by Kris Bryant
“Umm. About what?” I ask, totally busted.
“Can you imagine waiting your whole life for your love to return to you only to find out he was murdered the day after he left your arms? It’s one of the saddest stories I remember hearing when I was growing up.” I have no idea what she is talking about because I was so busy looking at her, wishing I could be closer to her, that I completely missed the story.
“That’s awful,” I say, hoping that my response is appropriate.
“The poor woman had the opportunity to love time and time again, but turned away every honorable man because she was waiting.”
“Oh, is that where the forget-me-not flower gets its name from?” I remember Leigh told me a story that seemed similar.
“No. The flower got its name from a knight who fell into the river and drowned. He was picking flowers for a woman he was courting and the weight of his armor caused him to flip over and drown. Before he died, he tossed the flowers at her and begged her not to forget him.”
“What is with Ireland and the sad stories?” I ask. She laughs.
“That’s not even an Irish story. And that’s only one version of how the tiny flower got its name. There’s one about God naming the flowers and skipped over the tiny blue flower and the flower spoke up. So God named it forget-me-not,” she says.
“You should have gone to school to become a historian because you know so much folklore and history of Ireland. You missed your calling,” I say.
“No. Everybody else already knows all of this. Since you’re not from here, I can impress you with useless bits of information.”
“So you are trying to impress me, huh?”
“Is it working?” she asks, a hopeful smile on her lips. I’m not sure why, but I flirt back even though I know it’s a bad idea for both of us.
“Definitely,” I say. I look away because her look is no longer playful, but rather intense. Enough to make me gulp and think about what it would be like to have just one night with her. One selfish, give everything, take everything night where neither one of us worries about the morning or the next week. She turns up a private road and once we round the corner, a beautiful, fully lit castle comes into view. I gasp. “Oh, my God. This is beautiful. Wait. We’re having dinner here?”
“A private chef owes me a favor. You will love his food. He’s fantastic,” she says. She parks the car and I jump out, anxious to see it all at once.
“Kerry, this is too much! You should have saved your favor,” I say, secretly excited that she used it on me.
“I wanted to celebrate tonight. The shop is officially up for sale and this is the perfect way to do it. Come on, let’s take a look around,” she says, grabbing my hand. I walk briskly beside her, trying hard not to skip with pure joy. What a perfectly romantic night. She takes me to the front of the castle where we are greeted by a gentleman dressed in a black suit who I assume is some kind of butler.
“Welcome to MacCabe Castle. Please follow me, ladies,” he says. We fall in step behind him admiring the wall art and medieval decorations.
“This is incredible. You obviously are a good person to know here in Ireland. I got lucky,” I say, instantly regretting my words when she raises her eyebrows at me. I have the decency to blush. The butler ushers us into a room with a giant stone fireplace and a small dinner table set up near it. I feel like I’m in a scene from Beauty and the Beast. I’m waiting for the tableware to jump into a song and dance routine. The butler informs us that the chef will be out momentarily. “Kerry, really, how did you manage this?” She smiles at me.
“I called in a few favors. Since you are leaving this weekend, I thought it might be nice to have a night…” she pauses, and corrects herself. “Have a meal you won’t forget. And you are frowning because?”
“I’m actually leaving late tomorrow night. My boss called and wants me back in time to woo a client on Sunday. I’m not happy about it because I have a lot of loose ends here.” She tries to wipe the surprise look off of her face, but it’s too late.
“I’m disappointed, but I understand.” She looks at me and forces a smile. “Then let’s enjoy the food and conversation.” I don’t like that her guard is up again. Thankfully, the chef, an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, enters the quaint dining hall and makes a beeline for Kerry, interrupting my depressing news.
“You look beautiful as always,” he says, kissing both of her cheeks.
“Thank you, Ryan. You are always so kind. Please meet Grace Danner from America. She and I are working on a commercial project together.” She’s so politically correct.
