Page 27 of Thanks for Coming Along

"Holy crap, is that Patrick Swayze?" Ingrid exclaimed. Eden couldn't help but roll her eyes inwardly. Ingrid seriously needed to lay off the Dirty Dancing references.

"Ignore Ingrid. She is just really obsessed with 80's movies right now." Eden flashed her eyes at Ingrid with a "shut up" look, and Ingrid stuck her tongue out. Meanwhile, Ronan remained focused on digging through his backpack, fully engrossed in setting up his camera.

"Ingrid needs to get to the airport in a few hours," Eden mentioned, her eyes watching Ronan as he dug deeper into his backpack.

"I'll get some footage with Ingrid first if that's okay?" Ronan asked Eden with a raised eyebrow, camera perched in his hands.

"No problem," Eden responded sweetly, and Ronan's answering smile illuminated his face as he nodded in agreement.

"I need to drop something off at my Grandad's house in the afternoon, so we might have to cut filming short for the day. He lives in Modjeska Canyon." Ronan explained, his fingers deftly adjusting the camera settings with precise twists of the knobs. Eden was familiar with the area but had never ventured to that part of California.

"I can drive you after we drop Ingrid off at the airport. I don't mind. I haven't been up in the canyons since moving to LA." Eden said as Ingrid's eyebrows rose; her eyebrows suggestedmeeting the family already? Eden rolled her eyes, which repliedI am being courteous.

"Sure, that would be great, Eden," Ronan said with a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, a dimple popping on his cheek. Her name on his lips was sinful, and that dimple had to be sacrilegious in someone's religion. The combination of the two was absolutely blasphemy.

He went into his bag for more equipment. Eden headed toward her bedroom so Ronan could interview Ingrid privately. Eden pointed to Ingrid and mouthed, "Behave yourself." Ingrid smiled evilly and rubbed her hands together diabolically, and Eden shook her head in defeat.

16

Eden

Whenever Eden ran on the treadmill, she sang. Singing while running might seem insane to onlookers, but her vocal coach insisted it would boost her endurance. So she sang during her workouts, knowing she might appear a bit deranged, but the results were undeniable. It improved her stamina for shows. Now, she could dance, sing, and jump on the stage without gasping for breath. As she tried to focus on her run, her emotions were in a distracting disarray. She closed her eyes briefly, and there he was, Ronan, dominating her thoughts.

They’d crossed plenty of lines already, but that dance in her kitchen had completely blurred them. And the way they’d interacted at the festival? Definitely not PG. The spark between them had her in a constant tug-of-war with herself. When his hands rested so confidently on her waist, and her fingers found their way to the shape of his shoulders, the rest of the world had just disappeared.

Her attraction to him was undeniable, pulling her in like a moth to a flame. His eyes held this depth that seemed to unravel parts of her she’d kept hidden for so long. The pull between them was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

But the reality of it all hung heavy over her. He wasn’t just any guy—he was a journalist hired to tell her story. Getting too close could compromise the documentary and risk his career. The whole situation had her tangled in a mess of emotions, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it.

After her run, she jumped into the shower, savoring each step of her 10-step shower routine. With her hair dried and styled, she wore cutoff jean shorts and a snug, ribbed tank top that accentuated her figure. She padded down the hallway with bare feet towards the living room. Her steps came to an abrupt halt as she reached the threshold to the living room, her ears perking up as she caught the sound of voices in the room ahead.

"...during that time, I had just been accepted into the New York City Ballet company, and the hours were grueling. I was trying to prove myself with the ultimate goal of becoming a principal ballerina. That had always been my dream since I was a kid. I did my best to be there for her during her breakup," she confessed, her voice tinged with regret, "but I was so consumed with advancing my ballet career. Then she'd decided to move to Los Angeles for a fresh start, and as much as I wanted to be by her side, my ballet company had me stuck in New York. When she left, there were times when she wouldn't respond to my calls or FaceTime messages for days on end." Ingrid had paused for a few beats, then continued with emotion in her voice.

Ingrid's voice quivered as she continued, "It was excruciating not being able to be there for her. I felt helpless, especially since she was almost 3,000 miles away. She met Quentin at an awards show that her record label had practically dragged her to. He helped her during that event, and their friendship blossomed quickly. Quentin would call me and give updates when Eden wouldn't respond to my messages. At least I knew she wasn't entirely alone. This went on for six long months, with Eden going on these benders. I even set up Google alerts with her name. I was so scared that she might end up harming herself, or worse..." Ingrid's voice trailed off, a faint sniffle echoing. She could hear the soft sound of approaching footsteps and a whispered "Thank you" before Ingrid gently blew her nose.

"She eventually called me one morning, completely distraught, and told me she was finally going to therapy. That day, I hopped on a flight to Los Angeles and drove with her to her therapy session. Eden and I are not just best friends; we are family. She's more like a sister to me. I'm not sure how much Eden shared about her childhood with you, but it wasn't easy."

"She's been open with me, but I know there's probably much more to her story." Ronan's voice was soft, tender.

"She trusts you. I can see it in the way she looks at you. Please, don't ever betray that trust, or I'll personally make sure you can't hold a camera again." Eden realized her eyes had welled up with tears. She never realized the effect of her actions during that dark period in her life. She was so consumed in her own hurt and pain she didn't even think about the people closest to her. She never saw how selfish that was. She thought creating distance between Ingrid and herself was helping Ingrid stay on track. She wanted Ingrid to focus on her ballet career.

Ingrid had put everything into getting where she was, and Eden didn't want to weigh her down with her issues. Eden inhaled deeply, willing herself to regain composure as she brushed away the threatening tears. She took a deep breath and walked into the living room, pasting a smile on her face.

"How's everything going, guys?" Eden asked, knowing that Ingrid had a flight to catch soon. Given her demanding schedule with ballet productions, her visits were usually brief.

"Fantastic, Eden. Ronan here is a real peach." Ingrid smiled, her radiant blonde hair catching the morning sunlight. She was perched gracefully on the couch, her long legs tucked neatly beneath her. She always looked perfect, not a hair out of place.

"I've had the pleasure of hearing all about your teenage escapades, including the legendary hot dog eating contest," Ronan remarked, causing Eden's eyes to widen as if they might pop out of her head.

"Oh, Indy, you didn't!" Eden exclaimed in sheer horror, clutching her chest.

"Oh, I most certainly did. It was a defining moment for you, Eden. Puking up those 20 hot dogs in front of your middle school crush was like a rite of passage, essential to your development as a musician." Ingrid recounted the memory with a playful grin, her laughter erupting so forcefully that her head leaned back.

"You are absolutely shameless!" Eden exclaimed.

"No, shameless is thinking you could win a hotdog eating contest to impress a 14-year-old boy!" Ingrid retorted her smile a mix of teasing and genuine amusement.

"Is it too late to erase her from the documentary completely? Maybe we could hire a stand-in or just prop up a broom in the chair as a placeholder?" Eden turned to Ronan with a mock-serious expression. Ronan raised his hands in a noncommittal gesture.

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