by Tessa Bailey
“Well.” Kitty picks up both teapots, smiling cheerfully as she glides toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Shane makes no move to follow her. I raise a single eyebrow and point toward the door, but Kitty is already closing it behind her. All I can do is gape.
“What are you still doing here?” My breaths are shortening. This is far too intimate, both of us sleep-tangled, standing in the dim morning light with a bed so close. Without the armor of my jeans and boots in place, I feel far too exposed. I need him to leave. “You have to go.”
“In a moment.”
“God, your family lacks basic boundaries.” I shift my feet on the cold floor. “Do you have tea parties at six in the morning with all your guests, or am I just that special?”
“Fair warning, girl. I’m having trouble contending with your smart mouth and those shorts at the same time.”
My hands fly to the hem of my boxers, but I stop at the last second and cross my arms over my chest. I refuse to cover up my legs in my own room. “What do you want?”
“I should think that was obvious by now.”
Me. He means me. I can tell by the way his voice has dropped, falling like a boulder in the quiet room. I take a step backward, away from his intensity, even though there is a dark, untapped part of me that wants to venture closer.
“Please rid yourself of that nervous expression. Don’t you think I realize this is inappropriate, coming into your room like this? You never stand still long enough to give me another option.”
There is a thread of frustration in his voice that echoes in the pit of my stomach. “Say what you came to say. I have plans.”
“Of course you do.” He scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “What you said Friday night in my car… I don’t like being wrong. Something tells me you understand that feeling well.”
I don’t respond, but he definitely has my attention now. He’s talking about my impulsively telling him about my mother. The threat of him coming any closer fades, some unnamed intuition telling me it wouldn’t be his style to catch me off guard with a reminder of something upsetting and then take advantage. Still, I’m far from relaxed. Relaxing around Shane simply isn’t a possibility. Especially not now when he looks like he’s just crawled out from between a pile of twisted sheets.
Shane clears his throat and nods toward my shirt. “Chicago Police Department. Do you know someone on the force, or did you get that as a souvenir for being arrested?”
The abrupt subject change throws me off. “That was it, huh? Your whole apology?” He simply leans against the doorjamb and raises an eyebrow. Apparently his implying he might have been wrong about me is all I’m going to get this fine morning. Although something tells me a brief, stilted explanation counts as groveling in Shane’s world. “My sister’s husband Derek. He’s a homicide lieutenant now, but he’s being promoted soon to captain.”
Remembering how I came by this T-shirt makes me smile. The first week Ginger and I lived in Chicago, our apartment flooded. Derek had come out into the hallway, taken one look at both of us in soaked nightclothes, and stomped back into his apartment to retrieve two department T-shirts, mainly because he didn’t like the group of firemen ogling Ginger. His concern for me came secondary, but I didn’t care. It was the first time someone besides Ginger had gone out of their way to make me comfortable. I’ll keep this damn shirt until I die.
“He’s important to you.” His statement jerks my attention back to the present. There it is again, that reflective expression on his face, as if he’s trying to solve an algebra equation.
“And?”
“What else is important to you, Willa?”
My laughter is a little too unnatural. “Why do you care?”
“I told you, I don’t like being wrong.”
“That’s it?”
Shane stays silent, dragging white teeth over his full bottom lip. In his own way, he’s answering me, but I can’t fully interpret his meaning. He asked me what I consider important, though, and I have a hard time letting an opportunity pass to talk about my sister. It feels wrong to omit her importance in my life, and right now when I’m so far away and haven’t seen her in weeks, talking about Ginger makes her seem closer. It’s not because Shane makes me simultaneously want to let my guard down and reinforce it. It’s not.
“Ginger. My sister. She’s important to me,” I whisper, unsure why letting my guard down keeps winning the battle.
“I can see that.” He scrutinizes me a moment, as if debating whether to push for more. It confuses me. I don’t understand why he has taken a sudden fascination in my personal life when up until now he’s been so adamant about not giving a shit.
“If you think this little display of interest is going to get me into bed, you’re wrong.”
