by Zeia Jameson
I lightly tap on Moira’s door. I’m nervous. I spent the entire morning worried whether Padraig would show up like he is supposed to. Last night was very awkward. I’m glad he stopped me from getting a terrible mistake of a tattoo, but I don’t want him to think that he can make decisions for me. That was very off-putting. We aren’t even in a relationship. We haven’t gone out on a real date. There was just that kiss. That amazing, heart-stealing kiss.
Phillipe is with me, and he has brought two of his assistants to learn all of the recipes that I had the privilege of tasting a few nights ago. Moira opens the door, with arms spread wide. “Stella! So lovely to see you again.” We hug, and I introduce her to Phillipe, Andrew, and Leslie. They all offer their hands to shake, but she hugs each of them as she did me. “I am so excited that you are all here,” Moira exclaims. “Shall we get started?”
We spend the late morning and early afternoon cooking, eating, and drinking cider. Phillipe and Moira have hit it off tremendously, and they’ve already developed their own inside jokes. Side-glances and gentle elbow nudges become frequent between the two. Moira’s smile is radiant. Andrew and Leslie are busy testing soups and bite-sized appetizers, making steady notes. I am gleaming in this opportunity we have been given to cook with Moira. An opportunity Padraig gave us. Padraig, who isn’t here. He didn’t show. My heart beats with a little disappointment and sadness. Despite our encounter last night, I was hopeful that we could clear the air today with mutual apologies. I was hoping to spend time with him. Our night spent together, ending with that kiss, has left me longing for his hand holding mine, his presence, his closeness. His lips touching my lips. I close my eyes, my mind wandering to that kiss, losing myself and my surroundings in thought of that night. My heart begins racing.
“Stella, love. Are you okay?”
Moira’s question jolts me out of my cloudy reminiscence. I nearly spill the cider I’m holding tightly against my chest. I brush my free hand across my bangs, wiping the thin film of sweat that has accumulated on my forehead. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” I rub a hand over my stomach. “Just processing all of the delicious food I’ve eaten today. I am still in awe of everything you are able to put together. It all perfectly speaks Irish, but it’s also so . . . so modern. I don’t know how you do it.”
Moira disregards my compliments with the wave of a hand. “It looks like that cider may have affected you a little, love,” she says, grabbing a cloth from her apron and dabbing along the side of my neck, patting off more sweat.
I clear my throat and put my half-empty glass down on the table I’m leaning against. “Yes. No more for me today.” I smile sheepishly.
“I don’t know why Padraig didn’t show up today,” she says to me, tilting her head slightly.
“I think I have a clue.”
“Well, that’s a shame. He can be surly at times. I was hoping . . .” She trails off as the front door of her condo slams. Footsteps stomp toward us. Padraig rounds the corner, with rage on his face.
“What the fuck is she doing here, Mam?”
“Padraig!” Moira rushes to him and places both of her hands flat on his chest, attempting to push him out of the kitchen. “You know why she’s here. Don’t act like an ogre, son.”
Phillipe, Andrew, and Leslie stiffen where they stand. I glare at Padraig. My recent thoughts of his kiss flee my brain and are replaced with instant anger.
“You, Padraig. I’m here because of you. Did you forget? Or are you just as stupid as I am?” I move through the kitchen, past him and Moira. I open the front door, and before I leave, I address Moira briefly.
“Moira, thank you for inviting us. I am sure you and Phillipe can finish the afternoon together just fine.” I close the door behind me and rush my legs down the iron staircase as quickly as they’ll go. I head south. I need to go to my calming place. I make it one full block, and then I feel a large hand wrap around my upper arm. It causes my fast pace to come to an immediate stop. I almost fall, but the person who has grabbed me keeps me upright. I turn.
