When the song was over, I was panting and gasping and felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of my face.
“I can’t breathe, in the best possible way,” I said, wheezing. Then I laughed.
Aoife looked at me, and her eyes were kind. “That laugh. That’s the sound my Colin pined for. He always said your laugh made him laugh, too. He was right. It’s a good one.”
I wiped the sweat off my face with a napkin. I smiled at Aoife and confessed, “I haven’t laughed like that in a really long time.”
She raised her glass and said, “Then you were overdue. May love and laughter light your days.”
“And warm your heart and home,” I returned and clinked my glass to hers.
Just before midnight a cabbie appeared, probably the only one in Finn’s Hollow and the surrounding area. Colin had sent him to collect his wife. Aoife laughed and insisted that the cabbie drop me off at my cottage first, even though it was a short walk and I could have gotten there in minutes.
Aoife and I hugged each other goodbye like long-lost sisters while the cab driver waited. As I walked to my door, I tripped over a paving stone but caught myself before I fell. I looked at Aoife and asked, “Who put that there?”
She laughed and cried, “Come visit us again, Chelsea Martin. You’ve got friends in Finn’s Hollow!”
I found myself grinning as I unlocked the door to my cottage and stepped inside. Ireland had certainly not lived up to my expectations in any way, and yet I was okay. Surprisingly okay, in fact. Of course it could be the whiskey.
I shrugged off my coat and kicked off my half boots. The cottage was chilly, so I set another peat log in the fireplace and lit it. I sat on the stone hearth and let the fire’s heat warm me. My phone chimed and I frowned. It was awfully late for texting, unless it was coming from the States.
I took out my phone and opened the messages. The first one that popped up was a GIF from Jason of Maverick and Goose from Top Gun exchanging a high five. I snorted and saw that he’d also left a text message.
Maverick, don’t leave me hanging. What’s happening? I am dying here. Literally dying.
I wasn’t sure why, but I opened his number in my contacts and then paused, staring at it. What was I doing? I didn’t want to call him, did I? I was shocked to find I did. Huh. Then again, he’d had a conference call with Severin’s community-outreach team. I was definitely curious about how that had gone. Without giving myself a moment for second thoughts, I pressed CALL.
chapter ten
MARTIN, I WAS about to send out a search-and-rescue party,” Jason answered on the second ring. “What happened? Was there a catfight? Did the wife try to take you out? Are you in the hospital?”
“No, no, no,” I said. I chuckled. “Aoife—the wife—and I sent Colin home with the children, and we had a girls’ night. Turns out, I’d met her before.”
“Well, that’s an unexpected twist,” he said. “I’m not sure if I’m more relieved or disappointed. Unless of course ‘girls’ night’ is a euphemism for something naughty.”
“It’s not.”
“Pity.”
I laughed.
“Let’s switch to video,” Jason said.
“No, I’m tired, possibly drunk, and—”
“Precisely why I need to get a look at schnockered Martin,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”
“I don’t get drunk,” I said.
“Thus my point,” he said.
“Okay, fine,” I agreed. Although I wasn’t sure why I was going along with this. I was definitely still the worse for the shots of whiskey, which meant no good decisions were being made.
“Hello.” I squinted at my phone when the video link came through.
“Hi there.” Jason’s face popped up, and I smiled in recognition.
It hit me that I was happy to see someone from home, even Knightley, my resident pain in the ass. I glanced past him and saw his office window and through it the nighttime skyline of Boston.
“You’re at work?”
He held up a bound stack of paper. “Severin Robotics, the dossier.” Then he yawned.
“Nice, really nice,” I said.
“I honestly didn’t do that on purpose,” he said. “It’s just been a long day, and my god, the spreadsheet numbers in this thing could only get an accountant hard.”
I snorted. “I like spreadsheets.”
“Clearly.”
“I tried to warn you that my style and your style don’t mesh, but you were so sure you could distill my plan, no problem.”
“Yeah, I might have been a bit overconfident there,” he said. His tone was rueful. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not. I like that you admitted you were overconfident.” I smiled, then waved my hand dismissively. “Besides, I’ve had too much whiskey to be mad. Brace yourself—I might start singing any minute.”
“Ah, so you’re one of those cheerful drunks,” he said. His eyes were twinkling as he met my gaze.
“True that,” I admitted. Then I frowned. “You’d think I’d drink more often.”
Jason laughed, and I noticed his eyes appeared to be blue tonight. In the silence that followed, I reached for my conversational fallback. Work. “How did your conference call go?”
“Excellent. I had Eleanor eating out of the palm of my hand.”
“Eleanor Curtain?” I asked. “Unibrow Eleanor?” I clapped my hand over my mouth.
“You did not just call her that,” he said. His delighted laughter boomed out of the phone.
“I didn’t mean . . . It’s just . . . she can be rather blunt.”
“Like her Frida Kahlo brow?” he asked.
“Please forget I said that.”
