Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,26

stranger? It felt like a lifetime and like seconds ago all at the same time.

I parked my car a few car widths away and walked inside. His forearms rested against the counter as he spoke easily with the guy there. He hadn't realized I'd entered yet, so I watched him for a little bit. Ronan was different here, and in the Thai food shop, than he had been in Halfway Café. Here, he seemed at ease, more like himself. I wondered if he would ever be that comfortable with me. Ever feel safe enough to let down the wall he kept around his secrets.

Like he'd felt me watching, his eyes looked up and caught mine. They were warm, melting, burning like fire.

I didn't mind the heat.

He walked slowly toward me, like he had all the time in the world to make it across the shop, and I waited, my heart pounding and my joints suddenly frozen.

“Zara.” My name rolled off his tongue, sending goosebumps rising over my flesh.

“Ronan,” I replied.

He nodded toward the counter. “I'm assuming you wanted to eat?”

How could he behave so normally when just his voice had my stomach in knots? I nodded—a safer bet than trusting my voice.

How people ordered when they went out together said a lot about a relationship. About the person. Who spoke first, what would they order, how kind they were with the people behind the counter...there was so much information to be gained.

“I ordered already,” Ronan said softly. “What would you like?”

The man behind the register grinned at me. “Jordan’s friend, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re Chris, right? Gayle’s husband?”

He chuckled easily. “That’s usually how people know me. ‘Gayle’s husband.’ The second-best half.”

I couldn’t help but laugh along with him. “That means you married up, right?”

“I sure did,” he agreed. “What can I get you, honey?”

I got my usual—a pumpkin cream muffin and a latte. Ronan pulled out his wallet to pay, even though I knew my finances had to be far more flexible than his. I didn't bring it up though. If he wanted to pay, that was his decision.

We went down an aisle formed from separated tables, and Ronan sat in a booth in the back corner, his back against the wall. As I sat across from him, I realized how strange it felt to see him in the bakery, sitting across from me. He belonged on an unlit back road gunning his motorcycle engine or backstage at a hole-in-the-wall concert venue. But I didn't mind having him across from me, getting a full view of the way his dark hair curled around his ears or the rise and fall of his muscles as he rested his elbows on the table.

“It's nice to see you face to face,” I said.

His lips lifted in an effortless smirk. “I didn't mind having your arms around me either.”

My cheeks heated, along with other dormant parts of me. What was going on with me? I’d been on date after date and none of the men, none of them, had ever come close to making me feel this way.

I looked toward the table, trying to hide how much he affected me. “What did you want to do tonight?”

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. He splayed his fingers on the table and then curled them under. “When I saw you the first time, I knew I had to know you.”

I looked at him, my eyes wide because I'd been feeling the exact same thing. Was it enough that we had this strange connection that I couldn't quite explain? Should I cling to it? Or did that mean I should run as far away as possible?

I chose to stay.

“What do you want to know?” I finally breathed.

“Everything.”

I could have told him I was a senior, that my dad was a producer, but that all seemed too bland for Ronan. He deserved the real stuff. Something more.

After I told him about my mother, he asked me questions about her, only curiosity in his eyes. I told him about when she got sick, how hard it had been to watch her go through chemo and how devastating it had been to hear they’d done all they could. I shared how angry I’d been—how mad I still was—that my dad hadn’t let me sit with her in the last days, because he didn't want my memory of her to be at her worst, but that hadn't mattered, because my mom had been my best friend. I didn't care how I