“What the…?” I rest my eyes on a broad chest covered with stretched cotton. I look up into Padraig’s face, and I instantly glare at him. My nostrils flare and I’m ready to unleash an epic ass-chewing, when before I know it, he cups my face in his hands and leans in and kisses me. A hard kiss. An all-encompassing kiss. Devouring. I melt. My brain ejects all thoughts, good and bad. My knees give out, and Padraig moves a hand to the small of my back, clutching me tightly against his stone torso . . . and pelvis. My heart pounds. I inhale his scent and take his mouth as if I need it to live. My hands run up through his mohawk. I grab and tug the ends. Padraig lets out a moan. We separate.
“I think you may be crazy. You burst through your mother’s door, yelling at me, and then you chase after me and kiss me like that? What the fuck, Padraig? I don’t understand you. I am sorry for being . . . stupid . . . last night, but you confuse me. And you can’t just tell me what to do, you know?”
“I was up all night stewing over you. You were stubborn and infuriating. Wanting a tattoo like that? And then you just left. No good-bye, no glance in my direction. It made me irate. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. When I showed up at Mam’s, I was fit to be tied. I needed to talk to her. I was hoping she’d calm me down. She usually can. Then I saw you, and at first, you being there only heightened the mood I was already in. I completely forgot you’d be there. It took me by surprise, and I suddenly felt very possessive of my mother’s time. I lashed out without thinking.”
Padraig’s face is soft and apologetic. I have to admit, I’m a tad bewildered that he put so much thought into the incident. “You were going to talk to your mom about me?”
“Aye. I couldn’t figure out why you wouldn’t get out of my head. She’s good at making sense of those things.”
“And the sudden change of heart? The kiss?” I touch my lips. “I mean, the kiss was great, but . . .”
“When you walked out that door, Mam had a few choice words for me, and I immediately regretted my outburst. She told me to stop being an idiot over whatever I was mad about and go after you and make it right. So I did go after you, and I hope I can make it right.”
I smile, my cheeks warming with a little blush. He takes my hand into his. “I’m sorry. For being angry. For being an irrational arse. But I’m not sorry for stopping you from getting that tattoo.”
“I’m glad you stopped me, too. It was a pretty bad idea.”
Padraig nods with that devious grin that infuriates me. “Don’t smile like that,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because that is your I told you so smile. I hate that smile. And I swear to God, Padraig, if you ever call me stupid again, I will kick you square in the balls. Do you understand? Be an asshole all you want, but calling me stupid is outright disrespectful. If you want to get rid of me for good—call me stupid again.”
Padraig bows his head with a hint of shame on his face. “Aye.” He looks back up to me and makes eye contact. “So, you said if I called you that ‘again’. Does that mean you aren’t going to quit speaking to me?”
I shake my head slowly. As angry as I am at him for his behavior, I cannot think of never speaking to him again.
Padraig grabs my hand. “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”
“Sure. I was headed to Forsyth Park. Sitting by the fountain calms me.”
“Ok. Let’s go to the park.”
“So, how do you like working for Zephyr?”
Padraig shrugs. “I enjoy the assignments and how versatile they are. I photograph not only people, but landscaping and buildings. He did a small pop-up exhibit on Spanish moss a few months ago. It was a fun project.”
“So, he gets credit for your work?”
“Yes and no. It was part of our agreement. I am better with a camera, and he has insane talent when it comes to altering the photos with software to make the images even more interesting. I hate computers. We’re a good team. He pays
me well. I don’t mind being behind the scenes.”
“The mayor’s son: the secret key to local artist’s enormous success,” I say in an expose-satirizing tone. I splay my hands and flash them in front of us as if I am envisioning a big headlining story.
Padraig laughs. “I never thought of it that way. That would not be good for business. It’s not really like that, though. He comes up with the ideas. I just point and shoot.” He motions his hands to his face, mimicking holding a camera. He looks in my direction and presses his finger down while making a clicking sound.
I shake my head and put my hand on his, nudging them away from his face. “No cameras, please. I’m hardly photogenic.”
