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I run my finger lazily along the glass wall of what should be the window in my bedroom.
I’m here, wondering what is happening with Ronan.
When he left this morning, he seemed a little on edge, saying he had something or someone he needed to see.
He didn’t give much information, he never has. Still, he looked worried.
I think he’s worried about me.
I fold my arms across my chest, about to retire to my bed, when I hear a hard bang on my door. It’s urgent and sounds like something only Ronan would do.
Then another bang before I can reach the door, which swings open.
I glare at him, and he grunts what should pass for an apology. He looks worried.
“Hi,” I lean against one side of the door frame, and he mirrors my position.
“Hi,” it’s a scoff, and then he puffs, making his chest swell and drop.
Albeit worried and evidently tired, he’s always stunningly handsome.
“Dinner,” he lifts the takeout, and I nod.
All of a sudden, life feels so short. It feels like time is sprinting past me at an agonizing speed, and I just wonder what I am left with at the end of it all—a life not lived.
I slide down and sit on the floor, and he cocks his brow.
I gesture for him to come down and he finally does. I scoot a little closer until our knees brush but not in a way that makes it intentional.
He opens the takeout and lines everything on the floor between us, and I watch him like he is creating a masterpiece.
He has always been mesmerizing to me, even during the most ordinary actions. Everything about Ronan Gallagher has always felt like art. Sometimes, he feels too good to be touched.
He holds my gaze as he bites from everything and again, the simple act of him doing a food tasting sends electricity spiraling through my veins.
I know he is only doing this to make me feel safe.
“It’s not necessary,” I chuckle as I drag a bowl of chow mein closer. I reach for the bottle of water, but he is quick to get it before me and help with cocking it open before setting it down for me.
“Thank you,” I clear my throat and pick it up to wet my flaky throat before eating.
I’m hungry.
I keep eating, filling my mouth with food, and wishing each scoop would weigh down the pinching desire in my stomach to ask him what is wrong with him. He seems more on edge than usual.
“Are you alright?” I hold my breath and he pauses from shoving a forkful of chow mein in his mouth.
His answer to that is a grunt, telling me in his own way that he’d rather not voice his worries.
“Whatever it is, Ronan, I wish I could do something to take the edge away,” I set my empty plate down. “I’m here, and I’m sorry you are going through whatever it is alone.” I reach for the bottle of water and sip, but it’s more to busy my hands with something rather than give in to the itch to touch him and smooth out the crinkles on his forehead from overthinking.
He is staring at me now.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
He breathes and sets his plate down, “Spend the night with me, please.”
Chapter Nineteen
