by Carter Blake
Her red hair flows down over her shoulders and shines in the morning sun like silk. Her sky-blue sun dress—dotted with white daisies—and ivory-white cardigan are a perfect pairing to match her fair skin.
My eyes wander down to her legs—her sun dress only reaching mid-thigh—and lose myself for a moment in the remembrance of being entwined within them.
The memory of last night—and the dream that she so rudely woke me from—fills my thoughts until she exaggeratedly clears her throat.
“Oh, right. Yes, come in.”
I stand out of the way and gesture for her to step inside.
My attention falls back to her legs as she walks past.
“Stop looking at my ass, Killian,” she says.
Does she have eyes in the back of her head or something?
“Am I that obvious?”
“Like a train wreck.”
Shrugging, I close the door.
I can’t help wondering if she’s here because she just wants to see me or if she wishes to discuss the arrangement that I proposed to her.
No matter the reason, I’m pleased that she’s here.
Nothing wrong with that, is there?
On a normal day, I would probably either be reading a favorite book to get some of the creative muse dancing about, or going on a ride with Ida, or sitting at my desk and click-clacking my head off it as I try to write.
I think it goes without saying that I’d be drinking no matter the activity chosen. There’s always room for some good whiskey to be added to any activity one may engage in.
But seeing her here before me, looking as agreeable and pleasant as she does, has me feeling as though a normal day would be a waste of my time.
I mean, I think you could say we’re friends at this point. Time with friends is good for the soul, and it helps my creativity in the long run.
And Rebecca’s not somebody I get to see very often.
To pass an opportunity to spend some quality time with such a quality person would be as tragic as a whiskey-free Ireland.
Both are thoughts I never wish to have again.
So, perhaps something special is in order—one that can be beneficial no matter her reason for showing up at my doorstep.
A spot as beautiful—maybe even more so—than anywhere else on all of the Emerald Isle.
“So, we need to talk.”
She sounds a touch apprehensive, almost a wee bit nervous.
Walking past her to the cupboard, I catch a glimpse of her expression, which confirms that, yes, she’s one nervous lass at the moment.
There’s a soft creaking when I open up the wooden door and pull a half-empty bottle of Bushmills.
I don’t bother pouring myself a glass—a pull directly from the bottle works just as well.
I swirl the pale-golden liquid about in my mouth. The bitter, stale morning taste that clings to my cheeks is washed away and replaced with the familiar and ever-pleasant taste of toasted almond, tree fruit, citrus, and caramel.
Whiskey is truly the fucking mouthwash of the gods.
I swallow the Bushmills with a smile.
One part mouthwash, one part morning pick-me-up.
It sometimes makes me wonder as to why Bushmills doesn’t advertise their 10-Year-Old as such.
“So. Talk? About last night?”
She gives me a nod.
“Well, that’s lovely, lass. And I know exactly where we can talk about it in more detail. There’s a lovely little spot here in the country that I’d love to take you. It’s perfect. You’ll love it. And we can take Ida to get there, so no falling off bikes or running over Irishmen.”
Her nervousness seems to slip away for a moment at my words. A shy smile threatens to pull at the corner of her lips.
It ties my stomach in a knot.
She clears her throat and puts on her best business face.
“That’s lovely and sweet, Killian. But I need to get this out first before we go anywhere or do anything else.”
Oh boy, she really does mean business this morning.
“Go on, love.”
“I want to go on with the agreement that we discussed last night.”
The knot in my stomach explodes. A wave of relief—and joy—washes over me.
“Splendid.”
Okay, rein in your excitement a bit there, boyo.
Okay—I am incredibly fucking relieved that she wants to go through with this. It’s a massive weight lifted from my shoulders.
I mean, that fucking deadline’s already wreaking fucking havoc with my stress levels.
“However, this is nothing more than a business arrangement between us.” She sounds like a lawyer in a boardroom, drawing up a legal contract. “This isn’t some commitment to each other. We aren’t a couple, this isn’t a relationship, and we’re not one big family. This is all business, nothing personal. No feelings. No complications.”
Her words ring around in my skull. There’s still that soft throbbing in my temples that seems to bang louder as I dwell on her statement.
I take another drink of the whiskey to dull the annoyance before it blossoms into the flower of a fucking debilitating headache.
There’s a sense of relief when I hear her demands. The last time we were together has been amazing—so marvelous and wondrous it’s taken on mythological status among all the events in my life.
So, when it ended, I felt as though I had been caught in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius at Pompeii.
And it’s like part of me is still there, my face frozen in fear and sadness, preserved for all eternity.
An acknowledgment that the very real pain of abandonment and loss is not worth even a moment of some whimsical fucking fantasy of romance.
It was as much an affirmation then as it is now that I’m better off not letting myself get caught up in nonsense like that.
And if I can say so myself, I’m doing pretty fucking well on my own. Fuck it—there’s no point in that type of moping with a bottle in my hands. I make good use of it with another tip of the wrist.
