by Charish Reid
The first time her bedroom light flickered, Antonia paid no mind. She hadn’t heard the howling of the impending storm because she was listening to music with her earbuds. The long writing block she had set aside for herself was finally paying off. She was playing God to her characters and pushing them into situations that could potentially solidify their love for one another. Her intrepid reporter, Augusta, just had an accidental meet up with her old flame, Bryon, after years of not speaking to him. It’s just her luck that they must work together for a new magazine. It was her second chance at journalism after Augusta’s traumatic accident in Tunisia.
By the time her bedroom light flickered again, Antonia had sent her characters to Bangkok, the setting for her novel. When the lights finally went out, she paused her writing to save what beautiful progress she had made.
“Third day in Ireland and there’s a power failure,” she said in the darkness.
Only after removing her earbuds, did she fully understand what was going on beyond her bedroom window. It sounds like a goddamn hurricane. Antonia flung her covers aside and got out of bed. Her home was dark, but there was still some visibility. She didn’t know if there were candles in the house or even a flashlight. In the darkness, the wind sounded more menacing. It screamed like the village banshee, shaking her shutters and rattling her door.
Antonia could remain unnerved by a little storm if she got her bearings and started a fire. She had experienced her fair share of damaging hurricanes while visiting her mother and stepfather in Florida. “Now those were storms,” she said as she carefully entered the living room. A packet of matches sat atop the mantel. She groped for them and put them into the pocket of her sweatshirt. She scrunched her nose when she reached into the collection of peat bricks. Some were dried bricks of dirt while others were slightly damp. Using her sense of touch, Antonia tried to separate the dry ones to throw into her fire. She wished that she had the fire-starters that Mr. Creely spoke of, but figured that the Irish had used peat long before modern conveniences.
When she struck a match and tossed it in, she waited for a reaction. When a tiny flame flickered in the darkness she smiled proudly. She tossed in a couple more matches, for good measure and within moments, a soft glow lit her living room. She sat back on her heels and watched the fire. “You’ve still got a few tricks up your sleeve, old girl.”
The fire was a small victory that she was able to pull off without panicking. It symbolized that she was capable of fending for herself. Aside from her meltdown over the washing machine, Antonia was actually doing alright. She got to Tully Cross, Ireland, managed to make friends, and now she was finally making progress with her writing. She was especially excited about the writing. When she was away from her novel, Antonia thought about it, and even missed her characters. Waking up this morning, she had decided to get straight to it. It had been the first thing on her mind as she prepared her coffee and brushed her teeth.
Of course, it hadn’t been the only thing on her mind that morning. She replayed her night at the pub with Aiden. She’d absolutely needed a good night out with strangers who were quickly becoming family. As she listened to the patrons’ stories and sang their songs, she’d felt like one of the locals. They reminded Antonia of her family from down South, warm folks who wanted to know how you were doing. Sure, they had asked a lot of questions, but they were interested and wanted to share their own perspectives of America with her. Like her family, she was held up several times when she tried to leave the bar. Antonia smiled at the memory. She’d tried to make her exit nearly four times, but paused to exchange social media information with several women whom she’d gotten to know.
Aiden was there too, but in the background. Every once in a while, they would catch one another’s eye across the bar. She would smile and he would tip his glass to her. At one point, he saved her from an over-friendly gentleman who was quite drunk. Aiden came over and clapped the man on the back, re-introducing himself. Once they got to talking, Antonia quietly slipped away, thanking him later. Earlier that evening, a man stopped by with his young daughter, a cute blonde girl who was about six years old. Antonia watched Aiden hoist the girl onto his knee and jostle her while she ate her crisps. The girl giggled hysterically as she struggled to hold on to her snack. Watching that scene made Antonia’s heart melt. Is there anything wrong with the man? Sitting down with the little girl, chatting with her while trying to steal her crisps, was very touching. Apparently this beautiful man was also very good with children.
Antonia sighed while staring in the fire. This man...
Even though the whole crying incident was embarrassing, she was thankful that he was able to talk her off the ledge. On one hand, there was something so comforting about his presence. Whenever he was around, Antonia could be vulnerable and loose. Unlike her time with Derek, she didn’t have to perform with a plastered smile and memorize her lines. She felt somewhat normal around Aiden. On the other hand, that same presence could be overbearing and far too masculine. Being close to him made her stomach clench and panic riot within her. When she looked at him, she found it impossible to steady her erratic pulse. Oh my god, when was the last time a man made me feel this way? She searched her memory for any eager affection from Derek. Around a month ago, their lovemaking fell on the side of short and ineffective. It lacked the necessary foreplay for her to feel comfortable and the “main event” was anything but an event. Now that she knew the reason was another woman, the pieces quickly fell into place.
Antonia’s self-esteem also took a steep dive around that time. She’d started examining herself in mirrors and had become more critical of her weight. What her mother would’ve called “thick,” Antonia started to call “pudgy.” When Derek became obsessed with getting her in the gym with him, her alarm bells went off. It would be nice to be around a man who just let her be...her.
