“Friends. It’s simple,” I said, beginning to walk toward the stairs again.
He grabbed me and spun me around, bringing me close to him. Our bodies were touching. He had his right arm around my waist, and had grabbed my other hand with his.
“I like being your friend,” Alec whispered, bending down to my right ear.
“I think this is against the rules,” I quipped.
I pulled away and crossed my arms over my chest. I was acutely aware that I wasn’t wearing a bra right now.
“Well, as your friend, I like your pajamas,” he said, pointing to my red and green plaid pajamas. “And we weren’t breaking any rules,” he said, walking away. “We didn't hug, kiss, or fuck, so we’re good.” He winked and went up to the third floor, presumably to the library.
My heart was still thumping against my chest as I got to my room. I took a quick shower, washing and drying my hair. I changed into dark grey leggings and an oversized black sweater. I swiped some blush and mascara on, and then headed to the library.
When I got there, Alec was up on the balcony, scanning books. His back was to me. I admired his backside for a few seconds, trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t get caught. He was wearing a red flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots. I cleared my throat, and Alec jumped, a book flying into the air. He caught it.
“Hey. You scared me,” he said, coming down to my level. “I was thinking, instead of reading here today, we could take a little trip. It’s nice out, and I could show you some of my favorite spots in Northern Ireland.” He carried a copy of Atonement, by Ian McEwan. “This is the book I picked. Not the happiest of books—I know that’s what you wanted—but this is one of my favorites. I’ve come to realize, not a lot of classic literature ends on a happy note. At least the stories that I like.”
“Depressing is fine,” I said, absentmindedly. I looked down at what I was wearing. “I have a feeling that I’ll need more clothes for this excursion. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise. Put some more clothes on,” he said, walking past me. “Boots. A proper jacket. Meet me downstairs in ten.”
“OK.”
I quickly changed into jeans and grabbed my parka, the one that Alec had helped me pick out my first week in Wales. I threw on my leather knee-high boots and put my hair into a ponytail. When I walked downstairs, Alec stood waiting, a heavy parka in his hands. Ennis was nowhere to be found, but she was always off doing her own thing, so I wasn’t surprised. Alec opened the front door and cool winter air greeted us.
“Is that going to be warm enough?” He gestured to my parka.
“Well, we’ll be in the car part of the time, right?”
“Something like that,” he answered, and I had a feeling he was up to something.
We walked over to where the cars were parked, and he took a cover off of a smaller object; an object that looked suspiciously like a motorcycle. When the cover came off, a gleaming, black motorcycle sat in front of us and I stood there with my mouth hanging open. He handed me a helmet, put his parka and a helmet on, and waited for me to get on behind him. I wiggled my arms into my parka slowly and snapped my helmet closed tightly under my chin. I got on behind him as he pulled out a key, pushed some buttons, and soon, we blasted off.
We wove through small, Irish villages quickly, zipping past the rare car that met us on the main road. I gripped Alec tightly with both hands as we sped through what looked to be rural Ireland. Small cottages dotted the two-lane highway, and signs in both English and Gaelic rose up out of muddy meadows along the road. Farms and sheep seemed to be the main theme as we drove on, and I rested my head against Alec’s back, taking it all in. Ireland certainly was beautiful. It might’ve been the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. I was still so surprised at the greenness of it all. It was so bright green that it almost hurt my eyes to look at it.
In a way, its greenness and fresh, cool air reminded me of Oregon. It had the same dewy feeling, like it had just rained for a month straight, and the foliage was quite similar to Oregon’s. Sitting behind Alec on his motorcycle, I almost felt like I was home in Oregon, except everything was much older. We drove for a little more than an hour, and by the time Alec pulled off the road, I could see the ocean beyond the fields in front of us.
