Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,27
remembered her or if I saw the hard parts, because I knew that her last memories of me were that I was absent.
A tear fell down my cheek and I hurried to wipe it, but Ronan put his hands on mine, stalling them in their path. “Your mom knew you loved her.”
I glanced up. “How do you know?”
“Because I can see it in your eyes, and if I can, I know she could.”
My heart warmed, lightened, as I let go of something that had haunted me for years. How had someone I hardly knew seen through me so quickly? How had he healed my cracks? It unnerved me, unsettled me.
But I couldn't stay away.
Eighteen
We finished our food, and then Ronan offered to take me for a ride on his motorcycle.
My father would have been livid that I disobeyed him so quickly after our last blowup. But he wasn’t here. He wouldn’t know. And he didn’t care to understand.
We went out to the parking lot, and I slipped what I was beginning to think of as “my helmet” over my head. This time, it was easy to slide my arms around his waist, to hold on tight. I felt the familiar tingle of excitement as he kicked the motorcycle to life and started down the road.
I watched again as the town of Seaton passed around us. There were factories, run-down apartments, and even some people hanging out on the street, holding cardboard signs. I wondered if Ronan was taking me to the pier again, but we passed by that too. There was a scenic road that ran along the coast of California, and often drew tourists from all over just to take in the sights.
Ronan turned onto the road and started north. He drove like he had nowhere to go, but he wanted to get there fast. Sunlight bounced off the rippling ocean, hitting my eyes in rays of magnificent colors. I couldn’t tell what was better, the view or the feel of the guy in front of me. His worn-in shirt rippled around his muscled arms, and I trailed the designs on his skin down to his fingers. While everyone else worried about their appearance or got tattoos they could hide, Ronan obviously wasn’t concerned about who could see them or whether he could cover them up.
Pink hues had begun to tint the sky when he slowed down at a scenic overlook. We were high up on a set of curves, but there was plenty of space for us on the turn-off as we approached the rocky edge.
My mouth fell open at the scene unfolding in front of us. We could see for miles, not just the ocean, but the rocky walls leading up to a long ribbon of highway with fuzzy city shapes in the background.
“It's beautiful,” I breathed and took in some of the fresh ocean air.
“I hoped you would think so.” He reached under the seat of his bike and retrieved a woven blanket. I watched him walk, powerfully but meandering, then turned my gaze back toward the ocean. He spread the blanket on one of the bigger boulders, then easily sat and crossed his legs. “You coming?”
My movements were slower, but eventually I came to sit beside him. One thing I noticed about Ronan was that he was still. He didn't force things or pressure something into existence. He let the moment be. And for a little while, so did I.
Sounds of the wind slowly blowing past and the distant echo of waves against the shore formed our world. Only seldomly did a car pass by and break the silence.
“You know,” Ronan said, “Emily Dickinson used to talk about the sunset as an ‘amber revelation,’ but I think she was wrong.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “You're questioning Dickinson?”
He smiled. “Only saying that she couldn’t see into the future.”
“And why is that?”
Ronan studied me much too closely. “When you look into the sun like that, your eyes go from brown to amber.” He lifted his hand and brushed back a stray piece of hair that had crossed my face in the breeze. “They’re the most beautiful color.”
I wasn't used to people who could throw me off guard, but Ronan had. I took him in, his own eyes a shade of brown all their own. My skin was sensitive where he’d touched my cheek, and my mind was just as frazzled. I searched for the first thing I could say and asked, “How do you know Dickinson?”