Chapter Twenty-One – Closer
1699 Words
There was something different about him that morning.
Evelyn noticed it the moment she walked into the kitchen.
Ronan was already there, leaned against the counter, sipping his black coffee, sleeves rolled up, hair a little tousled. Same strong shoulders, same sharp jaw, same quiet intensity that made the room feel smaller when he was in it.
But something had shifted.
His eyes found hers like they were waiting for her.
And when they landed—he didn’t look away.
He didn’t give her the usual space he always left open for her to take at her own pace.
This time, he closed the distance.
“Morning,” he said, voice lower than usual. More intimate.
Evelyn’s fingers tightened slightly around her mug. “Morning.”
He walked toward her slowly. Not fast, not intense. Just… sure.
And when he reached her, he brushed his hand lightly along the small of her back as he passed. Barely a touch—but enough to make her breath hitch. Enough to let her feel the heat in her cheeks rise like a flush she couldn’t control.
He stayed close as they moved around the kitchen, talking low about nothing—the weather, her tea, how she liked her toast now.
Normal things. Easy things.
But every word was laced with something more.
Every time she looked at him, his eyes were already on her.
Every time their arms brushed, he didn’t step away.
He was choosing to stay close.
And that?
That undid her more than any kiss had.
Because she could feel it now—the restraint softening. The emotional distance closing. And not just physically. Ronan wasn’t just letting her in.
He was walking toward her.
Later, when she stepped out onto the porch to get a bit of fresh air, she caught her reflection in the glass door—and she barely recognized the woman there.
She looked… steady.
Soft.
Lit up from something deep in her chest.
Was this what it felt like to fall for someone?
Not all at once—but fully?
She didn’t just want him.
She trusted him.
And that truth, more than anything, made her heart ache—in the most beautiful way.
She was falling. Fast. Hard.
But this time?
She wasn’t afraid of it.
The kitchen smelled like garlic and roasted tomatoes—comforting and rich.
Evelyn stood at the counter beside Jules, slicing fresh basil while Jules stirred a simmering pot of homemade sauce. The radio played quietly in the background—some old blues track with a slow, steady rhythm that matched the easy mood.
Jules didn’t say anything for a while. Just let Evelyn fall into the rhythm of cooking, humming softly as she worked. It was grounding—peaceful in a way Evelyn hadn’t realized she needed.
“You’re smiling,” Jules said suddenly, not looking up from the pot.
Evelyn blinked, caught. “I am?”
“Yeah. That soft smile. The kind women wear when a man’s making them feel seen.”
Heat rushed to Evelyn’s cheeks. She focused harder on the basil.
Jules smirked. “You don’t have to say anything. I can feel it.”
Evelyn hesitated. Then said quietly, “He’s… different with me lately.”
“How so?”
“He’s not holding back as much. He touches me more. He looks at me like he wants to say something but he’s afraid if he does, it’ll change everything.”
Jules set the spoon down and turned to face her fully. “And how does that make you feel?”
Evelyn looked up, eyes softer now. “Like I’m falling deeper. And not just for how he makes me feel… but for who he is. How he’s been so careful, so patient. And now, it’s like… he’s letting me see him.”
Jules nodded slowly. “That’s what real intimacy is, sweetheart. Not just the heat. But the weight of being known—and still being wanted.”
Evelyn’s voice was a whisper. “I’ve never had that.”
“You have it now,” Jules said gently. “And not everyone does. So don’t downplay it. Don’t question it.”
“I think he’s scared too,” Evelyn admitted.
“Of course he is. You’re not just any woman. You’re his line in the sand. You’re the one he’s not supposed to want. But he does. And the fact that he’s still choosing you?” Jules reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Evelyn’s ear. “That means something.”
They stood there quietly for a moment, sauce bubbling behind them.
Evelyn finally said, “He touched me last night. Not like before. It was… more. Intimate.”
Jules smiled. “Let me guess. Still patient. Still respectful. But different. More sure.”
Evelyn nodded.
“That man’s falling too,” Jules said. “He might be slower to admit it—but trust me, it’s there. You feel it. That means it’s real.”
