back here to raise Haley on my own.”
“Okay?”