Page 30 of Thanks for Coming Along
Eden
Afew inches of whiskey disappeared in their glasses like the sun slowly descending behind the surrounding canyon. The golden afternoon glow gradually faded away around them, disappearing with each sip. Colm had played the fiddle so beautifully, that time seemed to escape Eden altogether.
Watching his fingers come alive like nimble dancers on the steel strings was mesmerizing. With each stroke of the bow, a tale seemed to unfold. His energy while he was playing was infectious. His feet tapped to the rhythm, lost in the cadence of the notes. The way he played turned sound into something tangible, something you could feel in your soul. It was joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, all expressed in a single instrument.
Colm sang a few traditional Irish songs and one English-language song about whiskey that made Eden roar with laughter. While Ronan was grinning as he watched her in the dimly lit room, his eyes squinted with happiness as the last of the setting sun reflected across his eyes. There was also something mesmerizing about him. Her gaze stubbornly clung to his face, defying her brain's attempt to look away as if her heart had taken charge.
The first song that Colm played was a jig. The tempo was upbeat, and she couldn't help but want to dance. So she did. She stood up, pushed her shoes off, and pulled Ronan from the couch. Their hands found each other, fingers interlocking. As the fiddle's rhythm quickened, Colm's bow bounced lightly upon the strings, creating a staccato effect while their steps followed suit.
Ronan led her with a gentleness that edged on reverence, guiding her through a spin. The music swept them up, and they became lost in its magic. Their feet tapping the wooden floor, their laughter bouncing off the living room walls. Colm's grin was unbridled. He seemed to glow when he was playing.
Once the tune had ended, Eden and Ronan were out of breath, thoroughly winded. Eden gave Colm a standing ovation and bowed at his feet. Colm swigged his whiskey and continued to his next song.
Ronan filmed a few songs with his camera before passing it off to Eden so he could join his Grandad for a verse they always sang together at Christmas. Eden watched through the lens, her heart swelling at the obvious bond between them. The way they looked at each other, grinning as they sang, was enough to make her smile too.
Their voices blended effortlessly, deep and rich, carrying something that felt timeless—like the song had been passed down through generations. The melody wrapped around the room, so powerful it gave her chills.
When Eden asked about the song, Colm’s expression softened, his voice taking on a nostalgic lilt. “Ah, that one,” he said. “We’ve been singing it every year since me wife, Siobhan, passed on. She was mad for that tune—said it could lift the heaviest heart, so it could.”
“She passed when this young fella was just 12,” Colm went on, nodding toward Ronan, who gave a faint smile. “But we don’t sing it in sadness, no. It’s for the joy, you see. Siobhan wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
Colm gestured toward a collection of black and white photos on the mantel, showing a young couple clearly head over heels for each other. His voice softened when he spoke about his late wife. It had been over fifteen years since she passed, and Colm hadn’t remarried. He said, "Maireann lá go ruaig ach maireann an grá go huaigh,” then turned to Eden with a small smile. “It means, ‘A day lasts until it’s chased away, but love lasts until the end of the grave.’”
Eden tried to shake off the longing she felt at his words. She yearned to be loved like that, with a love that endured beyond the boundaries of time. Love that would weather the storms of life and emerge stronger, more beautiful, with a patina instead of being mangled by the elements. Love that wouldn't break when bent, something substantial.
She felt happy listening to his songs for hours on end. She felt untethered from the usual ghosts lingering in her mind. Good music and good company could do that—ease the loneliness for a bit. Playing her own music gave her a rush, but it was only a temporary fix for that deeper feeling of being alone. Loneliness had been a constant companion since childhood, something that had lingered even after her family was out of the picture. Her friends had stepped in, filling the gaps, becoming her makeshift family.
Lately, though, that sense of isolation had crept back in. Quentin was buried in his work, and Ingrid was dedicated to ballet. Eden was genuinely happy for them. She never wanted them to sacrifice their passions for her. She was happy with texts and calls, but the silence had become harder to ignore these days. The wild parties and reckless nights were behind her, leaving her with more time on her own. She didn’t mind the solitude, but sometimes, loneliness had a way of sneaking up on her.
Watching the easy bond between Colm and Ronan, and feeling so at home in their company, made Eden realize how much she’d missed that kind of closeness. For the first time in a while, her heart felt light, and she couldn’t help but soak in the warmth of the moment.
She had a feeling the whiskey wasn’t the reason for those warm feelings. That reason was spread out over his grandad's leather couch.
Her knee was tucked up on the couch cushion, pressed right into Ronan’s solid thigh. How could she feel so connected to someone she’d only met a few days ago? It felt like it had happened so fast. This wasn’t just attraction; there was something deeper. A pull between them that felt almost magnetic, and she was sure she couldn't repel the force. It was a force of nature, of science. And who was she to deny science?
19
Eden
Okay, fine, maybe she was turning into a science denier. Maybe she should join one of those Facebook groups labeled "The Earth is Flat" or something. Eden was doing everything she could to fight the force pulling her toward Ronan, but she was failing miserably.
The week after the visit to Colm’s had been all about trying to write new songs for her album—messing around with melodies on the guitar and piano, and a whole lot of pretending that there wasn’t this invisible, gravitational pull between her and the journalist making a documentary about her. Avoiding the urge to touch him? Yeah, that was nearly impossible. Every time she blinked or got lost in her own head, she’d look up and realize she’d somehow closed the gap between them, inching just a little bit closer without even trying.
At one point, they ended up sitting side by side on the couch, and when their thighs brushed against each other, Eden felt a jolt of electric tension shoot through her. It made her feel like a disobedient schoolgirl caught doing something she shouldn't. That accidental touch sent her mind spinning, and suddenly, she was imagining some seriously "not safe for work" scenarios. She was the rebellious schoolgirl, and Ronan was the stern teacher, with a 12-inch wooden ruler in hand, scolding her for turning in her homework late. She was practically a flat earther at this point.
But in the back of her mind, what Ingrid had said at the airport kept nagging at her. That night after Colm's house visit, Eden couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, her mind a mess of conflicting thoughts. She wanted to trust Ronan, but she kept reminding herself that his interest in her was strictly professional. Okay, so he danced with her a few times and they had that playful fight in the ocean—but that wasn’t anything. Just normal stuff between colleagues. Right?
She never had a traditional colleague, but she imagined it wastotallynormal to have rampant sexual fantasies about them. She tried to convince herself that these were all just fleeting moments of connection and nothing more.
Over the course of that week, Eden found herself getting to know Ronan more and more, and the more she learned, the more she couldn’t help but be drawn to him. They had delved deeper and deeper with each fact revealed every day. She found out about the time he blanked during a fifth-grade spelling bee, his childhood reluctance to learn Irish, and how he always made time for daily phone calls with his sister, no matter how busy he was.
She also noticed the little things he never mentioned. Like how he chewed the inside of his mouth when he was concentrating, or that he liked his coffee black and only had one cup a day. She’d caught him sneaking sour candy from the bag he kept in his backpack more than once. The more she discovered, the more her heart seemed to crave more, more,more.
He was also insanely competitive when it came to board games. A round of Scrabble had him on the edge of his seat. His eyes had studied the pieces intently, his fingers nervously tapping the table. Eden had let him win for the sake of his sanity, even though she could have easily decimated him with the word "ventriloquist." And they say chivalry is dead.
"Good game, Murphy. Are you always so competitive? Or just intensely into Scrabble?"
"I've always had a competitive streak. Back in high school, I once dropped a hundred bucks trying to win the ring toss at the Santa Monica Pier."
