Page 54 of Stranded

“I just… I’ve never had someone believe in me like this.” Ronan clears his throat. “You believe in who I’m going to be. And you’re not asking me to make compromises first. In fact…” He squints at me. “…you get kind of mad at me when I do.”

That all sounds right.

“Okay,” Ronan murmurs at last. He drops his knees and curls them up by his side again as he looks up at me—and smiles with all that sparkling hope that makes my soul sing.

His eyes drop to my lips and linger, and I pause.

Should I?

Fuck it. I don’t want to let being careful get in the way of what I want.

So I cup Ronan’s cheeks gently between my palms, and I lean in to cross the distance between us… and I press our lips together, nice and long and slow. The air whooshes out of his lungs, and his shoulders slowly drop, and I keep on kissing him until all the tension is gone.

I back up every word of my promises with that kiss—and I take what I need, too.

A glimpse at the future that’s so worth waiting for.

Then I pull away, and Ronan catches my hands. One at a time, he bows his head to kiss each of my palms. Then he lets go and smiles. “I’d better open these boxes.”

“Then I won’t get in your way.” I smile as I get up. “Coming downstairs for dinner tonight?”

“Yeah. I’d love that.” Ronan smiles up at me with shining eyes. “Thank you.”

I wink at him as I head downstairs. “Bring your appetite,” I call out, and then I whistle my way down the stairs.

I know what I want. And finally, it’s something worth waiting for.

Chapter

Twenty

RONAN

My mind isin a hundred places as I stumble out of the shower. I haven’t finished this week’s assignment, and I’ve only got a few hours before I have to leave for my ferry.

“God,” I cover my yawn as I grope around to find the doorway to the master bedroom. A few weeks into the new routine, I’m just about used to it—even sleeping in here.

Not that I get much sleep these days.

I was up late again last night, and all for an optional project that I won’t even get credit for in class.

It was another one of Professor Meyer’s off-handed suggestions, slipped in between her Powerpoint slides like an afterthought.

Now that you know how to do a portfolio critique, you might do it to your own portfolio someday. Treat it like someone else’s work and critique it the same way. Notice what you’d do differently now.

These days, I pay attention to everything she says.

She was right about this new job, after all. I’m getting better at everything I’ve been avoiding for three years… and without the pressure of designing, I’m finally learning to take pride in my work.

Another yawn hits me like a truck as I rummage around for a shirt and a pair of jeans. I finish off the day’s outfit with a cute sweater, because autumn is well and truly here.

And it’s gotta be cute, just in case Alph comes upstairs.

When I get to the kitchen table, where my sewing machine now lives, I stop short. I smell coffee.

No, Iseecoffee—a mug of it sitting right by my sewing machine. And there’s a plate with a breakfast bagel.

Just the way I like it: overloaded with scrambled eggs and bacon, dripping with butter… and I even spot the bright green flash of an avocado slice poking out.

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