He smiled, a rare sight. “Yeah? I didn’t realize you two even knew each other.”
“Your friend isn’t exactly the super chatty type. We have History together.”
Miller nodded, his smile not going anywhere. “Well, if you want to find him, he spends most lunchtimes in woodshop.”
“What for?”
“Beats me. Why don’t you go and see?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get cute, Stratton.”
He laughed and I started to go.
“Shiloh?”
I turned. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for thinking of him.”
Oh, the irony. I couldn’t stop.
The Industrial Arts building—or woodshop—was a huge shed on the east side of the campus next to the gym. It was crammed with tools along the walls and work stations, some with table saws embedded in them. The gardeners stored the riding mowers there too; the place smelled green and woodsy.
I found Ronan alone in the far left corner, bent over a worktable. The whack of a hammer reverberated in my chest, my heart pounding to keep time. He was working on a small cabinet of shelves made from stacks of spare wood leaning against the walls.
It was a little bit scary how happy I was to see him.
When there was a lull in the hammering, I cleared my throat. Ronan turned, his eyes widening to see me by the light of the industrial fluorescent bars running along the ceiling. He glanced around quickly.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too,” I said, my confidence slipping. I trailed a finger along the side of the cabinet. “Is this a woodshop assignment? Impressive.”
Ronan’s craftsmanship was amazing. Smooth lines, even shelves. Simple but sturdy.
“Not an assignment,” he said. “It’s for a tenant in the building I—in my building. My uncle’s the manager. I help him out sometimes.”
“You use your free time to make stuff for your neighbors?”
“They need it,” he said with a shrug. “Nelson…my uncle, doesn’t always want to spring for repairs.”
My eyebrows rose. “Doesn’t surprise me, actually. You, doing good things—kind things—for others. Like Kimberly Mason.” I cocked my head. “It was you, wasn’t it? Grimaldi’s Jeep?”
He was a split second too late denying it. “No…”
“It was you. I know it was you.”
“Doesn’t change what happened to her.” His mouth was a grim line. “I was too late.”
I shook my head. “It helps to know that he didn’t get away with it. Maybe he’ll think before he tries shit like that again.”
“He’d fucking better.”
“Thank you for doing that. For Kimberly. For womankind, too, but especially for her.”
The space between us warmed, grew smaller. I don’t know if he moved closer to me or me to him, but I was standing in front of him now, close enough to smell his clean scent, mixed faintly with sweat and wood. The bottom of his owl tattoo showed from under the short sleeve of his black T-shirt. A part of me wondered if Ronan had more tattoos on his body I couldn’t see. And if I’d ever find out.
Somehow, my hand was on his forearm. I ran my fingertips along the sleeve of ink, over the face of the clock. “What does this mean?”
“It’s for my mom. They’re all for her.”
I nodded, tracing the flowers surrounding the clock.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice gruff, watching me.
“I don’t know. I just…miss you.” I gave my head a shake. “I’ve said that before. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now. Missing you.”
He nodded. So close to me, I could feel the warmth of his skin.
“So I’ve been thinking,” I began, marveling at how steady my voice sounded. “About what we said that night Bibi went into the hospital. You said it’s safer to walk away.”
“That’s right. It’s better for you, Shiloh. Trust me.”
“I’ve thought a lot of things were better for me and they weren’t.” I tilted my head up to him; he was so tall, I barely brushed his chin. “There’s something happening here, right? An attraction?”
“Yeah,” he said roughly.
“But neither of us do relationships, right? So let’s…not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just keep it casual.”
“Casual.”
I glanced down at my hand that looked small and delicate on the muscles of his forearm, dark with ink. “I don’t trust myself to be in charge of someone else’s heart. I’m not doing a bang-up job with my own, to be honest. So let’s skip the part where we get tangled up in feelings and just…see what happens.”
He swallowed, and I could see him thinking over my indecent proposal. His gray eyes were lidded, his body looming over me, ready to give in.
Then he shook his head. “I don’t want you to get pulled into my shit, Shiloh. Not now. Not ever.”
My stomach dropped. I’d gotten it all wrong. He’d meant what he said about walking away, and here I was, bartering for a little piece of him. Any scrap he’d toss me. Heat rushed through me—the burn of humiliation.
I snatched my hand away.
“Never mind. Forget I said anything. I gotta go…”
Ronan’s hand closed on my arm, gently but firmly. “Shiloh.” The intensity and gravity of his voice pulled me back to him almost as much as his grip. “I want what you want.” His hand came up, brushing fingertips over my face, tracing my lips. Then he shook his head like a man coming out of a trance. “But it’s not safe. If Grimaldi knows it was me who tagged his car, shit could get ugly.”
“For who? Me?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he see you?”
“Not sure. But I’m not taking any chances.”
The protective undertone to his words was unmistakable, sending shivers over my skin. I smiled weakly. “You’re like a superhero, worried that his enemies will hurt him by getting to those he cares about.”
“Something like that.”
“I doubt that coward is going to try anything. But it’s fine. I don’t do mushy romance or hand-holding or PDA. We don’t have to show off in school if that makes you feel better.”
“The Shack,” he said, still watching me with heated eyes. “Come to the Shack. It’s private.”
“That offer still stands?”
He nodded and slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, pressed the back of my hand to his mouth and inhaled. “Let’s go today. Or…right this fucking minute.”
God, I’m a dead woman.
His lips were brushing my skin and I struggled to keep from falling into those damn eyes of his that were swallowing me whole. “Can’t,” I said faintly. “Have a date with the library. This afternoon?”
He nodded, and we lingered a moment in each other’s nearness. I thought he was going to kiss me. I was desperate for him to kiss me. But his gaze darted to the entrance, then back to me, as if daring himself to break his own promise.
He released my hand. “I’ll text you.”