well as a couple of sculptures here and there, but the way it's all set up, it flows nicely. It really is a great space.
When I've made my way back to the desk, the two of them are whispering, and when he turns his attention to me, he flashes me a smile as big as the one he gave Ava only moments ago. It sure does feel good to be on the receiving end of a smile like his.
He holds his hand out to me and I take it without hesitation. He gives my hand a squeeze and turns to Ava. "We're gonna pop upstairs real quick."
Ava sounds shocked when she replies, "Upstairs?"
He chuckles under his breath, and with a smile in his voice, he replies. "Yes, Ava. We're going upstairs. Do I need to leave the door open?"
"You need to watch that smart mouth of yours, young man."
"Yes, ma'am," he shouts over his shoulder while he pulls me through the back of the shop, around boxes and covered works of art.
We walk through a back door, which leads us outside, and then take a sharp right to a set of stairs that lead up. We take the first set and turn to take the next and end in front of a door that Ronan opens with his key. He puts the key in the lock but seems to hesitate before he swings it open. He lets me walk in ahead of him, and I feel at home instantly. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.
I feel him walk past me, and he makes his way toward the front of the room and pulls the curtains open. I'm in heaven as the light shines in on the small apartment of dark wood floors and crème walls. There is a small kitchen and living area that leads to a set of French doors and a balcony. Simple. No frills.
I start to make my way toward the nervous-looking man in front of me, when I notice a small bedroom to the left. The all white bedding is in disarray, and I see a familiar Tom Ford suit jacket over the back of a chair.
"Did you sleep here last night?"
"I did."
I leave the doorway of the bedroom and find the course I was on before I was distracted and find myself in front of mister tall, dark, and handsome.
"I love it," I confess.
He shrugs. "Less is more," he says with a grin, using my words.
"Exactly."
Taking my hand again, he opens the door to the balcony where there is an overstuffed outdoor couch and two matching chairs that all face the gray stoned table which doubles as a fireplace from the looks of it.
I move to the patio railing and look down at the street below and the ocean ahead of me.
"It's perfect."
I turn back to him only to find him watching me with his hands in his pockets and his face serious. Almost solemn.
"Is everything okay?"
"I've never brought anyone here before," he confesses.
"What do you mean?"
"Ava is the only other person that knows about this place and of the gallery. Not even Evelyn knows about it."
I lean back against the rail, silently letting him know I'm waiting for him to share more of his story.
"I don't want to talk about my family right now, but we aren't close, and there are some things I want to keep to myself. I own this building under a different company name, and Ava and I handle all the business on our own. It's not much. Just the gallery and this apartment."
"Was there a special reason you picked this place?"
He runs his hands over his face a couple of times and then through his thick, black hair. His hands are clasped behind his neck, and he lets out a heavy breath. He looks stressed, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. I don't want to force him to share more than he wants to. I can already see what a big deal this is for him.
I turn back to my view of the ocean to give him some privacy and say, "It's okay, you don't have to say any—"
"Back when my mom was in her twenties, she was an artist. The gallery downstairs was the home of her very first showing. Growing up, the only time I would ever see my mother truly happy was when she talked about her art and her life before I was born. When I