He shoves his hands in his pocket, smirks, and looks forward as we continue to walk. “I strongly beg to differ.”
Upon arriving at Forsyth Park, I make my way directly to the enormous, elegant fountain that is the focal point of the park. I sit on the edge, close my eyes, and listen to the water. “It’s so peaceful here. I could sit in this spot for hours.”
“Opposed to benches?” Padraig asks with a sarcastic inflection in his voice. I open my eyes to see him pointing out the empty benches that outline the fountain a few feet away.
I shake my head and smile. “Not opposed. This spot is just better.” I bring my legs up to the edge and cross them over one another in a meditative position. “Come. Sit,” I say, patting the open space beside me. Padraig moves toward me and sits down. He leans forward, places his elbows on his knees, and looks in my direction with a smile.
“Is this your happy place?”
“It is. I always come here when I need to think or clear my head. I used to sketch here when I was in school. The water helped my creativity. Now, it just helps me hold on to my sanity sometimes.”
He places a hand on my knee and squeezes slightly. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Not as much as I’d like to and never just to relax anymore. Now, I come here to get away from Rachel’s craziness. It seems to be getting worse every day.”
“Hiding in plain sight?”
“Sort of, I guess. No one knows that I come here except Kerry. And now you, of course.”
“Now we each have secrets we can blackmail each other with.” Padraig chuckles.
“You have a twisted mind, my friend.”
He gives my knee another squeeze, and his smile turns wicked. “Not denying that.”
I’m entranced by his gaze, not able to verbally respond, although the skin on my arms rats me out with goosebumps, showing his effect on me. As he begins to lean forward, his name is called by someone behind me. Padraig sits up straight and smiles.
“Oy! Sally!” He stands and walks over to a woman holding a basket full of palm leaf roses. He hugs her and she returns it. “How are you?” he asks.
“I’m well. Oscar’s leg is finally one hundred percent again. He was able to go back to work a week ago.”
“That is fantastic. I know that makes you happy.”
“Indeed. It makes him happy, too. He was just withering away, not being able to work. It was breaking my heart.”
“Well, I’m glad all is better now.” Padraig gives her a warm, genuine smile. It’s his best smile. “D’ya mind if I buy a rose for me friend?” He motions his hand to me. “Sally this is Stella. Stella, Sally.”
I stand to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sally.” Sally rejects my hand and leans in for a tight hug.
“My stars, Padraig. How do you get this one to hang around you?”
“Don’t know,” is all he says, winking at me.
“It is lovely to meet you, Stella. You should hold on to this big-hearted young man. He’s scary on the outside but sweet as a lamb on the inside.”
I look up at him. “I’m coming around to that same sentiment, Sally.”
“Smart girl. Here is a lovely rose for you. On the house, Padraig.”
“Absolutely not.” He pulls out his wallet and gives her all the cash he has, about sixty dollars. The sign on her basket reads “$1 per rose.”
Sally takes the money and places a hand on top of Padraig’s hand. “Bless you, sweet friend.”
He simply nods. Sally waves good-bye to us and heads over to a few tourists reading the informational plaque at the edge of the park.
I give Padraig a quizzical look.
“What?” he asks.
“What is with you and the panhandlers?”
“Please don’t call them that. They don’t outright beg for money. Most of them, anyway. The majority of them are artists who either haven’t found their bigger and better or don’t want to leave the city for a better opportunity. They have families. They’re people, just like you and me. They just choose a different way of life.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. That’s what I’ve heard people call them.”
“And most people are idiots,” he says, slightly irritated.
I place my hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Don’t get worked up. I’m sorry.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“You are so kind,” I say, looking into his weary eyes.
He shakes his head. “Just being a decent human being.”
I could take this opportunity to point out how he’s acted toward me in the past, but I don’t. Because I get it. I can read it all over his face. He’s an asshole to people who look down on others. To everyone else, he’s just Padraig. A gracious and generous man.
