To Blake, With Love

by KT Webb

  “Good evening Ms. Molloy, welcome back.”

  “Why, Mr. Fitzpatrick, how wonderful to see you,” I stand back, holding the door open for him.

  “I trust you had fun with Molly?” Gannon grins with ill-contained humor.

  “Yeah, we even met a few guys at the pub. They were cute, we had a nice time with them.”

  Gannon blinks at me for a moment as though trying to determine the best way to respond. I can tell he’s struggling to find the right response. Judging by his demeanor, the drunken conversation definitely took place. He sinks into the couch with a huff.

  “Yeah, one of them was named Patrick, go figure, the other Kieran. They bought us a few drinks and sat at the table with us,” I sit down next to Gannon with my body turned to see him. “You want to know what I found most intriguing about them?”

  Gannon is clearly bewildered. I’m confident that by now, he’s wondering if I forgot the entire conversation when I sobered up. He offers me a weak smile.

  “Sure, tell me all about it.”

  “You know, the thing is, from the moment they introduced themselves to the second we bid them farewell, I could only think about one thing,” the butterflies in my stomach are going insane as Gannon brings his dejected gaze to meet mine.

  “What was that?” He asks, a glimmer of hope appearing in his baby blues.

  “I kept thinking about how much I wished you were with us. I hate to admit it, but I think I kind of like you,” I shrug, trying not to be embarrassed.

  Relief practically flows through Gannon at my words, “Damnit Blake, you had me worried. I thought you were going to tell me you had a drunken one-night stand.”

  I laugh out loud, “Do you really take me for that kind of girl, Gannon? I thought you knew me better than that.”

  Gannon hasn’t said anything about my admission. It’s been a long time since I felt comfortable enough to put my feelings out there, and now, I’m afraid it was a mistake. Rather than sitting next to him, waiting awkwardly for a response, I hop up off the couch to retrieve the coffee I brewed. As I pour the ninth creamer pod into my coffee, I hear Gannon enter the kitchen.

  “Blake?”

  “Hmm?” I don’t dare turn around for fear the mixture of emotions swirling inside me is written on my face.

  “Do you remember calling me on Wednesday night?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Do you remember what we talked about?”

  I chuckle, “Um, which part? I think I’ve said a lot of things lately that might be considered questionable.”

  I turn around, cradling the coffee mug in my hands. I’m hoping this is heading in the direction I want it to. If Gannon isn’t into me, he just needs to tell me. Ugh. How could he possibly not be interested after our interrupted conversation just a few days ago? I wish feelings weren’t so complicated. I wish neither of us had been hurt bad enough that we didn’t want to risk being hurt again.

  “You said you thought we should go on a date. Not as friends,” Gannon tries to sound casual.

  “Would it be better if I didn’t remember that?” My stomach is in knots.

  “I don’t think this is going the way I’d hoped it would,” Gannon runs a hand through his hair.

  I’ve come to recognize that gesture as one that tells me he’s feeling unsure. Anytime he doesn’t know what to say or is afraid of how something will come across, he ends up running a hand through his thick black hair. I want to run my hands through that hair, tangle them in the waves and pull him in for a kiss. Before I can entertain any of that, I need to know what he’s thinking.

  “How did you hope things would go, Gannon? As much as I’d like to read your mind, I can’t. You’re going to have to help me out here,” I laugh nervously before taking a sip of coffee.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to read my mind.”

  The low rumble of his voice once again sends a vibration directly between my legs. How is he able to have such an effect on me with just a few words? I remind my hormones to simmer down. This is torture.

  “Gannon, I need you to tell me what you’re thinking whether you think that’s a good idea or not.”

  Gannon walks up to me, carefully takes the mug from my hand, and places it on the counter. He rests his hands on either side of my hips. The look on his face speaks volumes, but if Gannon doesn’t start using his words soon, I’m going to lose my shit. My breathing becomes erratic as he leans into me. Our foreheads are touching, and I pull my lower lip into my mouth involuntarily. Gannon’s mouth tugs up on one side in a devastating grin. He reaches up, cups my chin in his hand, and places a sweet, chaste kiss on my lips.

  “Blake, I would love nothing more than to take you out on a date,” Gannon whispers with his lips still barely touching mine.

  “Are you sure?” I have no idea why I asked him that.

  Gannon pulls back, his eyes searching my face for any indication of my concerns. I can only imagine how I look to him right now. I’m pretty sure I’m panting like a dog in heat, desperate for another taste of his kiss. Down, girl!

  “Yes, I’m certain,” Gannon pulls the belt loops of my jeans to bring me closer to him. “And, in case you didn’t know, I kind of like you too.”

  This time, I do exactly what I wanted. I reach up and weave my fingers into Gannon’s hair as I pull his face to mine. This kiss is deeper than the last, the kind of kiss that could consume me if I let it. Gannon brings the kiss to an end and hugs me close. It’s not the first time I’ve kissed him, but it was the first time I felt like it could mean something more.

