Page 19 of Deceit

“Well, since I’m only of legal age for one of the three, I will stick with food.”

“You’re in Salem now, Skyla. You can have whatever you want,” he says with an easy shrug, as he takes another drink of his beer.

“Surely the drinking laws aren’t different here?” I scoff.

“They are when your last name is Parris, soon to be Putnam.”

I laugh at him, because he must be kidding, but I decide to test his little theory. I catch the waitress’s eye and she walks over to us with a smile.

“Can I get something for you, hun?”

“Could I please get a chicken salad and a glass of pinot grigio?”

Her eyes briefly flick to Ronan, as if she were asking him for permission before he gives her a quick nod. She smiles brightly at me and nods before walking back to the computer to ring up the order. I watch her go, completely bewildered. I won’t lie, that was something I was disappointed about when I was forced to move back to the US. The drinking age in London is eighteen. I had just started being able to order a glass of wine at lunch or dinner with Aunt Steph when I was forced to move back here and now have to wait another two years before being able to do that again. Though apparently, not in Salem.

I’m not sure I understand this city yet. It’s not that small and yet, it’s as if everyone knows everyone or at least everyone is connected to each other in a way. It’s an odd dynamic that I’m still trying to wrap my head around.

My food and wine arrive in the next few minutes and Ronan gets another beer. We spend the next hour or so just talking about anything and everything. I told him about my time in boarding school, my Aunt Steph and my love of swimming. He told me how he went to Gallows Hill University himself and actually went on to join Team USA in the Olympics. He placed Bronze in the freestyle 100 meter two games in a row.

I was floored with that bit of information. I was about to start drilling him with question after question, but a sad look flickeredacross his face when the topic was brought up so I thought it was best to let it lie.

When we’re done, Ronan hands the waitress his card.

“Let me cover my share,” I say, earning a disapproving look from him as he continues holding his card out for the waitress.

I move my hand away from my wallet, lowering my head softly.

“Thank you,” I say with a small smile.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, causing a flutter to run through me.

There has been absolutely no flirting or sexual tensionuntilthis very moment. Obviously, him being a swim coach and over thirteen years older than me was enough of a no-no. Add in that I’m engaged and it’s really inappropriate. Sprinkle in the fact that he is my fiancé’s uncle. Yeah, it's a hard no. Unfortunately.

Neither one of us speaks, our eyes locked on one another before I force myself to look away. My eyes land on his hand, something familiar catching my eye.

“Hey, that looks just like my dad’s ring,” I say, leaning over to take a closer look at it.

He stiffens as soon as my fingers touch the cool metal. A cursive letter B is embossed on the front of the silver ring, with similar Latin script carved around it.

I look up at him expecting him to say something, but I only find Ronan staring at me intently, his jaw tight and eyes focused.

I let his hand go and he seems to relax almost immediately, which I can’t lie, kind of bugs me. Is my touch really that off putting? That repulsive?

Clearing his throat once, he gestures towards the door, and I nod my head. Silently yielding to whatever get out of this moment free card he wants to use.

“Where did you park?” Ronan asks, as we step out into the parking lot.

I cringe softly as I shake my head.

“I walked here.”

“You walked?” he scoffs. He looks down at me, towering over me by nearly a foot before he shakes his head.

“C’mon,” he says as he hits his key fob, unlocking a sleek, black BMW.

I don’t follow him, weighing my options. I probably shouldn’t ride with him. Having lunch with him was bad enough, right? Then again, my feet are practically begging me to say yes because I can’t imagine walking another fifty steps, let alone miles.

“Please,” Ronan adds from the side of the car. “It will make me feel better to know you aren’t wandering the streets alone.”

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