Page 43 of Ciaran

He spots me hovering, and smiles, beckoning me over. “You look lovely,” he says.

Delight flutters across my skin, and I inch my gaze down, his compliment and open appraisal skyrocketing my confidence.

“Ready to go?”

I nod. “Where are we going?”

“A quick dinner first; nothing fancy. I got us tickets at the comedy club over on Broadway.” He playfully bumps my shoulder. “I thought we could both do with a bit of fun.”

If I’d designed my ideal first date, this would be it. Nothing heavy, nothing serious, just a chance to laugh together.

“Sounds perfect.”

Ciaran captures my hand without asking. Holding his hand feels so natural and so right. In comparison, Tanner would grip me far too hard, roughly stamping his ownership.

I wonder how long it will be before I stop comparing every new experience with the old ones. I hope it’s soon. I hate giving Tanner even an inch of head space.

“Catch you later, bro,” Ciaran says while I add, “Bye, Declan. Have a good night.”

“Be good, kids.”

I giggle at his teasing while Ciaran rolls his eyes. Outside, dusk has fallen, the warmth of the day replaced with a chilly breeze, and I shrug into my jacket.

“Cold?” Ciaran asks.

“A little. Fall is on the way, I think.”

In response, Ciaran wraps his arm around my shoulders and nestles me into his side. “Better?”

I nod. God, he feels good: strong, muscled, warm. Oh so warm. I try to remember when I last felt so cosseted and safe, but I can’t think of a single time. Long ago… too long. Slowly, the ties that bound me to my past self are unraveling.

“Any time you think I’m overstepping the mark, you tell me. If you want space, you got it.”

I tilt my head back and look up at him. “I like it when you touch me.”

His emerald-green eyes flare, and for a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me. And he does, but not in the way I hope when I part my lips and hold my breath. Instead of pressing his lips to mine, he brushes them against my temple and holds me tighter.

I fight between disappointment—because when he kissed me, I saw stars—and a deep thrill at the beauty in such a simple action.

He takes me to a small restaurant off Broadway. The walls are covered in bright, abstract paintings, and it has a funky vibe. Once we’re seated and our server has taken our drinks order, I break out into a grin.

“This doesn’t seem like your type of place at all.”

“Why do you say that?”

I wrinkle my nose. “It’s kinda artsy. I never took you for the artistic type.”

“I’ve always liked art. I’d love to learn to paint. Maybe one day when I have more time.”

I tilt my head. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

My heart clenches at the wistful note to his tone. “I can’t wait to learn,” I whisper.

Fire burns in his eyes. They say so much, those flames. They tell of yearning, heartache, and hope. I’m sure mine are a mirror image.

He reaches for my hand, and our fingers interlock before he gently brushes his thumb over my skin, and my stomach tilts. The way he’s looking at me steals my breath.

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