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on his cheek. “You’re a good man, Padraig MacNamara.” I rub my arms for warmth as the chilly breeze blows. “I think I’m going to head home. Maybe grab some dinner first. Wanna come?”
He wraps me in a bear hug, attempting to warm me. “That, I do. Let’s catch the trolley when it stops. It’ll drop us off at City Market in twenty minutes, and we can stay warm.”
“Sounds great. We should be able to get on without a ticket.” I pull out my VIP pass from my bag. “I’m a VIP. Plus, I know all the drivers.” I smile brilliantly, gloating a little about my street cred.
Padraig pulls out his wallet once again and produces his own VIP card, with a grin that outshines mine. “I have one as well. Have you met Checkerboard Charlie yet?” he asks, referring to the newest driver of the trolley team.
“Indeed, I have,” I say as we walk toward the trolley stop just a few feet away.
“Well, aren’t we a pair?” he says with a laugh.
I shrug as the trolley halts at our stop. “Perhaps. But a pair of what, I couldn’t tell ya.”
“Touché,” Padraig says, motioning me to board the trolley first. I find a seat but get pulled away from it by Padraig to a seat I guess he prefers more. He sits, leans against the frame of the trolley, and pulls me into him, holding me close and tight. We listen to Checkerboard Charlie as he tells the tourists about museums and churches of the town. Padraig places a kiss on the top of my head, and I try to snuggle into him as close as I can. I breathe in all of his Irish scent. I think I might be in trouble. And I’m blissfully okay with that.
We reach City Market and exit the trolley. “What were you thinking for dinner?” Padraig asks, grabbing my hand as we begin walking.
I shrug. “Do you mind going to Wedge? I’m kind of in the mood for some good, greasy mozzarella sticks and a cold beer.”
“You’re fancy,” he teases.
I shrug again. “I like what I like.”
“Wedge it is, then.”
On the way, a thought crosses my mind. “Those guys you were there with last time—will they be there, you think? Will I ruin your badass reputation?”
“What?” Padraig takes a moment to think. “Ah. I remember. Those were members of a local motorcycle club. Customers of Luca’s shop.”
“They looked scary.”
“No. Completely harmless. They’re all retired Veterans who love to ride. And get tattoos.”
“Oh.”
He wraps his
arm around my waist to stop me from walking. He kisses me, and I feel weightless. “Don’t for one second think you’d tarnish any kind of reputation I have. I don’t care what people think of me. And you shouldn’t care what people think of you either.”
I nod. “It was a simple question. A joke, really. But thank you for saying that. Are you always so intense?”
He smiles. “I suppose I am.”
“We need to work on that.”
“Let’s get you fed, bossy lady.”
We sit at the bar just as Morty catches sight of us. He does a double take and rushes over to us, flinging a bar towel over his shoulder. “Dear saints in heaven, hell has frozen over. Did the two of you really just walk in together?”
“Right before your very eyes,” I exclaim.
“Well, knock me over with a feather. I’m not even going to ask how this came about.” He shifts his eyes between us and shakes his head. “What can I get for you tonight?”
“Can I get some mozzarella sticks? And a pint of the bourbon ale?”
“Coming right up. Padraig, Guinness, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Will you have anything to eat?”
“Turkey and Swiss on rye. Sweet potato fries.”
“On it.”
Morty walks away to get our drinks. He then brings our beers and leaves us so he can tend to the other customers.
“So, just the mozzarella sticks?”
“Yeah. He always gives me extra. It’ll be plenty. What about your sweet potato fries? Are you a big health-food nut?”
“No. I just like their sweet potato fries.”
I smile. The expression on his faces changes a little. He covers my hand that’s resting on the bar with his. “I really am sorry about earlier. And last night. I shouldn’t have—”
I cut him off. “Don’t worry. It’s water under the bridge. Really. And I’m sorry for showing up drunk, acting like a fool. That isn’t me. It’s just been a weird few weeks.”
