Page 62 of Thanks for Coming Along

When she stepped back, Eden forced a small smile. She said her goodbyes to Sadie, who insisted she keep in touch.

Eden quickly packed her things and ordered a car, trying to hold it together as best she could.

"What's wrong?" Ronan asked behind her as she threw a pair of jeans into her bag. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around, afraid he’d see the panic bubbling inside her.

"Nothing," she muttered, shoving more clothes into her bag. She cleared her throat, trying to sound calm. "I need to get to recording soon, and I’ve got that award show in a couple days. Plus, I have a dress fitting tomorrow." Her voice came out steadier than she felt, but inside, her thoughts were a mess—like a bird thrashing in a cage, desperate to break free.

She just needed to step away, catch her breath, and get a little distance to sort through everything. Her hands shook, the motion quick and unsteady as she packed.

Suddenly, a large, warm hand enclosed her wrist, stopping her mildly frantic movement. Eden's breath hitched as a rush of sensations coursed through her. His touch was both familiar and electrifying. His other hand lightly brushed against her waist, sending a shiver up her spine. Her back straightened like an arrow as she felt the intensity of his touch.

Eventually, she managed to rejoin the realm of the living and turned to face him. His strong hands enveloped hers, the warmth of his palms seeping through her skin. As his soft eyes roamed her face, Eden felt like he was peering deep into her soul. There was an intimacy in how he looked at her as if he knew her better than she knew herself. It was as though a thin piece of glass separated them, and with each probing gaze, every question, the surface grew more fragile, forming hairline cracks that threatened to shatter at any moment.

She’d learned how to get herself out of any situation from a young age. Deflection was her shield, jokes were her diversion, and nonchalance was her disguise. But with Ronan, it was different. One touch from him and her armor fell away, crumbling to the ground.

Her phone pinged from her pocket, signaling that her ride had arrived. Ronan gently took her hands, lifting them to his lips, and kissed each knuckle with a tenderness that made her heart ache. He touched her like she was something sacred, his reverence for her overwhelming. Her chest tightened at the weight of his devotion, the way he worshiped her with such quiet admiration. It left her feeling vulnerable, like her heart and mind were at war. The ghosts of past hurts—her parents' abandonment, Liam's betrayal, the ache of every loss—flooded her thoughts, urging her to pull away, to protect herself.

But in that moment, her heart took over. She stood on tiptoe, closing the distance between them with a soft, lingering kiss. For a brief second, she allowed herself the comfort of his touch. Then, her rational mind regained its hold on her. She grabbed her bag and turned toward the door, retreating to the safety of her home.

40

Eden

The drive back to her house was long. She rode relentless currents of worries and fears, each one tugging at her with an insurmountable force. When she opened the front door of her bungalow, the house was bathed in the golden afternoon light. She could picture Ronan sitting on the fluffy white rug in the living room, a small smile tugging his lips. She walked into the kitchen, where he made countless meals for her. The apron that she had gotten as a housewarming present two years ago had somehow become Ronan's apron.

Moving through her house, she felt like she was walking through a gallery of memories from the past few weeks between them. Each room, each piece of furniture, held a moment, a fragment of their time together. The laughter they shared over breakfast, the quiet conversations late into the night, the spontaneous dance parties in the living room—all of it replayed in her mind like a film reel.

The air was still and silent. Usually, she would bask in that quietness, but now that silence was oppressive. The lack of his presence was so loud it was blaring in her ears. It made her pace her living room; she wanted him here. This feeling was something entirely new; she had never missed someone soterribly. She felt sick to her stomach, her stomach felt twisted, and her hands were fidgeting at her sides.

After pacing around for what felt like forever, she couldn't stand it anymore and decided to dive into her comfort zone—music. She reached for her guitar, set up an interface, and plugged in her microphone to start recording with her computer. She let her emotions pour out through her music, her fear and longing translating into the chords she played. Hours passed in a blur as she recorded nine new songs for her album, pushing herself until her eyes were too tired to stay open. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with her, and she ended up falling asleep right on the living room rug, still in her jeans. In her dreams, vivid images of moss-green eyes and a tender smile danced behind her eyelids.

The next day was her dress fitting with her stylist. They had picked out a stunning satin gown that hugged her curves perfectly, with a high slit and plenty of cleavage. The dress was topped off with sky-high heels, making her feel like she was about to break her neck with every step. But through it all, her mind kept drifting back to Ronan and the text he’d sent the night before. The two words she hadn't seen until that morning:Miss you.

If "Miss you" meant "I can barely function because I can only think about you," then yes, she missed him too. She had somehow become a woman pining for a man. How suburban of her. Her past self would be mortified.

She was settling into recording another song when she heard a knock on her front door, and her pitiful heart lifted at the sound. Without hesitation, she rushed to the front door and flung it open with an eagerness she couldn't contain. A squeal escaped her lips as she laid eyes on the moss-green eyes she had been dreaming about. Ronan stood before her, his lips curving into a smile, his eyebrows lifting in amusement at her involuntary noise.

Her body moved instinctively, driven by the powerful surge of emotion overtaking her. Her arms wrapped around Ronan's neck, and he leaned down, a deep chuckle escaping his lips as his arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her close.

"Miss me?" His velvety whisper caressed her nerve endings, sending goosebumps over her skin. It flowed like honey, a smooth cascade that warmed her at its sound.

"You have no clue," Eden breathed out in relief. Had she ever missed anyone this much before? When they were apart, her heart felt empty, a void that nothing could fill. Life had no color; her world was grayscale. Greens were muted when compared to the green of his eyes.

Ronan had somehow managed to dig deep into her soul, uncovering parts of her she'd buried long ago. All the layers she’d carefully built up lay scattered around her, and there he stood, as if wearing the remnants of her heart and soul, marked by the depth he’d uncovered. Yet, despite it all, she’d never felt so at ease or safe in someone’s arms.

Was she really ready to let this slip through her fingers? Her heart screamed no, a stark contrast to the emotions she was grappling with. She was undeniably falling for him, and the thought sent her stomach into a plummeting nosedive. Time taunted her. They only had one week left to film together. The end of October hung over her head, and panic gripped her throat like a vice.

It all felt like too much, too soon, and her mind spiraled, trapped in a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts, like waves relentlessly crashing against the shore.

She pulled away from Ronan's arms. He was devastating in his worn Levi's and white T-shirt. Her palms grew damp, and she hastily wiped them against the fabric of her dress, the friction failing to alleviate the nervous energy coursing through her. She saw he had a suit bag hanging over his shoulder and his usual backpack on the opposite side.

"A tad presumptuous to assume you're staying over," Eden remarked, her grin betraying the anticipation bubbling inside her. She eyed the suit bag with interest, all too happy to have him stay.

"I can go," he said, a hint of sarcasm coloring his words, gesturing over his shoulder as if preparing to leave.

"No!" The word escaped her lips louder than she had intended, and she could feel her cheeks warming. She cleared her throat and continued, her voice softer this time, "No, stay with me." Her gaze shifted upward to meet his. "What's in the bag, Murphy?"

"It's a tux for the award show tomorrow," Ronan explained, his tone tinged with a hint of enthusiasm. He carefully draped the suit bag over the arm of the couch. A zing of excitement hit her. He would be going to the award show with her. Well, notwithher because she knew that BNN would forbid it.

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