The next drink washes over my tongue and burns down the back of my throat. It washes away the lump that, for a moment, felt caught within.
“Rebecca, it’s like you’re reading my mind.” I smile brightly and step toward her with an outstretched hand.
“So, we have a deal?” she asks.
“We have a deal.”
She takes my hand in hers, and we seal the arrangement with a gentleman’s handshake.
Rebecca
“You may want to change,” Killian says, and I furrow my brow.
Doesn’t he like my dress? It confirms how right I am to underline the arrangement being business only. A domineering relationship is the last thing I want to tumble into after just extracting myself from one of those.
“Uh...” I start...then stop.
What’s the point?
“Not that what you’re wearing isn’t very aesthetically pleasing,” he continues as if he’s able to read my thoughts. “But a dress isn’t really suitable horse-riding attire.”
That’s right. I’ve been so lost in thought recently I’d almost forgotten all about that horse of his.
Ida.
Like a small child, I find myself clapping my hands together. Gone are those pesky nerves that haunted me all the way over to his house.
Instead, I feel...
Fuck, I’m actually elated.
Yes.
Maybe, after a lifetime around nothing but cars and freeways, I’m discovering that I’m actually a horse person.
Or maybe a ride on a horse is just what I need now.
“Give me five minutes,” I blurt out and practically run back to my own cottage.
I know I can easily take longer than five minutes if I wanted to. The way Killian looks this morning, he’ll take at least an hour before he’s up to any serious outing.
But I only need five minutes. Quick as a flash, I grab my jeans and a top.
As soon a
s I’m changed, I dart back to Killian’s.
There’s no sight of him outside, and I figure he must be taking a shower.
I don’t get how he can consume those copious amounts of alcohol and get any work done. If I drank the way he does for even one evening, I probably wouldn’t surface for a week.
Briefly, I hover around the front of his cottage. Am I going to have to knock or something?
Or did I just get an even better idea?
I duck around the side of the building and find Ida standing gracefully in her stable. The majestic four-legged beast has her head down, but the minute she hears my footsteps approaching, she pops through the open stable door.
“Hello, my girl.” I rub my hand over her soft nose. Whiskers tickle my hand, and before I know what’s happening, I can feel her soft muzzle on my cheek.
I laugh with abandon.
“That tickles.” I scratch under her chin.
There’s something about this horse that makes me feel completely at ease.
Her eyes bore into me. It’s as if she can see right into my soul.
“Hey, stop that.” Killian’s voice interrupts my special time with Ida.
The horse pays no attention to Killian. She rests her head on my shoulder, next to my cheek.
Ida’s soft, warm breath on my cheek simply leaves me spellbound.
“Stop smoochin’ up to my girl.” Killian strides over, reaching for Ida’s halter.
I try and ignore Killian saying things like my girl and stand aside. Despite my best efforts, his words weirdly leave me breathless, with my heart fluttering.
Which one of us is he talking to, anyway?
As Killian walks Ida past me, I realize just how big she is.
“And don’t you give me that look. You’re always lecturing me.”
Laughing, I follow the two outside. I watch as Killian expertly brushes the horse before putting the saddle on her back and the bridle over her head.
She’s a willing participant. I almost get the sense she’s enjoying herself.
At one point, she nips at Killian. And when he growls in protest, she lifts her head and pulls her top lip up into a funny curl, like she’s laughing at her own joke.
“Ready?” Killian turns to me, and I nod.
I almost shake with excitement to sit atop this magnificent creature again. This time, the conditions are much better than the other night. There’s no rain—just brilliant sunshine.
Once we’re both properly mounted, Killian steers Ida out of his yard and down the road.
There are no cars around, and I let my eyes wander over the landscape. It’s so green here—greener than any green I’ve seen anywhere else in the world. The green is so intense it reminds me of those super green tropical frogs—the type you see on the nature shows they always have playing at the oolong tea place.
The clip-clop Ida makes on the road leaves me feeling nostalgic for a time I never experienced.
In the old days, this is how people traveled everywhere, unless they were walking themselves. What a gentler world we’d live in now if this were our only mode of transport, along with our own two feet.
Sometimes progress seems highly overrated.
It doesn’t take long for Killian to find a little dirt track and steer off the main road. Rolling green hills stretch out in front of me, as far as the eye can see. It’s so breathtakingly beautiful my eyes are starting to get misty.
“Like it?” Killian asks behind me, and I can only nod.
Up in the distance, I can see a grove of trees and a field of heather. I’ve read a lot about the Irish landscape with its heather. And now that I’m here, I can clearly see that the most descriptive guidebook in the world simply couldn’t do it justice.
I don’t know for how long we ride atop Ida, but eventually Killian tells the horse to stop near some trees.
He jumps off easily and raises his arms to help me down.
His hands grab my waist, and I fly through the air. He holds me a little longer than necessary.
A warm tingling spreads from my chest, and my skin feels flushed for a brief, strange moment.