“It’s my pleasure,” he says, nodding his head in my direction. “Ladies, let me go over tonight’s menu.” He pours us a glass of wine and discusses, in great detail, what he’s going to cook this evening. Everything sounds delicious. When he leaves, Kerry lifts her wineglass in my direction.
“Here’s to you, Grace. Thank you for making the trip here and working with me. I know I wasn’t the easiest person when we first met, but hopefully you have a better opinion of me now.” We are too far apart to clink glasses.
“And here’s to you, Kerry, for getting the job done and showing me Ireland in a way nobody else could have. I loved the motorcycle ride and your private spot up on the cliff. I hope that our new friendship will continue even when I leave this beautiful place.” We both take a drink and for a split second, she flashes me a look of hunger over the rim of her glass. It’s so fast that I almost miss it, but my stomach starts quivering so I know I didn’t imagine it. I manage to stifle my cough until I place my glass down.
“Are you okay?” she asks. I nod and hold up a finger to let her know I only need a moment. We shared a very passionate kiss this week and that look is the same look she gave me right before she kissed me.
“Sorry about that. Must have gone down the wrong pipe,” I say. She lifts her eyebrow at me. How the hell am I going to get through this night? Everything is rushing at me: my departure tomorrow night, the undeniable passion we have for one another, and the angst of selling the shop and what that means to everybody involved. I’m too emotional right now.
“Dance with me while we wait for dinner. I’ll show you how the Irish love not only whiskey and beautiful women, but we’re all excellent dancers.” She doesn’t give me a chance to say no. Not that I would because watching her walk toward me, sexy and confident, is mesmerizing. She reaches for me and I do not hesitate. Her hand is warm in mine. When she pulls me toward her, my heart quickens and I lick my lips as my mouth moves very close to hers. I can feel her warm breath on my cheek and I stifle another shiver. Pressed up against her strong, lean body, she effortlessly guides me around the room and over toward the fireplace. How she is still single is a mystery. She’s beautiful, smart, and she makes me want to be a better person than I am. My body responds to her nearness. I can’t get close enough to her. Every part of me is touching her and our bodies stop moving. Now she is simply holding me. My heart threatens to burst when her eyes meet mine and I feel her tighten her grip around my waist. I know that if she kisses me now, I will lose myself in her. She doesn’t say anything to me, but stares at me, as if she’s waiting for permission from me.
This beautiful, yet confusing moment is broken when Chef Ryan delivers the first round. I don’t know if I should be grateful for his interruption, or hate him for it. I feel her hesitation to let me go as if this will be the last time our bodies are this close. I wonder what would have happened if Chef Ryan waited a minute or two before delivering our first course. Would we have kissed again? I try hard to focus on his explanation of the first course, but I can only look at Kerry. Her eyes never leave mine. I wonder if he knows he interrupted us. I wonder if he realizes he either stopped something incredible from happening, or saved us both from undeniable heartache. She breaks eye contact to respectfully pay attention. I take a deep breath and listen to him as well. After nodding and not understanding a word he just said, he places a tiny serving of baked
oysters and sauce in front of me. I look up at him like he’s crazy. I can eat this in one bite. He laughs.
“Don’t worry. I promise you will be full by the end of the meal.” I have the decency to blush. Kerry laughs at me, too. Chef Ryan leaves us again.
“I promised you a meal you wouldn’t forget.” She emphasizes the word meal, teasing me. My blush deepens. “Taste it. I want to see what you think.” I nervously bring the fork up to my mouth knowing full well she is watching me, focusing on my lips and the quick flick of my tongue as I eat the oyster. Watching her watching me is far more erotic than if she were to reach over and feed me herself. The desire in her eyes is unmistakable. She doesn’t try to hide it and I don’t look away. Her mouth opens slightly at the stifled moan I make. I’m sure if I were closer, I could hear her intake of breath, the hitch as her excitement grows.
