Page 5 of Dearest Ronan

Anika:

Address?

We’re not having a discussion about whatever is going on through text. I refuse it.

For the first time in two years, I’m going to face Ronan head on, not through words and vague voicemails, but with me physically in front of him.

My body buzzes with anticipation. Excited adrenaline betrays what I’ve worked so hard for, which is to stay away and forget. Or, at the very least, to admire Ronan from afar while I attempt to move on.

But of course, it doesn’t care. It just wants to be close to him again; and I just want to soak in his radiance and bask in all that is my former guardian.

Anika

I’m outside Ronan’s place, digging around in my bag for the key he sent last week, totally clueless about it until now. Caught up in my love-struck daze, I completely missed the handwritten envelope with his new apartment key. I just chucked it in my purse and forgot about it while I was busy packing and cramming stuff in there earlier today. But hey, look what I found now, all crumpled up and hiding in a corner of my bag.

In Ronan’s own way, he’d discreetly told me he’d moved, and I hadn’t realized it until now.

I hadn’t forgotten the envelope prior, but I had forbidden myself from opening it when I first held it in my hands. You see, I didn’t trust myself to not trace each pen stroke he’d written with the tender pad of my fingertip. Nor did I trust myself not to use that same fingertip to slip inside my wet panties as I thought about his wide shoulders hunched in an office chair as he took pen to paper with me on his mind. To not visualize his stronglycorded forearms resting on the desk while his thick wrists and fingers stuff my letter into a tight little envelope.

With a soft click of the key unlocking his front door, I slowly open and brace myself for what I’ll find inside. Away from Ronan, avoiding him is already absolute torture. Within the same space as him, it’s going to be impossible. This is true seconds after I open the door and step inside.

I inhale deeply. His familiar sea breeze scent settles my nerves while also making me all achy inside.

I’m needy.

I try not to be, but I’m afraid with one quick glance at my quivering breath, he’ll see every illicit thought running through my head.

Where is he, anyway?

I’m standing in the entryway, gazing around his apartment. From my view, two steps in, I see the kitchen and dining space, the living room, and a narrow hallway leading to one closed door. The weathered carpet appears well worn. It’s this odd blue and speckled white color, where some blue spots are brighter than others.

Off in the kitchen, there’s a small portable dishwasher. The kind that drains the water directly into your sink with a hose and washes about four dishes at a time. Only if they’re already pretty clean, though. God forbid there’s a small mush of spaghetti noodles pressed onto a plate.

I’d know because I bought a similar one for my dorm room. Except, rather than drain into a sink, I had to drain the water into a bucket. You know, because dorm rooms don’t have sinks. Mine had been a waste of three hundred bucks.

Hopefully, Ronan’s is better.

Since he’s not in the kitchen, I pad past the living room, straight to the closed door. It’s claustrophobic in the hall,and I wonder how Ronan’s shoulders and muscular build fits comfortably through.

I doubt they do.

I imagine he’s like a giant in this hall. Or a god. It only makes sense that this apartment proves it.

His god status, that is.

I gently knock on the closed door to what I assume is his bedroom, but he doesn’t answer. It’s just my luck that he’s out running errands.

I can’t wait. It’s much too tempting. Now that I’m here, I’m a crazed stalker-fan. Finally, I unleash the monster I’ve been hiding away.

I have this overwhelming urge to go to his bed. Are his sheets still blue, like they were the last time I saw them? Is his room messy or clean? Does he fold his boxers neatly or pile them in the laundry basket?

It’s funny. Once upon a time I sat at Ronan Steele’s dinner table, watching him sip whisky and pick at whatever dinner either he or Carolyn had cooked. The point is, I had a relationship with him. Not the type I wanted, but it was there, nonetheless.

As I gaze around, a shimmering diamond catches the soft light filtering through the window from a small side table against my thigh. Confused, I lean down, studying the platinum band before realizing that it’s Carolyn’s engagement ring. In fact, it’s the only thing of Carolyn’s that I see. My mind races as I connect the dots, including dots hinting at the absence of their shared belongings.

They’re separated! I have to find Ronan. Now his texts make so much sense.

I’m a silent walker. Mostly because my nerves are jumping, telling me to be careful. I was like that before. Trying to sneak around corners and catch glimpses of candid Ronan. It’s like I’m an eighteen-year-old again, but in my twenty-year-old body.

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