Evelyn let out a shaky breath, the smile tugging at her lips again.
“Hey,” Jules added with a grin. “Keep smiling like that, and we’re gonna need extra wine at dinner just to keep everyone from noticing how glowy you are.”
Evelyn laughed—free and unguarded.
And in that kitchen, surrounded by warmth, spices, and the quiet encouragement of someone who had been there, Evelyn felt more than just safe.
She felt loved.
Dinner was loud.
Plates clattered. Bottles were passed around. Someone at the end of the table made a crude joke that had half the room howling. Laughter echoed through the open hall like a heartbeat, steady and alive.
But Ronan barely heard any of it.
He was too busy watching her.
Evelyn sat between Jules and Remy, a plate of pasta in front of her and that soft smile still playing at the corner of her lips. She laughed quietly at something Jules said, shaking her head like she was finally starting to feel like she belonged there—really belonged.
And she glowed.
Not from makeup or attention.
But from something far deeper.
Something earned.
And Ronan? He felt it like a punch to the chest.
He’d seen her hide in her silence. He’d seen her flinch at raised voices, shrink in the presence of men, tuck her shoulders in like her body didn’t deserve to take up space.
But this?
This version of Evelyn—laughing freely, cheeks pink with warmth, sitting like she had every right to be at that table?
It undid him.
He took another sip of his beer just to hide the curve of a smile that threatened to betray him. But his eyes never left her.
She looked over—just for a moment—and caught him staring.
She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t drop her gaze.
She smiled.
Something private. Just for him.
And in that second, Ronan forgot why he was supposed to be holding back at all.
Maddox leaned over beside him, catching the look. “You’re screwed,” he muttered under his breath, smirking.
Ronan didn’t answer.
Because he knew.
He was.
And for once… he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Dinner was winding down. Plates were half-empty, drinks half-full, voices softening into easy conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.
Evelyn had just stood to help clear the table when she felt it—Ronan’s hand gently brushing her lower back.
“Come with me,” he murmured near her ear, his voice just for her.
No demand. No pressure.
Just a request.
And she followed.
He led her through the back hallway, past his office, and out to the porch where the night air was cooler and the stars hung heavy overhead. The compound lights behind them dimmed the edges of the darkness, casting shadows across the wooden deck.
Ronan turned to face her, arms loose at his sides. She saw it instantly—he wasn’t guarded. Not like before.
He looked open.
“Wanted a minute with you,” he said softly.
She nodded, heart thudding. “Okay.”
He paused. “You were glowing at dinner.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“That smile,” he said. “Your laugh. It’s different now. You’re different.”
Evelyn wrapped her arms lightly around herself. “I feel different.”
He stepped closer, slow. Careful. “I noticed.”
Silence stretched between them—not heavy, not awkward. Just full.
Then he said it, low and sincere:
“You’ve changed me, Evelyn.”
She looked up at him, breath catching.
“I’ve always known how to fight,” he continued. “How to lead. How to survive. But this…” He motioned between them. “This thing with you… it’s something I didn’t see coming. And I haven’t been able to let it go since the moment I looked at you.”
Evelyn swallowed hard. “I haven’t either.”
Ronan’s jaw flexed. His voice roughened. “I think about you constantly. Not just your body. Not just what I want to do with you. But how you move. How you think. How strong you are without even realizing it.”
Her throat tightened.
“I’m not good at talking about s**t like this,” he admitted. “But you deserve to hear it.”
Evelyn stepped forward, slowly, like every inch closed meant something more.
“You’re doing just fine,” she whispered.
He reached for her then—his hands settling on her waist, grounding her, holding her like she mattered.
Because she did.
“You’re not just someone I want,” he said. “You’re someone I’m already falling for.”
The world stilled around her.
All the walls she had ever built crumbled like dust.
Her hand lifted to his chest, over his heart.
“I’m falling too,” she whispered.
And in the quiet of the night, beneath the weight of truth and the warmth of something that felt dangerously close to forever—
He kissed her.
Not rushed.
Not slow.
Just real.
- Writer