“Oh no, I’m not forgetting,” he said. “Since our call wasn’t video, I didn’t see her or any of the team members, but I consider myself duly warned.”
I sighed, hoping that this conversation did not come back to bite me on the behind. I changed the subject. “Have you finished reading my proposal?”
“You left me a lot of reading material,” he said. “In fact, I’m only halfway through your very extensive plan for the rollout.”
“You’ll note the lack of BattleBots,” I said.
“Clearly an oversight.”
I laughed. He looked at me, and his head tipped to the side as he laughed, too.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before, Martin,” he said.
“Probably not,” I agreed.
“Which is a shame, because you have a great laugh.”
“Thank you,” I said. He was the second person to say that tonight. My head was muddled, but I felt there was a significant message here. I studied him. His tie was loose. His hair was mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it. He looked friendlier than usual. I found myself confiding, “It’s one of the reasons I came to Ireland.”
“Okay, I feel like I missed a sentence in there,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the corner of his desk. “Explain.”
I propped the phone up on the coffee table so I didn’t have to hold it. The lighting in the cottage was mercifully dim, and the fire was to my back. It felt weirdly intimate to be talking to Jason in the middle of the night. I wondered if I’d regret it in the morning. Probably. I thought about it for a moment and decided I didn’t care.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am potentially a bit of a workaholic.”
He choked on a surprised laugh, which made me laugh, too. It was definitely the whiskey.
“That’s the understatement of the century, Martin,” he said. “When did you get hit with this sudden epiphany?”
“Someone close to me pointed out that perhaps I’d forgotten how to be happy.” I turned around to gaze at the turf log. It was putting out a delici
ous heat, and I felt like a cat as I stretched and let it bake into my skin and bones.
“That’s harsh,” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “But I’m still not clear on why that sent you to Ireland.”
“It was also suggested to me that revisiting my past might reconnect me with my laughter.”
“Your past is Ireland?”
“Among other places.”
“And has it worked?”
I could feel the intensity of his gaze coming at me even from the small display window of my phone. I chewed my lower lip, stalling. What could I say?
“I came back, looking for an old friend, and I found him,” I said. “I’m glad that I did, but . . .”
“But he’s married?”
“Yeah, I mean, I knew that was a distinct possibility,” I said. “I figured at the very least he’d have a girlfriend, but I wasn’t prepared.”
“To see him happy with someone else?”
“Not that so much as the discovery that his life has gone on in such a major way since I saw him, and mine hasn’t,” I said. I looked at Jason. “I mean, he’s married and with three of the cutest kids. He’s put deep roots into the community. It made me feel like I’ve just been treading water. You know what I mean?”
Jason picked a pencil up off his desk and tapped the palm of his hand with it. It was a gesture of agitation, and I wondered if I’d struck a nerve.
“It’s not like you’ve spent the past several years eating tacos and streaming Netflix,” he said. “You’ve brought in millions of dollars from corporations to help fund the fight against cancer.”
“I know, but—”
“I’m not finished,” he said. “You’ve also, through your efforts, raised the level of awareness about preventing cancer. Who knows how many women got screened for breast cancer just because you had the genius idea to have the mobile mammogram bus park outside various corporations and offer free screenings? How many people now put on a hat or sunscreen just because you showed up with your graphs and charts and free gifts as incentives to take better care of themselves? I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit here, Martin.”
“Perhaps,” I said. I felt a burst of warmth at his use of the word genius, but I ignored it. “It’s all anecdotal. There’s no way to quantify how many lives we’ve impacted, and I just wonder if I’m not missing the bigger picture in my life.”
He narrowed his eyes as he studied me. “Forgive me, but is your biological clock ticking or something?”
“No.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “Why do men always think that?”
He shrugged. “Women of a certain age . . .”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
“The impending big three-oh sends a lot of people into a tailspin.”
“Not me,” I insisted. “But maybe I want my weekends to be more than Color Runs, silent auctions, walkathons, cocktail parties, fashion shows, raffles, and wine tastings.”
“BattleBots, I’m just sayin’,” he said.
I laughed and he did, too.
“I get it,” he said. “I do. It’s an all-consuming thing that we do, and it’s important to make time in your life for more.”
“Says the guy who’s at the office at eight o’clock at night,” I said.
“It’s almost nine,” he corrected me. “Which means it’s close to two o’clock your time. You should cash out, Martin.”
I nodded. “You should, too. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can talk more about your conference call with Eleanor if you want, and I can break down my spreadsheets for you. I know you’re more of an idea guy than a numbers guy.”
“That would be helpful,” he said. “See? We make a great team, Martin.”
“Whatever,” I said. I rolled my eyes, but when I looked at him, he was giving me a lopsided smile that I couldn’t interpret. “What? Do I have food in my teeth?”
He chuckled. “No, I’m just . . . This was a pleasant conversation.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” I asked. I blinked. “You know something, Knightley? You’re not so bad when I’m an ocean away from you.”