We went down the shore for a couple more miles, passing quaint little beach shacks and pubs that lined the road parallel to the beach. That led to a secluded hilly meadow, which felt like it went on forever. Alec guided the motorcycle up one of the hills and I realized we were at what seemed like the tallest point of the area. I gazed out and saw miles and miles of wild grass, ocean, and forest.
I smiled, thinking of the last time I had ridden behind Alec—the day that my horse, Bo, had been spooked by a low-flying hawk and Alec had rescued me. It had been only a week into my time in Wales. Alec had been so hot and cold those first few weeks, mixing it up between blatantly hitting on me and acting like he hated me. Later, he’d told me it was only because he didn’t know how to process his feelings for me, which was understandable, but I still laughed when I thought about how much of a jerk he’d been.
“How long are you planning on staying, then?” Alec inquired.
I looked at him and tried to gauge his tone. Was he being sincere? Or did he want to know when he would be rid of me? I couldn’t tell. I knew from last night that he apparently didn’t trust me. Luckily, Helen answered.
“Hopefully, for a while…” She looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back, and George gave me a thumbs up.
“A few weeks, maybe a few months. It just depends,” I explained, with no emotion.
“On what? Don’t you have some hot shot job back in L.A.?” Alec’s tone was definitely irritated. He wasn’t curious. He wanted to know how long he’d have to put up with me. He went from playful to annoyed so quickly. How was that possible?
“Alec, please! Be polite,” Helen scolded.
“I’m sorry, I just have a hard time believing that a beautiful woman would want to stay here voluntarily, when she probably has so much going for her back home. There has to be a reason.”
He was being feisty. I turned red at the word “beautiful”, but it was essentially used to insult me, so my blush quickly faded into slight anger. Well, if he wanted feisty, I would give him feisty. I turned to face him.
“For your information, I absolutely love it here, and I’ve loved it from the moment I arrived. I consider myself lucky to be here. And no, I don’t have a job to go back to in L.A., which is probably a good thing, because I’m now realizing it was a really shitty job to begin with. I’m glad to be done with it.”
I purposely left out the Harry situation; that could be explained later, if he was lucky enough to get to know me, that is. At this point, I wasn’t sure if he deserved to get to know me.
Alec slowed the motorcycle down and we rode along a trail paralleling the ocean. I couldn’t see the sand—we were too far up. Small, rocky hills hid the shore from our sight. Moss covered the rocks, and the ocean was a deep, royal blue. We followed one of the trails to the top of a cliff. All of a sudden we came to a clearing, and I gasped.
Below us and all around us were strange rock formations that looked like cities built into the hillside. Waves crashed at the feet of these monstrous rocks, and each rock had another behind it that was slightly taller, making it seem like a gigantic staircase, or hundreds of columns of varying heights right next to each other. The rocks were rounded, and they seemed so artificial and manmade, but I knew they weren’t. Green, linear cliffs painted the backdrop, and I felt like I was in some sort of fairytale.
“This is Giant’s Causeway,” Alec said, pointing to the rock formation. “We’re on the Shepherd’s Steps right now. Do you want to hear the scientific reason for why these rocks are here? Or the mythological reason?”
“Both.” I smiled, getting off of the motorcycle and flipping my windswept hair out of my helmet.
“Science says these rock formations were caused b
y lava that plateaued and cooled quickly, causing contractions, or cracks, much like how wet mud dries. Irish folktale says that these are the remains of a causeway built by giants. The story goes that an Irish giant built a causeway between Ireland and Scotland so that he could fight a giant in the neighboring country. What ensues next is debated, but everyone agrees to this day that Ireland won, and the Scottish giant fled back to Scotland in fright, destroying the causeway behind him so that the Irish giant could not come find him. It just so happens that there are identical basalt columns at Fingal’s Cave on the Scottish isle of Staffa. It’s made out of the same ancient lava.”
“I think I believe the Irish folktale. I mean, there are identical columns in Scotland. Surely, this is evidence enough.” I winked at Alec.
“I happen to think so, too. Us Irish folk are very superstitious. You’d laugh at some of our silly legends.”