As if on cue, she snapped out of her thoughts to the sound of a sharp knock at her door. Antonia scrambled from the floor and ran to the front door. What on earth is he doing out in the middle of this storm? The rain was coming down in sheets and Aiden Byrnes was standing on her stoop. A bright flash of lightning lit the black sky behind him, illuminating the wild grin he wore and the green bottle of Jameson he held out to her. “Need a drink?”
“Jesus Christ, get in here,” Antonia said, trying to contain her laughter. She stepped back to avoid the downpour and his wet body. The crack of thunder was ear-splitting as she slammed the door shut. She watched in amazement as the fully-drenched man hurried past her, nearly slipping in the kitchen.
“Where are your glasses?” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was concerned about you,” Aiden replied, searching her cupboards. When he found two rocks glasses, he shook out his wet hands and proceeded to pour heavy shots in both. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s storming out there.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, hiding her smirk. “You look like you went swimming in it.”
He took his shot in one gulp and passed her a glass. “I feel like it.” Aiden swept his wet black hair from his brow and winked at her.
She took the glass and swirled its contents around before she sipped it gingerly. She didn’t usually consume straight shots of anything. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m quite alright,” she said, wincing from the sting of alcohol.
“Well I’m not the biggest fan of storms,” he admitted. “It looks like a hurricane doesn’t it?”
“It’s not,” she assured him. “Your water is too cold for a decent hurricane.”
He poured himself another shot. “You sure about that?”
“I’m pretty sure,” she said, gazing at his torso. “You might want to take that off.”
Aiden looked down at his soaked T-shirt. The wet fabric clung to his muscles, outlining every line and groove. “You don’t mind?”
She absolutely did not. After all, there wasn
’t any harm in looking at his sculpted abs and firm pecs. Nothing wrong with a little window shopping. “No, I can hang it next to the fire.”
Aiden took his sweet time pulling his shirttail up his body and over his head. He wrung it out in her sink and hand it to her. She took it, wondering if that was a subtle attempt to flirt with her. Any opportunity for this guy to take off his shirt...
“You can grab a towel from the linen closet and dry off,” she said over her shoulder. “And put your wet shoes near the door.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Antonia draped his T-shirt over the rack that swung from her fireplace, she caught that familiar chill again. Her proximity to Aiden sent small jolts of electricity through her body. She quickly gathered her voluminous curls in a hair tie, balancing them on top of her head. She had no way of checking her appearance, but hoped that she looked okay in her favorite slouchy pajama pants and hoodie.
No, stop that. You’re fine as you are. Instead of fretting needlessly, she took her place before the fire and continued to sip on her straight whiskey. In that moment, Antonia decided to stop struggling with perfection issues. Where had it gotten her in the past? She was now on vacation; in the midst of trying to find herself. Augusta would wear her pajama pants.
“I can’t believe you built a fire,” Aiden said, appearing in the living room with his glass and the bottle of whiskey. One of her bath towels was wrapped across his broad shoulders, his chest was still damp.
She looked up with a frown. “Why can’t you believe that?”
He took a seat beside her and took a sip of his drink. “The washing machine was a major setback for you.”
Antonia chuckled. “I’ll never live that down?”
“It was kinda funny.”
She looked down at his blue jeans, which appeared dark with water. “Are your pants really wet?”
He shrugged. “A little damp.”
Without thinking, she reached out and laid the back of her hand against his thigh. His leg was rock-solid against her touch, and he jumped slightly. “Sorry,” she said, quickly withdrawing her hand, realizing her overstep. “Do you need to dry those too?”
He peered over his glass at her before answering. “Darling, if I come out of these pants, it might be hard to get back into them.”
It wasn’t the fire or the drink that made Antonia’s face flush in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean...” She trailed off, watching his lips quirk with humor. He was teasing her. In this darkness, his eyes glinted in shades of gold and green. Positively wolfish.
“So what did you get up to today?” he asked, shifting the conversation.
Antonia took a breath. “I did quite a bit of writing. I finished three new chapters today.”
He leaned closer to the crackling fire. “Did you really? That’s excellent.”
“I thought so too.” She beamed at him. “I just put my head down and worked until the power went out.”
“Good job,” Aiden said with an encouraging tone. He appeared to actually be impressed. A university professor commending her efforts made her feel warm. “Now tell me what your book is about.”
Antonia’s mouth clamped shut. She feared that question. She had been so secretive about her writing that she wouldn’t even know how to describe it. “It’s nothing really.”
“You said that already,” Aiden reminded her. “I find that hard to believe. No one escapes to Ireland to write about ‘nothing.’ It’s just not done.”
“I didn’t escape just to write,” she protested and immediately closed her eyes. She didn’t mean to say that.
Aiden nodded as he lay back against the rug. He propped himself up on one elbow, his abdomen muscles taut. “I plan on drinking the night away with you, Antonia. You might as well spill it.”