Shane laughs under his breath. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you beneath me.”
He says it without missing a beat, the confidence radiating from him heating me from across the room, as if we were standing in the Sahara instead of damp, chilly Ireland. I’m torn between affront and respect. He has a lot of goddamn nerve. But then, so do I. My hand presses shakily to my belly. Damn him, his honesty is appealing to me on some untapped level and he knows it. “I told you, it’s not going to happen.” It sounds less convincing every time I say it.
Shane nods. “Because you’re still in love with your Evan.”
“He’s not my Evan anymore.”
“Whose decision was that?”
“It’s complicated.”
He shrugs his wide shoulders, forcing a resigned sigh past my lips. There’s a part of me that needs to talk about it, I realize. As an added bonus, maybe if I explain the fucked-up reasons for my breakup, he’ll realize how important it is to keep his distance from me, just in case failure is contagious.
“Mine,” I say. “I broke up with him. But only because he was too nice to cut me loose himself.” Saying the words out loud hurts, but I won’t lie. I feel an immediate lessening of pressure in my chest, just releasing what I’ve been holding inside. Giving it over to the universe.
“You dated a nice guy,” Shane muses with a too-tight smile.
“The nicest.” I swallow hard, refusing to look away. One of my resolutions in coming here was to resuscitate the old Willa. She wouldn’t have minded her flaws being visible. Those flaws were what kept people from getting too close. Look at them, my throat aches with the need to scream. “He got the bum deal.”
“Explain that.”
I search for the right words on the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, they’re not there. I think back to the way Evan smuggled me into his circle of friends and put me on display. Look at her! Talk to her! Treat her like she’s one of us! They tried, too. He’d promised to scale my Mount Everest of issues and swing me Tarzan-style down the other side, beaming like a hero. Evan rarely failed at anything, and it visibly frustrated him when I didn’t seamlessly fit in. Captain of the basketball team and loved among his peers, he’d been determined to keep his streak alive with me. I’d watched him flounder from the sidelines, trying to understand why I couldn’t leave my deep-seated childhood trauma locked away where it wouldn’t offend or make anyone uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, uncomfortable is kind of my thing. I do uncomfortable like a squeaky, plastic couch cover. It’s not intentional. But when you spend your childhood nights locked in your bedroom, hiding from your mother’s johns while your sister tries to drown the animalistic grunts with loud country music and a pillow over your ears, Evan’s kind of normal ceases to be a possibility.
Shane’s stare drags me back to the here and now. “He belonged with someone more like Faith.” When I hear myself say it, I realize the thought has been germinating for a while. Oddly, I don’t feel an ounce of resentment over it. More like, wistfulness. Not a typical emotion for me at all, which is probably why I missed it. “He couldn’t make me into a Faith. I didn’t fit the mold. And I tried.” I take a deep breath. “I
did.”
“No.” Shane pushes off the wall and comes toward me. Every inch of my skin breaks out into goose bumps, but I’m rooted to the floor. His gaze is fixed so firmly on me, for a fleeting second I wonder if it’s a tangible thing, keeping me from moving an inch in either direction. He stops right in front of me. “You didn’t try at all.”
“Beg pardon?”
“If someone like you tries, you don’t fail. Deep down you didn’t really want to change.”
His words are like a battering ram to the chest, emptying my lungs of oxygen. I can’t swallow around the golf ball in my throat. I’ve been wondering where the whopping case of guilt came from, and I’m sickened by the realization this could be it. Was I only pretending to try the whole time? God, am I that selfish? “How fucking profound,” I manage, feeling light-headed.
Shane reaches out with one rough hand and slips his fingers through my hair, cradling the back of my head. I want to flinch away, but seconds ago I felt untethered and now his touch is anchoring me. I can’t help leaning back into his hand, letting my neck loosen. “No, I have a suspicion that you don’t fit any mold but your own, Willa.”
“Likewise.”
