by Ella M. Kaye
She’d already given up her marriage. How much more did he think she should have to give up?
“Hullo. I see you decided to join us.”
Emma startled and looked up into his face, the young male teacher with the accent and smiling eyes.
“My apologies. I would have thought you’d’ve heard me.”
“Yes, I... I was lost in my thoughts.”
“Are y’ worried about starting class? You look a tad nervous about being here.”
“I’ve never done this before, or anything like it. I guess I am.”
He gave her a beautiful smile and held out his hand. “I am Fillan Reilly, one of the teachers. I do hope you will enjoy it.”
“Emma Turner. Thank you. So do I.” Should she ask about his accent? With his name added to it, she figured she knew, but... Why not? At least it would show interest, wouldn’t it? Interest in him as a person, not interest as in...
“You are wondering where I am from.” He smiled again.
“Yes. Should I ask? I didn’t want to intrude.”
Another smile came with a light lilt of the head. “I don’t mind the intrusion, but thank you for worrying about whether I might. I am from Galway, Ireland. Have you ever been?”
“Galway. It sounds beautiful. No, I haven’t...” She flushed. It sounded beautiful? From the name? “I mean from what I’ve heard of Ireland, it’s beautiful.” And wet. Cold. “It would be nice to hear. To see, I mean.” Nice to see cold, wet Ireland? Not somewhere she’d ever considered going. At all. Southern Italy maybe, where it was warm...
He chuckled. “It is nice to see, and to hear, if y’ like the pipes.”
“I don’t smoke.”
He laughed. Harder. “If being here to dance is makin’ y’ this nervous, why are you doing it?”
Heat spread from head to toe. It had nothing at all to do with dancing, not in the slightest. It was his accent, his sparkly, friendly eyes, his charming grin. The blond curly hair, casual, not fussed over. She had to get a hold of herself.
He sat lightly next to her on the bench. “By pipes, I meant bagpipes, Highland or Euland. I prefer the Euland, lower pitched, easier on the ears, more Irish than Highland pipes. You should go someday and see for yourself if you think it is beautiful.”
“Or soggy?” She cringed as she realized she’d said it out loud.
“Aye, that it is. It is where all the green comes from that makes it so beautiful.” He stood again. “Enjoy the class, Emma. And relax, you are not on camera. It is only for fun.”
What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn’t an easily flustered type. She managed a classroom full of fifth graders with ease, and even their parents, often with less ease but fully capable and without getting flustered. Emma found herself watching his backside as he walked away. Nice. Round, but not too round. Firm. She flushed and forced her gaze to the floor. Good thing she wasn’t in his part of the class. She’d never concentrate well enough.
Chapter 4
Two weeks she had been coming to classes and Fillan had yet to speak to her again. To be honest with himself, he was afraid to do so. The urge was too compelling. He did give her an occasional nod but being Cheney was so competitive about his group being his, Fillan thought it best not to pay too much attention.
Yet he had checked his contract and company policy, since he hadn’t bothered before. He saw no conflict, no clause, about talking with students outside class, at least not adult students. Most of his classes were with adults; he was far better with adults than with kids. He’d gone out of his way to avoid kid classes since most only annoyed him to beyond his fairly tolerant limits. He hadn’t liked kids much when he was one himself. He liked himself far better now that he was not one himself.
The girl had found that reprehensible. She’d said something had to be truly and ridiculously wrong with a person who didn’t like kids. Could be she had a point. Still, he was who he was. And more and more he saw no need to worry himself about where she was. Eh. Not all women wanted to marry and settle to have a brood of runny-nose little banshees that made even leprechauns look well-behaved.
She’d said he must fairly be a leprechaun himself since he acted enough like one. Eh. Could be true enough he hadn’t argued.
With not enough attention to his path as he made his way out of the building and to his ridiculously boring rented vehicle he couldn’t even remember the make of, Fillan found himself in her path, interrupting her path. With a light bow and a motion to go on ahead, he stepped back, theatrically, and gave her a grin.
“No, I’m sorry. My fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” She checked her watch.
“Class ran late. Is it interfering?”
“It did. Yes. But I could have left. I hated to, though.”
“It is his own fault if he does not watch the time well enough. Don’t give yourself heartache through his fault in worrying about insulting him. Leave, if you need.” He took another step backward. “And I will let you do the same.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you ... next class.”
“Aye and I will look forward to it.” He talked mostly to her turned back as she rushed on away. “You are progressing well; nice to see.”
She halted and turned, a curious expression on her face, started to speak, glanced at others nearby, gave him a quick nod and rushed away.
Damn, Fillan. Too much. You embarrassed her. He shook his head at himself and jangled his keys as he found his own auto.
Emma couldn’t help but grin as she sped a little faster than she should to the school. She’d get yelled at again for being two minutes late, and yet she didn’t care this time. He looked forward to seeing her.