When he puts me down, I almost feel empty.
I must be totally yearning for more of his touch, right?
I’m barely able to hold in a laugh at that silly bit of Harlequin novel prose my mind just invented.
It must be the scenery.
After taking in the lush, verdant landscape for a few seconds, maybe, I notice Killian has a picnic blanket spread out on the grass, and he’s gesturing for me to sit down.
For the first time, I notice his large backpack.
Wow.
Maybe he isn’t suffering from as big a hangover as I’m assuming. This was quite a production for him to get together in the few minutes I was getting ready, assuming he didn’t have this all ready to go before that.
Maybe he has a hobby of packing elaborate picnics after staggering home from the pub.
“What about her?” I motion to Ida.
Killian laughs. “She won’t go anywhere. No such luck.”
Ida must take issue with the statement, because she decides at that moment to turn around and walk off.
“We all know you’re just being a drama queen,” calls Killian, but the horse just keeps on walking.
Hell, I’m about to jump up to go after her, but Killian shoots me an amused look, which tells me there’s no reason to worry.
“Trust me.” He grins. “She won’t go far.”
His words hit a raw nerve.
Trust—it’s such a small word, but such a powerful one.
Trust.
It seems like I should’ve learned my lesson about that concept by now.
“Come on, Rebecca.” His fingers trace an invisible line in the back of my neck. I shiver a bit. “You must try one of these.”
Killian holds out a dark-purple grape.
It looks fucking delicious, so I grab it with my teeth.
He lies down on the blanket and pats the spot beside him.
All I can think about is getting another one of those goddamn grapes. They taste way better than the grapes they sell at Ralph’s.
And Killian looks so freaking comfortable just lying on his back on top of the blanket, staring up at the sky...
Stretching out my arms, I tumble comfortably down onto my spot on the blanket.
Just as I suspected—it’s fucking comfortable. It feels luxurious, in the middle of fucking nature.
Killian absentmindedly holds out a grape, and I don’t think twice before taking it with my teeth and into my hungry maw.
It’s crisp, juicy, and to reiterate, fucking delicious.
“This is going to be good,” Killian says, popping a grape into his own mouth.
“Eating grapes? That’s happening already.”
He shakes his head, laughing.
“No, you and me. And this business arrangement. Because we’re both actually being smart about it, and we’re not letting any of the, you know, the usual bullshit get in the way.”
Slowly, I nod.
“Of course, we’re being smart about it,” I echo.
“I don’t know why more people don’t take up this idea. I mean, we’re entering into this arrangement with our eyes wide open. We know what we’re getting into. Any problem we strike we’ll be able to talk about it like two rational adults without all the bullshit attached.”
It does makes sense.
“Much better than falling head over heels in love. Once the honeymoon period ends, and it does end, we’d be arguing over everything. We’d be emotionally attached to decisions and positions.”
Killian laughs.
“You’re right. Imagine if we were doing it for real. I’d have to impress you, take you on fancy dates, and prove my fucking manliness or whatever shite to you.”
I nod and laugh. And Killian laughs. And I laugh really fucking hard when the image of myself, actually fucking dating someone, pops into my head.
“You can still do that,” Killian points out with a twinkle in his eyes.
Not bad. It’s nice to be able to appreciate someone’s sense of humor without worrying about what impression you’re giving off.
I mean, he’s been funnier, but I still appreciate the moment. In fact, another wave of laughter is crashing over both of us now.
We’re screaming laughs into the sky like mythological Irish creatures of some sort. Maybe from some obscure corner of local mythology not famous enough to end up on cereal boxes the world over.
As the laughter slowly fades, my eyes glide over the heather. It’s soft on the eyes and soothing to the soul.
“But you know...” I turn to him as he offers another grape, taking it with my teeth.
I don’t finish the thought. I can’t.
For a minute or so, neither of us speak.
This is not the shit I want to talk about or think about.
Not with the whole Dickhead debacle still so fresh in my memory.
Damn it.
It’s a feeling I’m getting used to these days: I don’t know, and I can’t convince myself I do, either.
“This is for the best,” he murmurs.
I take it for granted that he seems to be responding to my thoughts.
Words fail me, and so I just nod.
Killian feeds me another grape.
“It’ll be fucking perfect,” he adds.
“It will,” I affirm.
And I wonder why I’m not feeling more enthusiastic.
Killian
“Watch your step. It’s an old house, and I’m pretty sure these stairs have been here since time immemorial,” Rebecca says, giving me a furtive glance.
“Are you sure we should be up here?” I ask.
Rebecca’s back is turned to me, but I can sense the smile that plays on her lips.
“Are you scared?” she asks.
“Of course not.”
“Follow me,” she replies, taking a step further.
Of all the things we could’ve been doing, Rebecca insisted on this ridiculous idea.
We’re standing on the stairs leading up to the attic. It’s an old wooden staircase, and a slight carpet of dust rises with every step we take.