Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
She pauses to consider that question. “The one thing I learned about Ronan is that people are always underestimating him. I used to too. Now? I consider him one of my very best, most loyal friends. If there’s someone I can count on, besides my husband, of course, it’s him. Every time, without fail.”
“But if I decide to have it, I don’t want him to feel trapped or forced. I want him to be in my life because he wants to be.”
“Tell him that.” She nods with encouragement.
I’m about to ask her how she thinks I should break the news when a commotion rises near the restrooms, where Henry holds a hand over his left eye.
Meanwhile, Ronan marches toward our table, fury etched in his stony face.
“I’m ready to go. You ready?” He rounds the table, ignoring the countless shocked looks from both guests and staff. Even the mermaid has paused her swim and floats mid-tank, watching.
“I guess?” I swap glances with Abbi, who looks as confused as I feel, her brow furrowed with worry as she watches her husband, who squints as he tests the corner of his eye with his finger.
Holy hell, Ronan punched Henry Wolf in the face.
“It was nice to meet you.” I shoot one last pleading look for Abbi’s silence before climbing out of my seat, my cheeks flushing from the gawkers.
Ronan leans in to press a kiss against Abbi’s forehead. “Sorry, Red, but he deserved that one, I promise.” His attention snags on the plate in front of me that I haven’t touched. Grabbing it in one hand, he leads me past Henry, toward Opal Reef’s doors.
Ronan slows long enough to toss a “Fuck you, Wolf” before he shoves the door open, grabbing and holding it so it doesn’t swing back on me.
We’re halfway down the hall before I say, “So you really like lemon tarts.”
“What? Oh.” He looks at the plate, then at me. “It’s for you. I didn’t want you to miss out.”
“Right.” I wait another beat and then dare ask, “What happened?”
But Ronan shakes his head, holding his right hand out in front of him to inspect his reddened knuckles.
“You hit him hard.”
“I did.”
“And he really deserved it?”
Ronan’s teeth clench. “He really did.”
“So … I take it you’re no longer a director for the Wolf?”
“The fuck if I know. Yeah, probably. Assaulting the boss is definitely grounds. Whatever. It’s for the best. I wasn’t cut out for this.” But I sense no relief in his voice when he admits that. I think he liked his role, even if he claims he has no idea how to do it.
What does that mean, though, for Ronan staying in Mermaid Beach? Will he go back to Miami? To Indianapolis?
He can’t leave.
Just the idea of Ronan gone ignites panic in me.
“I have an opening,” I blurt, thinking out loud. “For a tiki captain. Or, as Douchebag Preston insists, a skipper. I mean, it’s nothing like your job now.” Or his job up until five minutes ago.
Ronan’s hard mask finally cracks. “I might have to take you up on that. I’ve got a lot to figure out. I’ll need to return my car and find a new place to live.” He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Connor’ll probably have to move out too. Fuck, he’s gonna kill me.”
“I have an empty trailer you guys could stay in.” The one Dave and Ted were supposed to be in.
“A trailer next to the hotel.” He chuckles. “Man, this is getting better by the minute.”
“What? It’s comfortable! I’m mildly offended.”
“No, I’m sure it is. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear.” He leads me down a narrow hallway. It’s a different direction than we came in, but it lets us out in the parking lot and to his car quickly.
Holding my door open for me to climb in, Ronan sets the dessert plate on my lap.
I admire his body as he rounds the car, his stride even and calm, despite his heavy mood.
The drive to my house is short but quiet, Ronan swerving to avoid an especially deep pothole.
“I need to get that filled.” Frank raked the ground twice this year, but we need more gravel.
“Don’t bother,” Ronan mutters.
“What?” I frown. “Why not?”
He hesitates. “No reason. I don’t know why I said that. My head’s just not here.”
The parking area is jammed tonight, with cars in front of each trailer, plus Mick’s pickup next to my Cherokee.
Ronan pulls up in the only spot on the other side. “What’s going on here?”
“Just staff out by the fire pit. We do it every night.” And it looks like everyone’s here. “We can sit out there, if you want?”
He smooths his palms over the steering wheel. “I think I’m peopled out tonight.”
Ronan might be peopled out, but I’m not ready to say good night to him yet. “We should get some ice on that.” I nod toward the angry bruise on his knuckle.