The classes themselves were worth the hassle of being able to get there, but being able to watch Fillan teach magnified that far too much. He was a beautiful dancer, and he reminded her every bit of those Riverdance guys she’d so far only seen in video, even doing the Foxtrot or the Viennese Waltz or the Argentine Tango instead of Irish Step Dance. She wondered if he taught that, also, although she couldn’t imagine doing all of that fast footwork.
His green eyes stayed in her thoughts until she arrived at the school. Hell. Patty was outside standing with a teacher.
As expected, she was lectured, again, and she apologized, again. She would have to take Fillan’s advice and just leave class when she needed to leave. Except she didn’t want to leave sooner than she had to. She enjoyed it too much. Emma wanted to leech every little bit out of each class that she could.
And she enveloped herself in listening for Fillan’s voice over her own teacher. It messed her up more than once. She’d caught herself following his lead instead more than once. So far, she hadn’t the nerve to ask to switch groups. There was no reason to insult Cheney; he was a good enough teacher.
Still, if she was going to follow Fillan anyway, it would make far more sense to be in his group. Not that she’d ever make herself ask.
Wrestling Patty into her seatbelt, Emma sighed and kissed the girl’s head, refused to let the way she pulled back as though the kiss stung get to her, and got behind the wheel. “How was your day, sweetie?”
Knowing she wouldn’t get an answer, Emma rambled about her class and what she was learning, how the Argentine Tango just wasn’t her thing because she didn’t have the right personality for it and couldn’t get her movements as tight and precise as the teacher wanted but she kept trying. Now and then she looked back at Patty through the rear-view mirror to try to discern her thoughts. Just once, Emma would like to truly know what the girl was thinking beneath her silence. Because she didn’t smile and rarely frowned, too many thought she didn’t feel anything. Emma knew better. It was in her eyes to some extent. It was in the way she hesitated or pulled back or lurched ahead. Emma could read her to at least that extent, even if her mother never could. But then her mother had always been far too full of and into herself. She’d never cared much about what anyone else was going through, as though the world truly did cente
r around her. It used to drive Emma crazy.
These days, she felt far too much sympathy for Helen to feel much of anything else for or about her. And she wouldn’t have her much longer. A huge sense of guilt rushed in at the thought that it would make things easier. Patty reacted so badly after her visits with her mother. She was quiet and distant when Helen talked to her, but the rest of the day Emma could hardly get her to do anything without a fight.
She was so tired of the fight. And Patty was getting too big for her to handle well. Still, seeing Patty was the only thing that made Helen smile anymore. Emma couldn’t keep her away, despite what Lance said. If her brother wanted to take over with Patty, he could make the decisions.
Pulling onto her badly cracked cement driveway, Emma realized she didn’t even want that anymore. Patty was hers. For better or worse.
Propping his feet out in front of him, his pant legs rolled up to keep them from getting wet as the water came up and caressed his heels while it soaked the sand, Fillan let his lungs fill full and released it slowly. Ocean air. The Atlantic. The same ocean that caressed Ireland at such a far distance. It felt less a distance when he sat out on the sand of Cape Cod and let the water come in to touch him. And recede again.
Although he was enjoying his time in the States, his native land pulled at him every night when he went home alone to his ramshackle tiny rented cottage. One bedroom, such as it was, a bath, and a small space for sitting at one side of the main room or cooking on the other side, with barely a cook top and tiny oven. At least there was electric. And a toilet that flushed. When he’d arrived at the place after renting it online, he hadn’t been sure from the outside.
Maybe he would try to Skype with his sister, send her a message and see if she had time. Except his laptop was still acting up and he still didn’t have much interest in annoying himself enough to try to fix it. Time to take it to someone who could, he guessed, but he had better uses for that money. Or at least more fun uses for it. Probably another virus created by some kid sitting in his parents’ basement trying to get back at everyone who did actually have a life outside the computer and real friends. Fillan would like to pop the kid in the nose for causing him trouble when he’d done nothing to ask for it, at least not to that kid. Or adult. Whichever.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Fillan. One of your worst faults, aye.
He stood and brushed sand off and wandered along the outskirts of Long Point. A mostly abandoned part of the beach, which was why his cabin rent was so low and so rundown. It worked well enough for his purposes.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure anymore what his purpose had been. Change of scenery, he’d told himself. New shores, different faces. But he could have found that in a new part of Ireland, or taken the ferry over to Scotland and wandered a bit. It had been some time since he had.
Anyway, he was there for the summer and he would make the best of it around the classes he’d signed on to do to help fund the trip.
Other than the girl, he no longer looked forward to them.
Fillan stopped in his tracks. Since when had he switched from thinking of her as the girl to giving Emma that title? Very much not good, Fillan. Back off, impertinent fool. A couple of months and then home again. You can jolly well behave yourself for that long, you can.
A good lecture from his sister would do it. She would let him know straight he had to behave with the girl.
Chapter 5
“Running off fast again?”
Emma turned to him. He was nearly at her shoulder. “Afraid so.”