  “Can I drink my coffee now?” I tease.

  “Oh, by all means. You shouldn’t deprive yourself of caffeine,” Gannon chuckles.

  We return to the living room and sit together on the couch. As much as I want to spend the rest of the night making out with him, I’m relishing the feeling of his arm wrapped around my body. It feels warm and welcoming. I’d even venture to say it feels like home.

  It’s Friday night, and I’m not sure what to expect on this date. Last night was pretty chill, we snuggled on the couch and watched a few movies. We talked a lot. Every time I learn a bit more about him, I realize I’ve been waiting for Gannon my entire life. I know it seems cliché, but I don’t know how else to describe the way I feel when I’m with him.

  He said we’re going to Tullamore for dinner and that I could dress casually. If I had my way, I’d assume casual meant pajama pants and a sweatshirt, but I’m guessing that’s not what he meant. After digging through my closet in search of the perfect outfit that looks casual, but still accentuates my body in an acceptable manner, I finally find what I’m looking for. I pull on a pair of low-rise jeans and a fitted t-shirt that proudly proclaims, “books before boys”. It’s the right amount of sexy and sassy while remaining firmly in the category of “casual”. My unruly hair gets the “beach wave” treatment to add to my comfortable look. Now it’s time for make-up. I’m not a huge fan of make-up and pride myself on applying the bare minimum while still managing to look nice enough that I don’t scare small children. Gannon knocks on the door just as I grab my jacket.

  “Wow,” he says as though the wind has been knocked out of him.

  “What?” I look myself over to make sure I didn’t accidentally put on a sexy dress. Nope, still a t-shirt and jeans.

  “Just you, you’re perfect,” Gannon takes my hand then kisses me on the cheek.

  “I was worried this would be too casual, I’m glad you also opted for the t-shirt and jeans stand-by,” I smile appreciatively at his tight black t-shirt, and light-wash faded jeans.

  Gannon opens the truck door for me, and I hop right in. As we ease out of the wraparound driveway, Gannon reaches over to hold my hand. We have about thirty minutes in the truck before we arrive in Tullamore. I give his hand a squeeze, then adjust the positioning, so our fingers are knit together. Gannon absently rubs his thumb along mine.

  “So, where are we headed?”

  Gannon grin
s, “You’re not one for surprises, are you?”

  I shake my head, “Nope. I was that kid sneaking down to the Christmas tree and carefully removing the tape from my presents to peek inside.”

  Gannon laughs loudly, “You like unwrapping packages, do you?”

  I can’t help but giggle when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. I release his hand and run my hand along his thigh, “And what if I do?”

  Gannon blushes and recaptures my hand, “None of that now!”

  The rest of the ride, we talk about my trip to Belfast. I tell him every detail, even the things that don’t seem that important to share. By the time we arrive in Tullamore, Gannon is insisting that I join Molly Molloy and the Mandrakes for at least one gig.

  “You’ve never even heard me sing!” I protest.

  “If Molly thinks you’re good, you’re probably great,” Gannon says as he parks the truck along the street.

  Gannon leads me around the corner, and I already know which restaurant we’re going to. Straight ahead of us is one of those retro Americana diners. We have a chain just like it in the States, they’re probably owned by the same company from the looks of things. I love places like this. When we walk in the door, the first thing I notice is the music. I absolutely love music from the 1960s. There’s just something about the upbeat tunes mixed with some raw emotion that makes up for the sometimes-lackluster singers. The waitress seats us at a corner booth where we can see the rest of the café.

  “I know it isn’t exactly a romantic location. . .” Gannon begins, obviously misreading my expression.

  “What? Oh, gosh. No, I love it! This place is great.”

  “Are you sure? The look on your face is a little hard to read,” Gannon says.

  I shake my head, “I just remember going to places like this with my family. It was sort of our thing. There was one near our house that was locally owned and run by a nice older couple. They had a Molloy Special on Sundays because we went every week when I was a kid.”

  Nostalgia is supposed to bring back memories of days gone by, but those memories probably aren’t supposed to hurt. I miss my parents. I miss Maeve. I only wish they had cared for me the way I thought they did when it mattered most. After we order our meals, I start flipping through the silver tabletop jukebox. Without saying a word, Gannon drops coins on the table.

  “Pick a song,” Gannon encourages me.

  I already know which one I’m choosing. I flip to the right page, insert the coins, and press A4. Then I quickly turn the pages so Gannon can’t see my selection. He laughs at me. It’s becoming one of my favorite sounds. Our waitress delivers two chocolate milkshakes with cherries on top just as the opening riff of my song starts to play.

  “Excellent choice,” Gannon tells me as I start to dance in my seat.

