Bibi probably hadn’t seen Ronan’s bruises and I didn’t want to worry her.
“Yeah, sorry. It’s just been a weird day.” I forced a smile that she’d hear in my words. “I’m going to the garage. Holler if you need anything.”
Lying to Bibi was high on my list of Things I Never Do, but then again, so was losing control. I sat at my dim workstation and concentrated on my work, refocused my attention and calmed my beating heart. It was slow-going at first until I thought of my mother sitting in Aunt Bertie’s kitchen, smoking over a crossword and not looking at me.
It went faster after that.
Yellow twilight was slipping under the garage door when I finished. Everyone at school would be getting ready for the Homecoming Dance, taking pictures and going out to dinner. I’d completed a bracelet that would go in my eventual shop. That was something.
I expected—hoped—Ronan would be long gone, but he was still in our yard, working. The base of the shed had been laid, and he was hammering a nail into one corner. More nails stuck out of his mouth, his thick brows furrowed in concentration. The muscles of his arms flexed with each whack of the hammer.
I quickly turned and joined Bibi on the couch where she was listening to Law & Order on the TV and knitting. The cats, Lucy and Ethel, lay stretched out over the back like throw pillows.
“Well?” Bibi asked. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks. I’m sorry. I…” I sighed out the rest of my words, not sure what I’d have said anyway.
“It’s getting late,” Bibi said pointedly. “That boy is going to work until dark if we let him. Will you go tell him it’s quitting time, or shall I?” She smiled and patted my hand. “Don’t want you to get flustered, after all.”
I gaped. “What…? I’m not…I’ll tell him.”
I ignored Bibi’s snickering and went out to the patio.
“Hey,” I said when there was a break in the hammering. “Bibi says it’s time to quit.”
“I can stay longer,” Ronan said without looking up. “Need to catch up.”
“Bibi won’t allow it. Besides, we have that big paper due in History next week. You’ve missed a lot of class.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay, but you have two days to figure it out and no notes to work from.”
“What’s it to you?” Ronan asked, though his tone was more curious than defensive.
“Nothing,” I said too quickly. “But it’s a huge part of our grade. So I was thinking…” I swallowed hard. Jesus, what am I thinking? “I was thinking I could grab some dinner for us and Bibi and then maybe study a little. You can borrow my notes.”
Ronan didn’t say anything but watched me, a conflicted expression on his face.
I coughed. “Or not…”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“I can’t fail History. Or any class. I made a promise… Anyway, yeah. Thanks.”
“Great,” I said and went back in the house, wondering who Ronan gave his promises to.
Chapter Eight
I followed Shiloh to the living room where she explained her dinner plans to Bibi.
“Sounds marvelous,” Bibi said. She was on the couch with a pile of yarn on her lap. Two gray cats watched me through slitted eyes. “Do you like ribs, Ronan? Tony’s makes the best plates with ’slaw, biscuits, and extra crispy onion rings.”
“Sounds good,” I said. Much better than my usual frozen dinner or fast food takeout.
“Shi, why don’t the two of you walk downtown, and you can introduce Ronan to Tony?”
“Walk?” Shiloh said, looking alarmed. “It’ll be faster if we drive. In fact, I can just hop down there and back…alone.”
“There’s no rush, dear.”
Shiloh bit her lip. “The food will get cold…”
“Nonsense. It’s a lovely night for a walk. Don’t you agree, Ronan?”
I coughed. “Sure.”
Shiloh glared at me. Wrong answer.
“If you’re into that sort of thing,” she muttered. She grabbed an oversized cardigan from a chair near the door, tied it around her waist, and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Be back soon.”
“Take your time, you two.”
We headed out, Shiloh facing forward, not looking at me. Clearly, she was regretting her casual dinner invite.
Or being alone with me.
“Shiloh, take the damn car if you want. I don’t care.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Fine,” I said, strolling with my hands in my pockets. “Uh huh.”
She frowned. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s no big deal, but you’re going to be pissy the entire time.”
Shiloh glanced up at me. “I am not pissy.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m just…walking.”
I chuckled, which only irritated her more.
“Pardon me if I don’t want my great-grandmother’s food to get cold before she eats it. Bibi deserves the best.”
I smirked and shook my head.
“You disagree?”
“No, I one hundred percent agree your grandmother deserves the best.”
That’s why she has you.
“Well?”
“Well, you’re stubborn as hell.”
Her eyes—fringed with long, soft lashes—widened. “Me?”
“It’s not a bad thing. It means you want what you want.”
“I do,” she said, her tone softening a little. “It’s hard to compromise, especially where Bibi’s concerned.”
“How is she?” I asked. “Any more dizzy spells?”
“None, thank God.” She shivered a little though it was still warm out. “But it’s scary, you know? She’s eighty and… Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it. Like inviting bad stuff in.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
She gave me a small smile, and the tension evaporated. Or maybe it just changed. Shiloh was wearing high-waisted, loose, white pants and a short, white T-shirt with the beige cardigan tied loosely on her hips. The T-shirt revealed her midsection. Bracelets and rings—all her own making, I guessed—decorated her slender arms and hands, and her ears were pierced a dozen times, the rings and studs visible when she pushed her braids off her shoulders.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her, and my hands wanted to touch all the different textures of her. Hard metal and soft skin. Her hair where it was braided and where it frayed at the ends into soft waves.
So much for keeping my damn distance.
The walk to downtown from Shiloh’s neighborhood took about fifteen minutes. Her quiet street gave way to rows of galleries, restaurants, coffee shops, and bars. We passed a tattoo place with a Chinese dragon on a screen hanging in the window.
“What makes you decide to get a tattoo?” Shiloh asked with a nod at the shop. “There are an infinite number of designs or quotes to choose from. How do you pick?”
“You narrow it down to the most meaningful or important. Something you want to wear forever,” I said and thought of my owl. “Most times they pick you,”