Belle doesn’t wait to be told twice. I love that she’s not shy here. I’ve brought her to visit my parents more than a few times now.
Ronan’s eyebrow shoots up. “In the yard? It’s a little cold, isn’t it?”
“Of course in the yard. Didn’t you grow up in Wisconsin? This is nothing.”
“Reading up on me?” he murmurs.
I blush and ignore his question. “With all the people in here, escaping outside is the only way to avoid heatstroke. The tree house is surprisingly well insulated. I may hang out there myself later.”
He pulls off his coat, and I take it from him. “Itishot in here,” he agrees, tugging at the collar of his indigo-blue sweater. It looks like cashmere, and I really want to run my hands over it to check.
“I’m glad you made it.”
“Did you doubt me?”
I lift my shoulders.
“When I promise something to you, I’ll do it,” he growls.
“Noted.” I give a small salute.
I turn to set his coat in the room off the entry hallway. It’s an old house, and I’m not sure what the room’s original purpose was, but now it’s my mom’s home gym, where she has her step machine, her free weights, and her Jane Fonda posters. She even has a small television for watching old workout videos, which are still on VHS.
I hang his coat off the step machine. It’s precarious because there are a dozen other coats piled on it and many more on the yoga mat on the floor.
“Huh,” Ronan says, checking out the Jane Fonda posters.
“I bet she could take you in an exercise contest.”
“Who? Jane?” He gestures to the poster. “Or your mom?”
“Jane, of course. She’s the queen of fitness. But also, my mom.”
“And what kind of contest? Lifting? Arm-wrestling?” Ronan asks, folding his arms over his chest.
I grin. “Step aerobics. Or Zumba.”
“What’s step aerobics?”
“Well, if you have to ask, you’d definitely lose. Come on, big guy, let’s get this party started.” I take his hand, as if it’s the most natural thing. And for me, it is. I’m a toucher. A hugger.
But when his large hand engulfs mine, electric warnings go off in my brain. It reminds me of the way his hands picked me up effortlessly. And then I’m back there in that moment, dreaming of the way his mouth and body mastered mine. I want more. I want everything.
I peek up at him and he’s watching me intently.
I try to pretend it doesn’t affect me, even though my breathing has gone uneven and my cheeks are pink.
Because. Belle.
And also because I don’t want to be rejected again, even if it’s for a good reason.
I lead him into the kitchen and drop his hand on the pretext of getting him a club soda from the fridge. I hold it out.
Personally, if I were him, I’d break down, eat and drink what I wanted, and then make really good friends with the CGI team, but I guess that’s why he’s an action star and I’m just an art teacher. I could never keep up that level of self-discipline and commitment.
“Thanks,” he says. “But I’ll have one of those.” He points to a light beer. “We’re nearing the end of filming. It won’t hurt to have one or two.”
The end of filming. When the movie’s done, there will be no reason for him to stay.
