Wait … what?
He was what? Worried about looking too anxious? Too desperate?
Ronin inspected the shelves filled with oils and herbs. “However, I start my new job soon, so I figured my time to play it cool is limited. Once I start working long hours, I might be all cooled out. So I need to impress the hell out of you while I can.”
The smile on my face took on a life of its own.
He continued, “I thought maybe we’d check out all of the great restaurants in town over the next few weeks. Shut down a few bars. Compare hot cocoa with marshmallows versus hot cocoa with whipped cream sipped around a fire. I’m sure you have some favorite trails we should hike before the first snow. And of course, I’ll need to learn how to make soap. Then …”
Finally … finally he looked at me after a full visual inventory of my lab while rattling off enough stuff to make my heart stop beating.
Ronin spent one day with me, and just like that … he knew from that one day that he wanted more days. More me.
“Then what?” I whispered as he stepped in front of me, looking as tall and delectable as I remembered.
“Then we can just be past that awkward phase where people feel the need to impress each other.”
I laughed, holding out my arms, my baggy sleeves hanging low, a smattering of oil stains on my white tee. “Have you really seen anyone less impressive than me at the moment?”
Ronin grinned. It was so big and delightful. “It’s good to see you, Evelyn,” he whispered. It sounded so seductive, so refreshing, so reassuring that the feelings weren’t one sided.
I shook my head, but it didn’t shake the grin from my face. “It’s good to be seen.” I lifted my shoulders into my take-it-or-leave-it-but-this-is-me shrug. “Even like this.”
“You’re like the sun, Evelyn. No matter how you try to cover it up or hide it, it’s always shining.” He rocked back and forth on his heels, shoulders hugging his ears with his hands still tucked into his pockets.
I would marry this boy. I just knew it.
Boy.
Yes, Ronin had this boyish charm to him. When I fell in love with him—because I was certain it would only be a matter of time—I would always remember how falling in love at any age felt like taking your first steps. Sometimes it happened slowly, and other times it took off. And all you could do was go with the momentum and hope you didn’t fall too hard.
“Marshmallows.” I grinned.
He cocked his head a fraction.
“Marshmallows go in hot chocolate. Whipped cream goes on pumpkin pie. Everyone knows that.”
Ronin handed me his best smile. I think. It was really good. I couldn’t wait to see more. Then I’d know if he gave me his best one that day.
“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” He nudged the toe of his black boot against the toe of my pink oil-stained Ugg.
Butterflies. Erratic breaths. Tingling. Goose bumps.
Ronin gave me all the feelings. If he was just a test run, a stop along the way to the man of my dreams, then said man must not have been human. Something told me the bar was not simply high; it was officially unreachable.
“I’m thinking Thai, right across the street. I’ll probably be there around five-thirty. What are you doing?”
He rubbed his lips together, staring at our boots. “Same.”
I nudged the toe to his other boot the way he nudged my toe. “Do you want to share a table?”
He nodded several times, keeping his gaze pointed downward. “Probably.”
Probably. He said that when I joked (but only sort of) about him marrying me. I liked his almost certain response. It set my hopes high but left just enough doubt to make my heart continue to search for something resembling a normal beat.
“Do you ski?” He glanced up.
My lips curled into a grin. “Possibly better than you.”
Nope. That possibility was zero, so I’m not really sure it was a possibility. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to see the look on his face. As he let those expressive eyebrows form into curious peaks, I basked in the slight shock of his expression. For five seconds, I let him believe it—that maybe I wasn’t simply a brilliant chemist cleaning the world one bar of soap at a time, that maybe I was a badass chick on the slopes.
“Really?” He stretched out the word into three syllables.
I swatted at the pesky stray hair around my face that fell out of my ponytail. “No. Not really. I’m a terrible skier. It doesn’t stop me from trying. Graham and Lila love to ski, so I snowplow and sometimes slide on my ass down the runs.”
“You’re joking.” He chuckled.
“No. I was joking about being better than you. The sliding on my ass part is one hundred percent accurate. Graham has literally taken me down the slope on his back while Lila carried my skis. And don’t assume this isn’t an embarrassing revelation about myself. It is because I was born here. Maybe not to an Olympic skier, but I’ve been on skis my whole life. My dad says I ski like a car with square tires. Sure, it’s doable, but never pretty. I’m not athletically gifted at all. Which is weird because I love sports. As in … I will watch any sport. That’s why Graham and I are such good friends. Whereas Lila hates watching sports, but the woman can do anything. You should see her on skis or snowboarding. She’s phenomenal. It’s just not fair.”