  I grab my spoon and prepare to serenade him, complete with dance moves. Build Me Up Buttercup is one of those songs you can’t hear without wanting to dance and sing along. At first, I’m pretty sure Gannon is mortified by my showboating display of lip-syncing, but as I begin the chorus, I’m pretty sure I was wrong. The grin on his face widens, his eyes glued on me. The other patrons have taken notice, and one of the waiters starts to jitterbug with a waitress. The whole time, I’m singing my heart out to one of my favorite oldies of all time. For a moment, I’m questioning my sanity as this starts to resemble a rom-com scene. Oh well, I’m going with it.

  When I reach the final crescendo, I point directly at Gannon. The song tells him I need him more than anyone, and I can’t say it’s wrong. Never did I think I would find someone who made me feel so alive, so accepted, so wanted. Gannon isn’t embarrassed by my antics. Instead, he seems to find them amusing, as they are intended to be. The song comes to an end with a smattering of applause, laughter, and cheering from the other diners. I take a bow and feign the action of catching imaginary flowers as they’re tossed to me from my adoring fans.

  “Now that was impressive,” Gannon looks genuinely pleased.

  “Why, thank you, sir. You’ll have to call my manager if you want another show.”

  Gannon leans forward, “Before I reach out for a booking, I have two questions. First, do you do private shows, and second, do you always wear clothes for performances?”

  My mouth drops open as he takes a bite of his bacon cheeseburger. He grins at me while chewing the generous bite he has in his mouth. I’m completely stumped for a response. Damnit. I’ll get him back with a zinger at some point, but for now, my mouth is watering at the idea of a greasy burger and cheese balls.

  After dinner, Gannon takes my hand, and we stroll casually through the downtown area of Tullamore. March has come in like a lion with freezing rain and the promise of spring right around the corner. The night has indeed been perfect. As many times as I’ve fantasized about it, I never thought it would feel so natural to be out with Gannon. No matter how many times I’ve thought about what it would be like to jump his bones, this moment is better than anything I could have imagined. I glance up at Gannon to find him grinning like an idiot. He’s just walking along, holding my hand, and smiling. Is he really that happy to be with me? Or is he thinking about something completely unrelated? I chance another look at him to find him watching me with that same face-splitting grin.

  “What?” I ask, catching his infectious smile.

  “If I tell you, I think you’ll laugh,” he says with a slight chuckle in his voice.

  “Try me.”

  “I’m just happy, very, very happy,” Gannon stops walking and turns to face me. “I don’t really know how to explain it. You make me feel so many things, but the overwhelming emotion is pure happiness.”

  Rather than laughing at him, I take his other hand in mine. I know exactly how he’s feeling because I’m feeling it too. If anyone had told me I’d end up wanting to be with Gannon after our confusing experience in Dublin, I would have thought they were crazy. But now, I know it all makes perfect sense.

  “Gannon, you have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this. I’m into you. Like, really into you. I never thought I’d feel like this about anyone. It’s new to me.”

  I didn’t think it was possible for his smile to get any wider. Gannon steps close to me, lifts my chin up to his waiting lips, and kisses me slowly. The promise at this moment is almost more than I can stand. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, just carefully, and slowly moves his lips with mine.

  “Do you want to head back home? If you’re not too tired, we could watch a movie at my place,” Gannon gives me that half-grin I’ve come to love.

  “I’d love that.”

  The drive back to Kinnitty is uneventful, but we have fun asking each other rapid-fire questions. I already feel like I know more about him than I ever learned about Vince. I haven’t thought about any of that nastiness in quite some time. Gannon keeps me grounded in the present I can’t help but wonder what my grandpa would think if he saw me now if he spent time with the version of me that I’m becoming rather than the one he left behind.

  After watching a few movies and acting like kids who are each afraid to make the first move, Gannon falls asleep on the couch. As carefully as I can, I quietly pull my laptop from my messenger bag. With a few clicks, I open my blog site and start typing my next letter to my grandpa.

  To Grandpa,

  Something happened tonight. I found myself experiencing a feeling I haven’t had in a long time. It took me a little while to determine how to describe what I felt, but now I know. Contentment.

  You always told me that when you were with Nana, everything seemed right. I never really understood what that was like. Of course, seeing the two of you together showed me what it could be like, but I never pictured it for myself. Until tonight.

  I met someone who makes me feel alive again. We have fun, we joke with each other, we goof off, we hold hands and walk in silence. It’s new, but it feels right. I never would have found this if it weren’t for you.

  I’m living in the now more than
I ever have, and I cannot wait to see what happens next.

  With love,

  Blake

  Sunday dinner at my childhood home has been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Even as an adult, I am dedicated to keeping the custom alive. Mum insisted that I invite Blake over once she was settled in. Much to mum’s chagrin, I didn’t get up the nerve to invite her to spend a Sunday evening with my mother and me until now. Last night was everything I hoped it would be. My mum isn’t exactly a busybody, but she wants to know what’s happening, especially since her life has been built around the B&B. Now, as we sit around the table preparing to share a meal, I can’t help but wonder if Blake is even ready to share her plans. I feel a little guilty for not telling her she was about to be ambushed by the one and only Aoife Fitzpatrick.