“Like what?” I’d taken a seat at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the rocks and the sea. Alec came and sat next to me.
“Well, for example, a lot of us believe that faeries live all over Ireland in fairy mounds, and to disturb these mounds would mean a lifelong stream of bad luck. Major highways have been rerouted during construction so as not to disturb these so-called mounds. And if you find a mound or a fairy, you’re supposed to keep it secret, otherwise you’ll have bad luck for life. Also, fairy paths are sacred, so you are to never build on any fairy path.”
“How do you know where the fairy paths are?”
“You build the four posts of the house on an allotted section of land, and you leave them overnight. If the posts are still standing in the morning, you’re good to go.”
“And everyone believes this?”
“More or less. Also, if you find a four-leaf clover, you will have unlimited good luck for life, so long as you keep it hidden and you don’t tell anyone.”
“I see. So, have you ever found a fairy mound, or a four-leaf clover?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t tell you,” he said, smiling mischievously.
“I’ve heard of the four-leaf clover one, actually. My father is Irish. He always told me that if I ever found a four-leaf clover to keep it to myself.”
“You’re half-Irish?”
“Yeah. Why? Couldn’t you tell?” I pointed to my red hair and the freckles adorning my face.
“Nothing.” He smiled and looked away, thinking some unknown thought. “What are your parents like?”
I thought about that for a moment. How would others describe them?
“They’re perfectly nice people. If you met them at the grocery store, you’d think, oh, these two are nice. I just don’t think they should’ve been parents.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They were hippies in the late 60s and 70s, and they had me in their forties. I don’t have any siblings. I kind of took care of myself. They never really gave up the party lifestyle,” I explained. “Some of my earliest memories are of being at these parties that they would throw for their friends, and I’d be up until all hours of the night. I missed school a lot because I was tired. They were never neglectful. They were just the opposite of strict. I never had a bedtime or curfew. I wish I’d taken advantage of it,” I laughed. “Instead, I studied hard and went to college.”
“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
“It’s OK. I turned out fine, right?” I gave him my biggest fake smile. We both laughed. “Like I said, they were loving parents, but they were selfish. I just hope they can be good grandparents one day. They’re finally starting to settle down.”
“So, you want kids?”
“Of course. I mean, almost a year ago, Harry and I were actively trying to get pregnant. But my situation changed. I’d be fine waiting a few years. What’s the rush?”
“I want kids. Lots of them. I want a whole litter of them.”
“Well, you are Irish.”
“What’s that have to do with having kids?” He laughed, nudging me.
“I dunno, my father and his father both had like seven siblings. Maybe it was because they were Catholic. That side of the family is from outside of Dublin though. Maybe it’s different in Northern Ireland.”
“We have Catholics here, too. My family and I aren’t. My parents were very progressive growing up. We learned about all different kinds of cultures and religions. I just want a lot of kids because I love children.”
I laughed, probably a little too loudly. Alec scowled at me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I just… if I’d known you were such a softy when I met you…” I started laughing again, thinking of brusque, booming Alec, the Alec I’d met on my first night, with messy hair and dirty clothes, wanting a litter of children… it was just ironic. “I guess I would’ve liked you more.” I shot him a defiant glare.
“Oh, you liked me just fine.” He was staring out towards the ocean now, reminiscing.
“Actually, I thought you were a jerk.” I matched his stare, looking down onto the rocks.
“You came around,” he purred, now looking at me with a tempting smolder. He was the king of smolder.
I leaned over and rested against Alec. He put an arm around me. This was so nice. The sun was high above us, and it felt amazing on my skin, especially surrounded by the cool ocean air. Alec took Atonement out of his jacket and began to read. This was pure bliss. I loved hearing Alec talk. He was a great storyteller.