“Sadly, you’re not the first woman to say that,” he said.
I laughed. “G’night, Goose.”
He grinned. “G’night, Maverick.”
I ended the call and went to plug in my phone to charge it. The thought of the supersoft mattress awaiting me made me hurriedly brush my teeth and pull on my cow pajamas. Thankfully, I hadn’t put those on before I called Jason.
Although I wondered. It was a different Jason who had answered the phone tonight. Or maybe I was a different Chelsea. I was Chelsea who’d consumed several shots and beers, so there was no question I was a much mellower version of myself. I considered the amount of alcohol I’d had, and decided an enormous glass of water and two ibuprofen would not be out of order.
Once I was properly medicated and hydrated, I climbed into bed. I didn’t expect to sleep, knowing that I had so many mixed emotions about seeing Colin again to sift through. But a weariness I wasn’t prepared for hit me hard and fast as I lay down, and before the breath left my lungs in a big old sigh, I was dead asleep face first in the down-filled pillow. Bless their hearts, the hangover gods had decided to be kind. I woke up with a mild case of cottonmouth, but that was it. No headache, no queasiness—in fact, I was starving. I glanced at the clock. I had just enough time to toss on some clothes and get up to the main house for Darby’s Irish breakfast.
I rolled out of bed and hit the ground running, throwing on yoga pants and a sweatshirt. For the first time since I’d arrived, there was not a cloud in the sky, and I paused to marvel at the brilliant jewel-green hills all around me.
The trees were still mostly bare, but their branches were thick with buds. A magpie flitted by in a flash of black and white with a swish of green tail feathers, no doubt looking for something to eat or pilfer. I remembered during my summer in Ireland that I’d learned a group of magpies was called a parliament. I wondered if it was because they always sounded like they were yelling at each other. The thought made me smile.
I climbed the steps to the main house. The smell of sausages and bacon made my mouth water. I hurried into the dining room to find Darby just clearing away the serving dishes.
“And here I was just wondering if we’d see you today, Chelsea,” she said. Her smile was wide and warm. “Had a good time at Top of the Hill with Aoife Donovan, did you?”
“I’m not even going to ask how you knew that,” I said. I took the plate she offered, and loaded it with what remained of the buffet. When I was satisfied with the meat and potatoes, I topped it with a thick slice of Irish soda bread that was stuffed with caraway seeds and raisins.
“Finn’s Hollow is not a large village,” Darby said. She waved for me to follow her into the kitchen, where she had me sit at the counter while she poured me a cup of coffee. “I knew you were kicking up your heels before you even got home last night. Did you have a good time?”
“We had great craic,” I said, and Darby laughed.
I ate while she did the dishes. For the first time in forever, I felt as if my day was wide open. This was not a feeling I ever had back home as I raced from one meeting to the next, my weekends full of events and my life in a constant state of hurry up and wait. The only thing on my agenda was to pack my meager possessions and hit the road—oh, and to check in with Jason. With the five-hour time difference in my favor, I had plenty of time.
Amazingly, the thought of calling him didn’t fill me with the usual dread, so that was something. Maybe we’d managed to build a bridge between our very different personalities last night. It would be nice to be able to work together on the Severin account for Aidan without the usual animosity between us. I wondered if I should be embarrassed that I’d called him while intoxicated. Nah. I was 95 percent sure I hadn’t said anything stup
id.
I rose from my seat and washed my plate as Darby had moved on to scrub down the counter. Once it sparkled, I put it in the drying rack with the others.
“Darby, if you have some time this morning, could you show me some pole-dance moves?” I asked, surprising myself. I wondered if I was still a little drunk.
Darby turned from the counter and considered me. “What are you doing right now?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Let’s go.” Darby led the way out of the kitchen, and I followed, thinking, What have I done?
“Pick a pole,” Darby said.
I chose the one at the back of the room. On the off chance anyone popped by, I wanted to be as far from the door as possible.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Darby said. “You want to stand on your toes and extend your dominant hand up high and grasp the pole in a firm grip.” She demonstrated. “Keep your weight leaning out away from the pole, leaving an arm’s length of space from you to the pole. Otherwise, you’ll smash into it, which is unpleasant.”
“And bad form,” I said. So far this all seemed logical.
“Precisely. Take three steps, and on the fourth step, you’ll kick off into your spin.”
Darby demonstrated. I watched as she stepped around the pole, then grabbed it with her other hand and hooked one ankle around the pole while bending her other leg. She did two revolutions, sliding down the pole as she went, and ended by gliding to a standing position. “This is called the pinwheel. You try it.”
I grasped the bar. Darby adjusted my position. She counted the steps while I walked around the pole. And then I grabbed the pole with my other hand and began my swing, tucking one ankle behind the pole while the other leg was bent. Inexplicably, I picked up speed and circled the pole two, three, then four times, spinning faster each time. Oh man, how did I get it to stop? I was hauling ass, literally.
Paris Is Always a Good Idea Page 12