“It’s very good.” I keep the conversation boring as I remind myself over and over that I’m leaving in twenty-four hours and not to flirt with her. Oh, what the hell. “No, it’s perfect, Kerry. Thank you for bringing me to this incredible place. I’m anxious to see what else is on the menu.” I reach for my glass. I don’t miss the surprised look on her face that she quickly erases or the fact that she leans back in her chair to study me. She’s wondering if I’m flirting, or if my actions are innocent. Historically horrible at seducing, I resort to the only thing I know how to do. I bite my lip, slowly, seemingly subconsciously, as I study the wine bottle. I notice she shifts in her chair a bit and leans forward. I have her attention. “So tell me about the people you’ve dated.”
“Not much to tell really,” she shrugs. “Girl meets girl, girl dates girl, girl decides girl isn’t the one. Being single isn’t horrible.” This is true.
“How is that possible that you’re single? Tell me what happened with your last girlfriend. Did your family get to know her? How did you meet?”
“Do you really want me to talk about another woman on this special night?” She smiles knowingly at me, her gaze intense, her body language rigid. “Do you want to know if I liked her? If I loved her? If the sex was fantastic? Do you want to know if I took her to my secret spot like I took you? Now, that is a question I can answer. No, Grace. I didn’t. You are the only one who has been there with me.” I can feel my cheeks redden with a mixture of desire and embarrassment.
“Why me then? Why take me there?” I ask. My stomach clenches with anticipation as I await her answer.
“Maybe because I know you’re only visiting.” Ouch. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Not because you wanted to share it with me, but because I will keep your secret. How sad,” I say. I pout at her and she smiles at me.
“Well, maybe another reason, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” Now I’m intrigued.
“And because you are a special woman and I enjoy spending time with you. I truly will be sad when you leave.” She pauses and I think she is going to say more, but we are interrupted by Chef Ryan who brings out the entrée.
“Ladies, roasted pork stuffed with potatoes and apples. Please enjoy,” he says.
“This smells great. I have had nothing but fantastic food here in Ireland and have met the nicest people. I will miss everybody when I leave.”
“Were you able to finish up everything with Nola’s belongings?”
“The only thing pending is my aunt’s car. I was thinking of giving it to Emma because she’s going to need a car with a new baby. Do you think she would be receptive to that?”
“Grace, I could kiss you right now! That’s extremely generous and I think after the initial shock, she would love it. A wonderful gift. Really.” I’m focusing on the kissing part of what she just said. I think back to our kiss. It was fast, exciting, exhilarating, and left us both speechless. She might pretend that it didn’t affect her, but I was right there and I felt every part of her against me. Her body was just as aroused as mine.
“It helps me out because I wouldn’t know what to do with it otherwise. Leigh says she doesn’t like to drive. Oh, and I would like to give Conor the delivery van. I know it’s a basic model, but more reliable than what he has now. I’m sure he can just scrape off the decals.”
“I’m speechless. Both will be extremely grateful. Conor can get rid of that awful scooter he calls a motorcycle and Emma won’t have to take the train anymore. My brother is going to be so relieved. You have no idea how much that is going to help them.” Her appreciation for her friends and family is remarkable.
“I’ll sign the deed over tonight. Please tell her from me if I don’t see her tomorrow at the shop. She’s missed the last few days at work. I hope everything is fine,” I say.
“She’s been pretty miserable for sure,” Kerry says. “I think the doctor is off on the delivery date. I can’t imagine her lasting another week and a half.”
“Leigh said the same thing. I can’t believe she’s still walking as much as she has been since I’ve been here.” I already know I would be a complete mess who stays in bed every day whining about how miserable I am. Emma’s my hero. She hasn’t complained once about how swollen she is or how her back is killing her. “I would like to send some baby stuff from the United States. Not that you don’t have super cute things here, but a variety might be nice. Do you think that would be okay? Or maybe a car seat?” I’m not up to speed on safety regulations here in Ireland about baby car seats, but I know the ones back home have survived some pretty horrific wrecks. I keep envisioning a handmade seat belt of fisherman’s netting that Emma’s dad has created for the baby. I cringe at my out of control imagination. The need to send a safe one to Emma and Keagan is suddenly great.
