I want this.
I want him.
I want to see if my what-if could become real.
“I would love to,” I tell him, and as the words come out, they feel right. “Haley would love to meet Murphy. And I’d love to see your house.”
Ronan stares at me for a second, almost as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind.
But when I don’t, his eyes brighten, and his lips curve into a broad smile. “That’s good.” Beneath the table, his leg brushes against mine. “I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER 7
RONAN
HavingAngel 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 wasso 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 toaskbefore 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 livein 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.”