As their eyes met, another jolt ran through her. The way he said her name caught her off guard. The sudden vibrancy of his voice and lilt in his accent made her shiver. “Was that your plan?” she breathed.
He nodded again. “A gentleman sits with a lady during a battering storm.”
“Does he?”
“At least that’s what my mam taught me...”
Antonia’s shallow breath turned into a relieved laugh. He lobbed her emotions back and forth between lust and humor so easily. It was confusing and thrilling at the same time. “If I tell you, do you promise not to laugh?”
“I promise,” he said.
She waited for a moment, watching his face for any signs of humor. “Okay then. First pour me another drink. I’d like to get slightly more tipsy before I do this.”
He obliged her with another heavy pour. “Fair play.”
Antonia took a large gulp and coughed, her eyes watering from the sting. “Goddamn!” she cried.
Aiden sat up and clapped her on the back. “If you’re not a shooter, don’t try to act like one.”
“Alright,” she said, heaving a breath. “So I’m writing a romance.”
“Okay.”
She watched his expression before continuing. “My protagonist is a ballsy journalist, who’s always after her next big story. She covered the Arab Spring from Tunisia where she got shot from a stray bullet.”
“Jaysus, that’s a bit intense for a romance.”
“I know,” she said excitedly. “I want the reader to really get a sense of how important her career is. So anyway, she’s laid up in the hospital suffering from PTSD. She doesn’t get back on her feet until a few years later, when she’s headhunted to work for this cushy travel magazine. She thinks that it might be a good way to get her feet wet again. Only, the thing is...”
“What?” Aiden asked. He was actually interested.
“When she shows up for her interview, she finds her ex-boyfriend, a photojournalist, at the same interview. She hasn’t seen him in years and they broke up because she thought he was cheating on her.”
“Was he?”
Antonia took another drink. “No, it was some stupid misunderstanding. She’s shocked to see him at this interview after all this time has passed. He’s all: ‘hey baby, nice to see you.’ And she’s furious all over again. But it turns out the magazine editor wants the both of them. They have to go to Bangkok and cover a touristy story for middle-American readers. Augusta is pissed.”
“That’s the main character’s name?”
“Yes, and her ex-boyfriend’s name is Bryon.”
Aiden nodded. “And she’s mad that she has to work with him while they still have this giant misunderstanding looming over them.”
Antonia grinned. “Exactly.”
“And even though she’s just getting her feet wet with this new job, I’ll bet she’ll get bored with a cover story about rice paddies and elephants.”
He gets it! “Right.”
“What does she do?” Aiden asked.
“She goes to Thailand with Bryon, but she wants to spice this story up if she can. I’m thinking she’ll want to investigate sex-trafficking and somehow that might be connected to the Migration Crisis of 2013.”
His brows furrowed. “The people from Burma?”
“You’ve heard about it?”
“I have. It’s just... Well, how does Bryon feel about all of this?”
“He’s totally against it,” Antonia continued. “He just wants to make a paycheck at this point in his freelancing career. Plus, he’s already been there, which makes her so angry because it was an old job with National Geographic that she wanted. Anyway, he was already there during the Thai “red shirts” protest and saw some seedy stuff. He doesn’t want to experience it again nor does he want to expose her to it.” Talking her plot out with another person was quite exhilarating, Antonia realized. Whether Aiden understood it or not, she could hear her own good ideas out loud for the first time.
“So how are you going to get these two to come t
ogether and have sex by page one hundred forty-one?” Aiden asked. His tone was completely serious.
Antonia stared at the bottom of her glass. “Well, that’s where I’m stuck. I read this book that said it’s supposed to be midway through the plot. Which is fine, except I’m nervous because I’ve never written anything smutty. So far, I’ve got a lot of stolen glances and near-kisses.” She looked up to see him studying the fire, contemplating her statement.
“I see...”
“I mean, I published capital L literature, the high-brow shit. Paperback romances never came across my desk.”
“But you obviously like reading them,” he said. “Which are your favorites?”
She paused to regard him warily. “Your promise to not laugh extends to this as well.”
His eyes widened in feigned insult. “I’m not judging you.”
“You’re a literature professor,” she said through her buzzed laughter. “Everything I’m saying goes against everything you teach.”
He gave her a good-natured smile. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m not too familiar with the genre. And I’m also not a creative writer, so you’ll have to explain these things to me.”
Antonia felt comfortable enough. “Alright then, I love historical romances.”
“Bodice-rippers.”
“Right, but I’m writing a contemporary romance because I never see myself in what I read.”
“Hm, what do you mean?”
Antonia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I guess I like reading about Victorian women who sneak off to the gardens to kiss suitors, but they’re all white women who have ‘pale porcelain skin and flaxen locks of gold.’ And the problem with contemporary erotica is that there’s fucking every twelfth page.”
Aiden exploded with laughter, spraying whiskey into the fireplace. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” he howled. Antonia almost tipped over as she dissolved into giggles.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“Dear me,” he said in between gasps. “You’ve a mouth on ya.”
