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I stared.
“My mom when I was eight,” he said. “My dad a few years later. I only asked because…never mind.”
“Because why?”
“Forget it.”
This guy is so damn frustrating.
But my ire was already flaming out. I couldn’t stay irritated at someone who’d lost both parents at such a young age.
“To answer your very blunt question,” I said, “my mom’s in New Orleans with the rest of our family. As for my dad, I have no idea if he’s alive or dead. Only Mama knows that and she’s not talking.”
“Do you talk to her much? Your mom?” Ronan asked, his voice low.
“Not much,” I admitted. “We’re not close.”
To put it mildly, I thought, and it suddenly struck me how much I’d shared with this guy, a virtual stranger. Ronan’s brand of honesty—rough and unpolished and unapologetic—had done more in a few minutes to dismantle my privacy than anyone else had done, including Violet.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work—”
“You’re the one I’m building the shed for, right?”
“For my business. I make jewelry. Now I work in the garage, but Bibi doesn’t want me breathing in fumes or burning the house down.”
Ronan’s gaze went to the ring on my finger and the bracelets on my arms, then lingered on my skin, skimming up to my neck, my chin, my mouth. I imagined I could feel his gaze wherever it landed, sending little shivers…
Nope, I’m out.
I stood abruptly. “Speaking of which, I have work. I should get back.”
Ronan stood at the same time and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “This is what I was thinking about for the shed if you want to take a look. Since it’s going to be yours.”
“You drew up plans?” I asked, impressed he was taking this gi
g seriously.
He clearly mistook my surprise; his eyes turned flatter if that were possible. “Because it’s so hard?”
“No, I just meant…” I gave my head a shake. “Never mind. Let me see.”
I reached across the table for the paper. On it was a finely rendered work shed; the measurements reading ten feet by twelve feet. It had a slanted lean-to roof, double doors, and even a window on one side.
“Wow,” I said. “This looks…” Perfect. “…expensive.”
“I’ll stay within budget,” Ronan said, sitting on the edge of the table, arms crossed. The scent of shower soap—plain and generic—and the heat of his skin wafted over me. His hand came up, his finger tracing a line on the paper. “This is where you can run electricity for lighting and your tools. I’m not certified. You’ll have to hire another guy for that.”
“No need,” I said. “And no budget. No matter what Bibi says, I’m not letting her drain her savings for me. My hand torch runs on batteries, and I’ll run an extension cord for my soldering stick.”
“A decent camping lantern should work too, if you’re out here after dark.”
“I will be.” I looked over the plans again. “This looks great, Ronan,” I said and immediately regretted saying his name. An inexplicable flush of heat swept over me as the sounds rolled off my tongue.
I raised my eyes to his; Ronan towered over my five-foot-seven. My heart stuttered at how close his square jaw and full lips were to mine. The hard, stony gray of his eyes was now smoky and soft.
“Yeah, so thanks,” I said, clearing my throat and stepping back from him.
“Yep.” He held out his hand.