A corner of his mouth quirks up, but he grows serious almost immediately. “You’re leaving in a matter of weeks. It won’t be long after before I sell this place and return to racing. If its commitment you’re scared of, you’ve nothing to worry about here.”
“Is this your way of asking for a fling?” My gaze drops to his lips as they move to hover over mine. I’m positively frozen, waiting to see what he’ll do. “If so, I told you I’m not interested.”
“Liar.”
“This inn is sorely lacking in hospitality,” I respond lamely. “I’ve been accused of fibbing already this morning.”
“That should tell you something.” He wets his lips slowly, pupils dilating. My heartbeat is so deafening in my ears, I wonder if he can hear it. “It’s inevitable, Willa. We are inevitable. When you stop fooling yourself, come and find me.” Imperceptibly, his fingers tighten in my hair, just enough to straighten my spine with awareness. “In the meantime, no more talk of other men. That was an end to it.” When all I do it stare, buffering between indignation and awe at his balls of steel, he drags his lips across mine. My belly begins to ache, not in a bad way. In a hot, melting way that makes my thighs feel ticklish. “Nod if you understand me.”
After a long pause, I nod. I can’t believe it. I fucking nod.
Shane releases me and steps back, his every move appearing reluctant. I’m reluctant for him to let me go, too. That kiss is now something I want badly, at least in this moment where my walls are down. But I was right, he’s not going to take advantage of the situation. Between that and his kind treatment of Kitty, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I was wrong about Shane, too. He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he leaves me standing there and walks to the door.
Before he closes the door behind him, he sticks his head back in. “I wouldn’t drink that cold tea if I were you. She’s been hiding the pot in her closet since last Tuesday.”
The door shuts on my laugh, echoed by his on the other side.
Chapter Eight
It’s dark when I make it back to the inn. I’m having a hard time keeping the smile off my face. Today might have started off on the disconcerting side, but it rallied as soon as I got to Dalkey Castle. By chance, I’d wandered into a live show where actors, dressed in authentic Medieval garb, pretend to be castle workers from the 1500s. I found it so clever and entertaining, I’d stayed for a second show. The illusion was shattered afterward when I saw the actors sharing a joint and talking on iPhones behind the theater, but hey, it was fun while it lasted.
After grabbing a quick lunch, I’d spent some time in the Heritage Center. I couldn’t wait to talk to Ginger and tell her what I found. As soon as I get to my room and kick these boots off my sore feet, I’m going to throw myself on the bed and give her a call. Since Chicago is six hours behind Dublin, she’ll still be working at Sneaky Peet’s, her furniture shop in Wicker Park, but maybe I can catch her in between customers.
Through the glass of the front door, I take a second to watch Shane as he serves a group of young female customers. He smiles absently as he slides them their change, probably not even realizing what a panty-soaker that mysterious half smile can be to the opposite sex, making it twice as effective. As soon as he turns his back, one of them pretends to swoon, the rest of the group pressing manicured hands to their chests as if he’s walked away with their still-beating hearts. I’m not annoyed by the sight, at least I don’t think so, but something is sparking in the base of my neck. Something that won’t go away when I swallow. Never having been jealous a day in my life, at least not over a boy, I can’t put a name to the feeling. But I’m positive I shouldn’t be feeling it over Shane.
If its commitment you’re scared of, you’ve nothing to worry about here.
As valiantly as I’ve tried to ignore Shane’s proposition this morning, his words have been echoing in my head all damn day. At first, they’d nicked my feminine pride a little. Weren’t boys supposed to at least bullshit you a little about wanting forever? Evan hadn’t wasted a moment offering me the moon on a silver platter. One time when he’d met me after an afternoon of tailgating and watching football with his buddies, he’d drunkenly started naming our future children. Back then, it had scared the shit out of me. Yet in contrast to Shane’s three-week exit strategy, or entrance strategy, depending on how you look at it, bestowing a moniker on nonexistent offspring is a comfort. It had merely been talk, while Shane’s indecent proposal required a decision in the here and now. I thought I’d made the decision. No way, no how, was I letting him anywhere near me. The more I think about it, though, the more it appeals. A lot.