“THE PLAY—for which Briony had designed the posters, programs and tickets, constructed the sales booth out of a folding screen tipped on its side, and lined the collection box in red crêpe paper—was written by her in a two-day tempest of composition, causing her to miss a breakfast and a lunch. When the preparations were complete, she had nothing to do but contemplate her finished draft and wait for the appearance of her cousins from the distant north. There would be time for only one day of rehearsal before her brother arrived. At some moments chilling, at others desperately sad, the play told a tale of the heart whose message, conveyed in a rhyming prologue, was that love which did not build a foundation on good sense was doomed. The reckless passion of the heroine, Arabella, for a wicked foreign count is punished by ill fortune when she contracts cholera during an impetuous dash toward a seaside town with her intended. Deserted by him and nearly everybody else, bed-bound in a garret, she discovers in herself a sense of humor. Fortune presents her a second chance in the form of an impoverished doctor—in fact, a prince in disguise who has elected to work among the needy. Healed by him, Arabella chooses judiciously this time, and is rewarded by reconciliation with her family and a wedding with the medical prince on 'a windy sunlit day in spring'.”
The sun passed above us as Alec kept reading, and eventually we laid out his jacket like a picnic blanket. It had gotten quite warm and sunny in the afternoon. I pulled my knees into my chest and faced him, resting my chin and watching him as he read. Around three, Alec stopped abruptly and looked over at me. He was about halfway through the book.
“I’m getting hungry. How about we stop at a pub somewhere on the way back home?”
“Sure! And Alec,” I said, moving towards him, “I love that you read to me. It means a lot. I just wanted you to know how much I’m enjoying this.”
“Well, I refuse to date an uneducated woman,” he joked, tossing the book at me flippantly.
“Oh, so you’re grooming me to be dating material?”
“Charlotte,” he said, moving closer. “You’re already dating material. You’re more than dating material, and—” he paused, his face a few inches from mine.
My heart leapt into my throat. I felt him surrendering. Being with Alec was both comforting and sensual, all at the same time. He brought me so much joy and yet, I felt my body come alive at his touch. We were friends, and we’d spent the last two days being just that.
But in those moments where he lost control for a minute, the burning inside of me would catch fire. He was simultaneously my best friend and the best lover I’d ever h
ad. He understood me. I hardly ever had to explain anything—he just knew, instinctively. And it worked the other way around, too. Every gesture he made, every word he uttered, explained itself to me in detail. What others might’ve questioned, I understood. He was the ying to my yang. We were better together. And on top of everything he was so fucking sexy.
He moved closer, and I thought perhaps I was redeemed already. I had thought there would be many more torturous days and nights to come, but maybe he was ready to forgive me. The scenery before us lent a wonderful backdrop. It couldn’t get more romantic than this. Just as I closed my eyes and leaned forward, my body turning into mush, I felt him pull away. He was looking down. I opened my eyes and looked down, too, trying to hide my red cheeks.
“We should probably go,” Alec said, his voice husky and thick.
“Yeah.” I was looking away now, ashamed that I thought he’d forgiven me so soon. I was stupid. It was just a heated moment. I had to wait until he was ready. As I stood up, I caught Alec looking at me so intently that it startled me. Before I gave my sheer disappointment away, I turned away from him and walked back to the motorcycle.
“I’m sorry,” Alec muttered, so softly I’d hardly heard him. Turning, I faced him now.
“For what?”
“I want to kiss you, Charlotte. Every damn second of every damn day, I want to kiss you. I’m just having a hard time with it all. I still need time. I need to learn how to forgive,” he ended, digging his hands into his jean pockets and looking down. “We Irishmen are stubborn,” he said, an impish grin beginning to tug on the corners of his lips. “Besides, you know I’ll forgive you eventually, and this has been way too much fun torturing you.”
He walked over and stopped inches away from me, and my breathing halted. Oh, fuck.
“Two can play this game, you know,” I said, my breathing starting to catch in my throat due to his proximity.
The Redemption (Charlotte Bloom Book 2) Page 9