“The car is already too much, Grace. You certainly can do what you want, but it’s truly not necessary.”
“I wish I had more friends who had children. It’s always so much fun buying cute little outfits and toys.” I stop talking because I know I sound like I want to flash my cash some more.
“My da has made so many wooden toys already that the child won’t get to play with for years. And only after the teething stage. The whole family is excited for the baby to arrive.” Kerry looks down at her cell phone after a series of text messages light it up and jumps up, jarring the table. “Oh my! You aren’t going to believe this, but they are taking Emma to the hospital right now. Her water broke.”
Chapter Twelve
“Let’s go.” I don’t even hesitate. I grab a piece of bread and eat a few more bites as Kerry rushes to find Chef Ryan. She returns, grabs my hand, and we hurry back to the car.
“Ack. I don’t even know what to do first,” she says.
“I’d offer to drive, but I’m too freaked out,” I say. She laughs.
“No, no. It’s okay. Let me just take a moment.” She takes a slow, deep breath and starts the car. “Let’s go meet this new baby.” Even though she is speeding, she is careful about it. The hospital is thirty minutes away in Dublin, but I’m sure we will make it there in twenty-five. She asks me to text Keagan and find out where they are in the hospital. I pick up her phone and get the information quickly.
“He says they just got there and for us to head to the maternity ward.” I watch as she smiles at the news.
“We will probably be there in ten minutes.” We are already in Dublin and since it’s a weeknight, the streets are not congested. I hang on as she quickly maneuvers through the traffic, zipping in and around until I see the hospital up ahead. I’m feeding off of her anxiety so that by the time we find the information booth, I take over and start asking all the questions about where to find Emma and the rest of the family. The attendant directs us upstairs where we find the majority of the family hanging outside of the suite.
“Thank God you made it.” An older woman grabs Kerry and clutches her. “Your brother is driving me crazy.”
“What’s going on? How’s Emma?” Kerry gets answers from at least three different people all at once. I count twelve family members waiting outside. Her dad is quietly p
acing near the door.
“We are waiting for the doctor to check her. Keagan is in there now. As soon as they let me, I will be in there, too.” A lady who is unmistakably Emma’s mother tells us. She is just as lovely as Emma.
“This is Grace Danner.” Kerry introduces me to the group and names are thrown at me, names I won’t remember in thirty seconds. I’m calm now and not worried about what they might think of me or if they’ve even heard about me. They have too much going on. I feel like I’m watching a play unfold right in front of me.
“Is everything settled with your aunt’s estate? Has Kerry squared things away?” Kerry’s dad is suddenly beside me. I nod. I’m sure he needs to talk about something else right now to keep from falling apart.
“The listing went up yesterday so I’m sure things will be happening soon,” I say.
“It’s a premium spot so I’m sure it will sell quickly,” he says. Funny how that makes me sad now. “Kerry said you took the pictures. You did a good job.”
“Thanks. It’s what I do back home in the states. I work for an advertising agency and always jump in when photos need to be taken for projects.”
“So you travel with all of your camera equipment everywhere?”
“Oh, no. Not all of it, but I have enough lenses with me for the just in case moments. And I didn’t mean to take away any work from your photographer. I was just in the moment and I missed taking photos.”
“You did a better job than Brian could have done. And don’t worry about him. He’s a contractor and not always reliable.” That inflates my ego even more. We’re interrupted by a disgruntled nurse who doesn’t like that we are hanging out in the hall by Emma’s room. She ushers us into a waiting room only twenty feet away.
“Now, I don’t want to see any of you loitering outside of that girl’s door. She’s got enough on her mind,” she says, eyeing us warily. “When the baby gets here, then you can take turns if, and only if, the doctor says so.” Thankfully, we are the only ones in the small waiting room. Some of the family head out to smoke or get fresh air, while the rest get comfortable on the chairs and couches. This is going to be a long night.