Page 8 of Thanks for Coming Along
5
Eden
Eden was standing on stage, bathed in the spotlight's warm glow, about to graciously accept her Grammy for the year's best album. The applause and cheers of the crowd swelled around her, and her heart soared. But just as she was about to say her heartfelt thanks, a shrill, persistent noise intruded on her glorious dream. She groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open in drowsy confusion. Who, in the name of all things sacred, would be ringing her gate bell at such an ungodly hour? Her gaze meandered to the digital clock on her bedside table, and she winced at the bright red numerals that displayed the time – 9 AM. It waswaytoo early.
As Eden's eyes slowly drifted close, her body jerked awake as she remembered the filming crew coming over to start the documentary. She rolled out of bed exceptionally ungracefully, somehow getting tangled in the top sheet of her white linen sheets. She ended up barrel-rolling three times until she thudded to the floor in a tight cocoon of sheets. She wrestled her arms and legs out of her self-inflicted burrito wrap and sprinted to the button of her intercom system attached to a speaker at the entrance of her gated driveway.
"Come on in!" She spoke through the speaker and pressed the button that unlocked the gates. She ran to the bathroom and brushed her teeth at lightning speed. Once she heard a knock, she ran to the front door and pulled the heavy wood door with a velocity that swept her hair back.
She initially met eyes with Ronan, their gazes unexpectedly locked together, which he promptly broke as his eyes tracked down her body. She glanced down at her attire, a thin cropped tank top paired with boy-short underwear that left little to the imagination. The fabric was so delicate that it did little to conceal her curves. Her nipples, responding to the morning chill, were undeniably making their presence known through the sheer material.
"Uh, is now a bad time?" Ronan asked. His cheeks hinted at the loveliest shade of pink as he averted his eyes. She had bared much more in front of countless eyes before; after all, she'd practically been naked on the cover of Rolling Stone a few months back.
But there was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel unexpectedly vulnerable. His gaze, deliberate yet unsteady, would occasionally dart to her chest despite his obvious effort not to. It was strangely thrilling, the way he seemed to struggle against himself and fail, like she was some magnetic force he couldn’t resist. A shiver rolled up her spine, her pulse quickening with the odd rush of heat coursing through her veins. What was it about his gaze that made her feel so alive, like her skin was humming? It didn’t make sense. The only logical explanation she could muster was that she must’ve rattled her brain a little too hard during her overzealous headbanging—or maybe it was from the crowd surfing last night.
"Oh, I am so sorry! I was in a rush and didn't realize. Come in! I'll put on some clothes." She turned towards her closet but couldn't resist letting her hips sway a little more than necessary. She padded into her walk-in closet and grabbed some light-wash vintage jeans and an oversized band tee.
"Wow, this place is gorgeous." Ronan's muffled voice echoed in what sounded like the living room. Her Malibu house was situated on the beach with sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean, and it had been her first investment when her music career took off. She fell in love with the charming bungalow at first sight. As soon as she stepped foot on the back deck, she knew it would be her first home. It had a panoramic view that stretched as far as the eye could see, long miles of beautiful blue ocean.
After twenty-three years of living in the chaos of New York City, she had grown used to the constant blare of car horns and wail of police sirens. The rhythmic crash of ocean waves, soft and melodic, was a stark and soothing contrast. That was what she loved about it; it was the antithesis of her New York City life. It was a fresh start, a place not tainted by the misfortune of her previous life.
But once she moved to Los Angeles, she quickly discovered that she couldn't escape her problems. It turns out, you carry yourself wherever you go. Relocating from the epicenter didn't solve her issues. She had to do that herself with the help of her highly tolerant therapist.
She returned to the living room and saw several people setting up various cameras and lighting. They must have followed Ronan in from the driveway. She watched as Ronan stood in front of her collection of vinyl records, his tall frame towering over the shelves. His broad shoulders sloped slightly forward as he perused the albums, bringing his head closer to the spines. With a fingertip, he delicately traced the row of records. Eden watched in fascination, her gaze following the graceful line of his powerful bicep. He had a muscular build, yet there was a lithe quality to him. A few veins on his forearm subtly bulged as he ran his finger along the row of albums. Eden had never imagined she could find a forearm attractive, but there she was, inexplicably wondering how those puppies would feel under her fingertips. His hand stilled, almost as if her silent fascination had commanded him to pause.
"You were amazing last night," Ronan spoke softly with his back to her, as if he knew she was here. Then he turned around, fixing his eyes on Eden.
"I don't think I've ever witnessed someone command a room like you. You could've sung the ABCs, and every single person in that place would've been enamored," he continued, his gaze locked onto hers, holding a sincerity that was hard to miss. "Myself included."
She felt heat spread throughout her chest and into the roots of her hair, and she knew she was blushing. She didn't think she'd blushed like that since middle school. Her traitorous blood vessels were dilating in her cheeks at his comment. She had received compliments from attractive men before, but they had never made her feel bashful like a schoolgirl. Why was her body reacting like this? She was a red-blooded, freshly-turned-twenty-six-year-old woman, not a giggling tween.
"If that's the case, maybe I'll start a cult. Any interest in joining? All that is required is your undying loyalty to me and a valid social security number." Eden smiled, pleased with herself.
"I don't need much convincing. Just show me where to sign." Ronan raised his eyebrows as a warm smile unfurled across his face. It was impossible for her not to be captivated by the way his smile seemed to illuminate his face, like the sun emerging from behind retreating storm clouds. Or by the light that now danced in his eyes, like the burdens that had once clouded his mind were dissipated.
"Eden! Let's get you into hair and makeup!" a technician announced behind them. A woman in a headset whisked her away, placed her into a chair. A team of four people applied her makeup and fixed her hair. Her phone vibrated with a new text message, which Eden promptly pulled out while being attended to.
INGRID: How is working with that hottie Journalist? There is nothing I love more than a reserved intellectual! Finn told me how swoon-worthy he is.
EDEN: Your previous taste in men says otherwise. You usually go for loud, obnoxious drummers.
INGRID: That is ancient history, like the History Channel already ran a docuseries about that... that is how ANCIENT that is.
EDEN: If you say so…
INGRID: Enough about me!! Tell me about that hot man... What is his deal? Is he single? I have a lot of questions...
EDEN: I will tell you everything. Are you still staying over tomorrow night?
INGRID: Without a doubt, Finn's place is like Studio 54 in its heyday. Models sprawled on his couch 24/7, and a random guy who refuses to take off a horse mask just loitering in his living room. It's a fever dream.
EDEN: I don't know why you didn't just stay with me from the get-go..
INGRID: Four years of guilt. Finn played the neglected child card and claimed I abandoned him without a trace.
EDEN: No comment.
EDEN: Tomorrow night. Before you go back to NY for the winter season, you can ask Ronan whatever burning questions you have.
