Ronan’s eyes shift back and forth between the shirt—in his size—and the dress. “I don’t get it.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a dude. Look at the colors.”
“What about them?”
“They match.”
He blinks.
Obviously he requires more of an explanation aside from the visual, which I thought made it pretty clear. “It’s for when we do combined events, so we match.” I motion between us.
“So we match?” he repeats.
I expected him to be more excited about this, which is maybe naïve of me. He’s a guy who lives in jeans and the same kind of plaid shirt every day of the week. It’s possible it’s his forever uniform and he even wears it when he’s at home. Or sweats, which I’ve only ever seen him in a couple of times. I lose a little of my zeal at his lack of reaction. “Or maybe not. Are the colors too much? It was just a thought. I can return the shirts.”
“You got me more than one?” He moves into my personal space and peeks inside the garment bag. It’s stuffed pretty full with my dresses and the shirts I’m now probably going to have to return.
“It’s not a big deal. I thought it might be fun, but it’s okay if that’s not something you’re interested in. I should’ve talked to you about it first.” I try to brush his hand aside so I can tuck the shirt and dress back in the bag. I’m so embarrassed right now, and deflated to be quite honest.
He covers my hand with his. “I think it’s a great idea, Blaire.”
“You’re just saying that,” I mutter.
“No, I’m not. I honestly think it’s a good idea. An amazing one. I just didn’t get it at first, but it totally makes sense for us to match when we’re doing these shared events and it was really thoughtful of you to go out and get all this stuff as a surprise.”
“You’re sure you think it’s a good idea?” I can’t tell if he’s just trying to save my bruised ego or what.
“I swear, I think it’s fantastic.” He gives me the Boy Scout salute. “It sure isn’t anything I would’ve thought of.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He nods.
“Great!” I beam up at him and get lost in his smile. Our eyes lock and hold for several long seconds, warmth blossoming in my stomach and radiating through my limbs. I give my head a shake. “Let me show you the rest of them, and you can try them on and make sure they fit properly. I used the shirt I borrowed to cross reference the size because sometimes they don’t all fit the same. There’s this great store a few blocks away and they have a crazy selection of plaid shirts. I stumbled across it online and thought it would work out really well.” I’m excited-rambling now, but with Ronan on board I can see in my mind exactly how well this will work, and Daphne is going to love it. “If you’re game for it we can take some fun pictures to post on social media being all matchy-matchy. I think it’ll look great and really help unify the collaborated event.”
“I like the sound of all of this.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think it’s super smart.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Ronan starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“Why do you always wear plaid?”
“The same reason you always wear dresses, I guess.”
“You’re obsessed with Leave It to Beaver–style shows?”
He laughs, but his expression sobers quickly and he focuses on the task of flicking open buttons. “After my parents passed, I had to go through the house and clean it out. My dad had all of these plaid shirts. It was his thing, I guess. I couldn’t really conceive of getting rid of them, so I started wearing them and never really stopped.”
“So it became your thing, too.” Another way to stay connected to a person he loved and lost.
“Exactly.” He gives me a wry smile as he shrugs out of his button-down. He’s wearing a white undershirt beneath his usual red and black plaid. The fabric is thin and stretched tight, conforming to the contours and planes of muscle. “It wasn’t long after that I started on the body art.”
I allow my gaze to soak in the designs decorating his exposed arms. Based on the slightly sheer quality of the shirt, I discover that Ronan’s artwork extends to his chest. Muted colors seep through and I wonder if I’ll ever have the chance to