We are obviously attracted to one another. Neither one of us wants or is available for any kind of messy commitment. On the bus ride home, one thought had permeated my head with stark clarity. Is this my first grown-up, no-strings-attached fling, just waiting to happen? I’ve never been in this position before. It’s entirely possible that this confusion and anger Shane provokes in me is…lust? Pure, undiluted, want-to-rip-his-clothes-off lust.
Maybe I’ve been so worried about my feelings getting wrapped up without someone else’s so soon after Evan, I’ve placed too much importance on what Shane makes me feel. I’m starting to wonder if the best course of action isn’t just to say yes to his proposition and get it over with. Scratch the itch. Once it’s done, I can move on, secure in the knowledge that I’m in control of my own destiny and not every man who crosses my path has the power to change me, or put some kind of hold on me.
Yes, I’m actually considering sleeping with Shane.
After all, what’s the worst that could happen? I’m only going to think about it. No harm in kicking the idea around, right?
With my tentative resolve wedged firmly between my shoulders, I push open the door to the Claymore Inn. For a Monday night, there is a decent crowd. Most of the bar is full and half the tables are scattered with empty glasses as customers lean toward one another and talk too loudly, laughing even louder. A Stone Roses song is playing, blurring all the conversations into one. The smell of beer, cologne, and fried food is starting to become familiar and it hits me now, reminding me I never ate dinner.
I feel Shane’s gaze warm me on the spot, like that instant where you step underneath the shower spray in the morning. It wakes me up and makes me aware of my body. This time, though, I don’t avoid his stare, I meet it head-on. Elbow propped on the bar as he chews on a cocktail straw, he narrows his eyes a little when he registers my decision not to ignore him. He clearly expected me to breeze though the bar without acknowledging him as I’ve done the previous two nights, but I’m done acting scared.
Slowly, he nods at me. I nod back, and just like that, some type of silent communication has passed between us, although I have no idea what was said. I need a decoder rin
g with this freaking guy.
I’m halfway through the pub when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My step falters, and I frown. No one should be calling me on my cell phone. Since arriving, I’ve only been calling the States using a prepaid calling card to avoid any expensive fees. Basically I’ve only been using it to check the time. When I dig my phone out of my pocket and see that Derek is calling, my instincts start to tumble in my stomach, like a dryer with tennis shoes inside.
“Derek?”
“Willa.” My worry plummets when I hear the astonished joy in his voice. It’s so uncharacteristic for him, I double-check to make sure it’s really the lieutenant calling. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“What is it? Is…is Ginger okay?”
“She’s wonderful. She’s… God, she’s perfect.” For a second, he doesn’t speak and I get the sense he’s actually choked up. “The baby came this morning.”
“What?” My heart shoots up into my throat. “Ginger wasn’t due for another month. I-is the baby okay?”
“She’s beautiful. Healthy.” A short pause. “We named her Dolly.”
Tears begin pouring unchecked down my cheeks. My sister and I have idolized Dolly Parton as far back as I can remember. We claim our passion for her is due to the music, but as I get older, I realize that’s only a fraction of it. Dolly grew up in one-room shack in our home state of Tennessee without a dollar to her name and went on to become a superstar. Although it remains unspoken between me and Ginger, I think we use Dolly as an example of what’s possible for us, no matter the circumstances we were born into.
“Ginger wanted to be the one to tell you the baby’s name, but she’s sleeping now. I don’t think she’ll be up for the call for hours. I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“I did. I do.” Shock, happiness…and an overwhelming sense of disappointment take me over now that the initial relief has passed. Disappointment that I wasn’t there for Ginger. Disappointment that I’m in another country licking my own wounds like a selfish brat when I should be with the only family I’ve ever known. This line of thinking is selfish in itself. I know this. But the bitterness won’t stop. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact that my niece was born healthy and Ginger came through it no worse for wear. “That’s amazing, Derek. Congratulations. You’re going to be a great father.”
