Page 29 of Thanks for Coming Along

There was a quiet confidence about him, like he fully knew who he was. Her gaze wandered over the outline of his muscles under his shirt and the way his sweater clung to his strong frame. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to know him that fully, too.

This was bad. Bad.Bad.

It took all of her willpower to redirect her eyes. She knew she needed to maintain her composure. She was about to meet Ronan's Grandad in less than an hour, and ogling Ronan in front of him would be entirely out of line, even for her.

She tried to walk casually over to the car, pretending like Ingrid hadn't just pissed in her cornflakes. She had really been enjoying the bowl of cornflakes, too. Those cornflakes were spectacular to look at, and had an even better personality.

"Let's go see Gramps!" Eden chirped as she slid into the driver's seat of the car, determined to shake it off.

17

Eden

Ronan’s grandad, Colm, lived on a quiet, tree-lined street where the branches cast shifting shadows on the pavement. His ranch-style house was tucked into tawny stone canyons, with patches of green breaking up the rocky landscape.

The drive there was beautiful, with winding roads and stunning views of the canyon crests. The sun lit up the canyon walls in warm tones, while shadows danced in the cracks and crevices. Ronan had warned her on the drive up that Colm loved to tell long-winded stories and would probably try to convince her to have a glass of whiskey with him.

Ronan hadn't even knocked on his front door before it swung open swiftly. A white-haired elderly man shuffled out of the door. His face was etched with wrinkles and lines, and he had a ruddy red nose. He sported a grin at the sight of his grandson, adjusting his tweed newspaper cap on top of his white-haired head.

Eden and Ronan headed toward his front door, with Ronan guiding her by the small of her back. His hand felt like it was burning a hole through her thin tank top. It felt like a brand on her skin. One finger skimming the exposed part of her back between her shirt and the shorts, his other hand held the wooden case by the handle, the rectangular case shifting back and forth in his grasp.

“Who is this cailín álainn?” Colm asked with a thick Irish accent, looking towards Eden, his eyes a deep and soulful shade of green. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he met her gaze, and Eden nearly melted right there on the pavement at the sound of his accent. She knew Ronan had said he was from Ireland, but she hadn’t expected it to be so thick—or so completely endearing. Paired with his tweed cap, it was almost too much. Her heart was on the verge of exploding from the cuteness overload.

When he placed his weathered hands over hers, the crepey skin soft and warm, she returned the gesture with a smile.

"Grandad, this is Eden. She is my new friend." Ronan said as his hand twitched slightly on her lower back.

"Friend? An empty sack doesn't stand." Colm muttered under his breath as he stared at Ronan's arm on her back. Eden wasn't exactly following his phrase, but she got the gist that he thought Ronan was lying. Ronan shook his head listlessly. Eden pressed her lips together to hold in a laugh.

Colm gestured toward a sad-looking shrub near the front steps. It was a mishmash of green leaves and dried, brittle branches. Eden could clearly see that it was a hydrangea, she recognized it by its distinct leaves.

"This is the bleedin' thing that is givin' me a proper 'eadache." His eyes shifted to Ronan with an expectant look. Ronan tensed slightly, looking at the shrub cluelessly.

"You need to prune it in the spring. Just snap off the dead branches and sprinkle a bit of bone meal in the soil. I bet your soil has too much nitrogen," Eden suggested as she examined the shrub. Back when Eden lived with Ingrid's family on the Upper West Side in her late teens, Ingrid's mom had beenobsessedwith her hydrangeas.So naturally, Eden had picked up a thing or two along the way.

"Fair play, my friend! My thick grandson is no help, love him to death, but he's bollocks with the garden." Colm replied with excitement, a broad grin stretching across his face.

"I'm right here, Grandad." Ronan mumbled quietly while Eden chimed in cheerfully with a bright smile, "I can help you with it. I promise I'm notdenselike Ronan."

"Sound. Your lass is dead on, Ronan." Colm smiled knowingly. "Come in, weans. You're letting the cool air in.” Colm shuffled back into the house, muttering something under his breath about the chill in the air. Eden glanced at Ronan, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. Ronan just shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, and motioned for her to follow Colm inside.

The warmth of the house greeted them as they stepped in. Colm moved toward the corner, easing himself into his well-worn armchair with a sigh.

"Do you have her?" Colm asked as he settled deeper into his chair. Ronan nodded and handed him the wooden case. A large smile spread over Colm's wrinkled face, and he rubbed the slick mahogany wood. He popped the case's latches open and grunted in satisfaction as he pulled out a gleaming wooden violin. Colm held the violin up to the light and scrutinized the body.

"Did they use Pirastro Evah Pirazzi strings?" He asked dubiously, his eyes staring at the steel strings of the violin. "I hopeTodddidn't lay a hand on her. He feckin banjaxed her last time." The name Todd was spat out like a curse, and Eden couldn't help but wonder what Todd had done to his fiddle.

"Yes, Grandad, they used the best strings. Todd doesn't work at the shop anymore, so don't worry. Maura fixed her up for you. Only the best for your 'a stór,'" Ronan replied with feigned resignation, a small, playful smile betraying his words. Eden's stomach did a little flip at the sound of the Gaeilge term of endearment that slipped from Ronan's lips. It was ridiculously hot.

"Grand," Colm muttered with a smile. He gently held the violin and asked, "Isn't she beautiful?" Colm displayed the violin to Eden and Ronan, his eyes gleaming with pride.

"But Ronan, I think your 'acushla' takes the cake," Colm added with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he playfully looked at Eden. Ronan groaned, shifting his weight awkwardly and glancing away. Eden couldn't help but laugh. Colm was undoubtedly a smooth talker, and it was easy to imagine him as a Casanova back in the day.

"Do you only hold her, or can you play? I would love to hear it," Eden asked with a playful tone.

"Oh, wean, only if you have a glass of uisce beatha with me. We need the water of life for fiddle playin'. It is the only way to play," Colm replied with a wide grin. With a resigned sigh, Ronan headed over to the bar cart in the corner of the room and retrieved a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. He poured a few inches of the amber liquid into each glass.

18

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