“Busy girl. Or it is a good way to avoid talking with me?” Fillan gave her that grin, that self-assured, cocky, I know you want to talk to me grin, or at least that was how it felt to her. Maybe she only felt that way because she did.
“I am busy. Pretty much always. And I have to go.”
“Smooth brush off, that was.” His looked turned curious.
“No. Honestly, I...” She checked her watch. Hell. “I’m sorry. It isn’t. I do have to rush.”
“Then I will rush along to your car with you instead of holding you. I will even open the door if you allow. Would that be too forward? Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”
Far more confused than his look, Emma hesitated only slightly before continuing toward her car, but she slowed so it didn’t look like she was running from him.
“Where are you always off to in such a hurry? Can I ask?”
“Meeting someone.” And she didn’t have time to explain.
“Ah, you are ... married? Have a boyfriend?”
“No. Neither. I’m divorced, no boyfriend and no time for one.”
“Divorced? At your age? Twenty-what?”
“Twenty-five. Sad, huh? It happens. This is my car.” Emma was glad to be there and she unlocked it quickly. She allowed him to pull it open for her and he bent lightly at the waist as in a kind of bow. “Thanks. See you next week.”
“Or this weekend? Do you have more time then? Some friends, well, neighbors more like, invited me to a beach bonfire. Would you like to come and unwind with us? I will be a true Irish gentleman and yes, we do exist.” That grin flashed at her again.
“Thank you. I can’t.” She had Patty all weekend. Which meant another weekend of no sleep. Shame she nearly looked forward to Mondays. And she felt guilty as hell about the thought.
“Emma.” Fillan leaned down as she got into the car, his face close, his body between the door and her being able to close it. “So you know, I am only interested in hanging out, as kids call it here so I have heard, alright? End of August and I scoot right back to Ireland, to my family, my little house that is hardly bigger than the cabin I rent here. I am not looking for a girlfriend, either, so we are on the same page, aye?” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. “You look as though you could use downtime. Perhaps you could show me around the place better than I’ve done yet, which is hardly anything at all. There are secret little places only locals know, are there not?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m actually not from here. I just moved here recently. And thank you, but I really can’t and I really have to run.” She half thought about setting her hand on his stomach to nudge him away but she was a little afraid of the trigger it could send through her own body. He didn’t move. He stared. Wondering... “Fillan, can we talk more later? I have to go.”
“When, Emma? With you running off so fast after every class and with you having no weekend time? If it is a brush-off, say as much.”
“It’s not.” Her heart fluttered. It should be. But she couldn’t quite. “I can be here fifteen minutes before class on Monday. Does that work for you?”
“How about half an hour before?”
“Can’t.”
“Twenty minutes?”
She shook her head.
“Fifteen it is, then.” He reached for her hand and kissed her fingers. “Have a good weekend, Emma. I look forward to fifteen before class on Monday.” With that grin, he stepped back and closed her door, then stood still as she forced herself to pull away.
You are a right fool, Fillan Reilly. He shook his head at himself as he wandered to his car. She is the wrong girl for a summer romance, which you do not even want, did you forget that?
Not from here? And he hadn’t asked where she was from, but he could ask her on Monday. If she showed early as she said. If not, he would know for sure he was a right fool and he’d stop bothering her.
“I know the area well.”
Turning to Goldie, which Fillan thought was not her real name, he offered a light bow in acknowledgement. “You are a true local?” Not that he cared one iota.
“I am.” She stepped closer, purposely swaying. “And I’m free this weekend. Kiddos are with the ex. I always have weekends free.”
“I suppose that’s a nice thing for you. Excuse me, I...”
“It is. Especially since their father gives them anything they want all weekend so when they come back to me, I can’t do anything with the
m. Eleven and thirteen. Impossible ages. Emma was my son’s teacher last year, by the way. You might stay away from that one. The stories he told of her... Well, I don’t like to talk about people, but if you’re looking for weekend company...”
“Thank you. No. I will see you Monday then.” Fillan brushed her off, too tersely, he knew, but the woman was at least ten years older, or maybe she wasn’t but she looked like it, and she looked like she’d been around too much. Her face was too hard. And he was not looking for a summer fling. Particularly not with a cougar, although maybe at twenty-seven he was too old for that to be an appropriate term. He was unsure of a lot of American terms and was careful to only use them in his own head. As he talked to himself. As he did far too often.
Her son’s teacher, and stories he told? Fillan had a hard time knowing why any young boy wouldn’t want Emma as his teacher. He would have considered himself lucky to have one with such a nice build, ample but moderately so, straight shiny brown hair cut into a flattering longish but not long style that said no fuss but taken care of well. And natural grace. She said she’d never had dance training. A shame. She should have grown up in it with the way she moved.
Start the engine and stop sitting here looking like a right fool, Fillan. They’re staring at you.
The cougar especially, as she talked with another student and threw glances his way. Very much not good, Fillan. If you’re going to hit on the girl, do it where no one hears it, aye?
“One more late pickup and we will have to suspend your services for the next week.”