by Karen Booth
“I’m sorry, Ames. I'm sorry Mom's not here to help you. If I could make her appear, I would. If I could conjure her out of thin air, I would.” The underlying current of this was that I was the reason she wasn't there. I had been the cause.
“But you can't. Neither of us can.” Right there, in a few short words, was the essence of the pain Amy and I fought on a daily basis.
“Look. I want to do whatever you want me to do. If you want me to argue with you about the menu, I totally will. If you want me to tell Luke's mom to back off, I will. Whatever you want, I'll do it.”
Amy nodded slowly, scanning my face. “I think more than anything, I just need you to be my rock. Like you always are. Like you always were. I don't think I know how to function without you being there for me.”
Tears clouded my vision of my sister. “I will always be there for you. Always. Happy or sad, you and I can get through anything, right?”
Her head bobbed up and down, and now she was crying, too. “Yep.”
“We can do whatever you want to do today and we can set aside whatever you don't feel like doing. This is your wedding. We don't have to accomplish everything today. We'll have some time after Thanksgiving.”
Amy went in for a hug, resting her head on my shoulder. “Thank you. I know I'm pathetic right now.”
“You're getting married. You're supposed to be pathetic.”
“I thought I was supposed to be on top of the world.”
“That's just the movies.”
After our talk, we called Maggie to the back room and we chose a gorgeous combination of deep purple calla lilies and red roses wrapped in silver satin ribbon for Amy's bouquet, and a smaller version for the bridesmaids. Amy seemed pleased, and much more relaxed. Maybe she'd just needed to freak out at me. I was okay with that.
We said our goodbyes out on the street. “I’m so sorry I was a bitch in there. It's just a lot to deal with,” she said.
I pulled her into a hug. “I love you. You know that, right?” Despite the permanent off-putting smell of New York, I could still draw in the sweet fragrance of her shampoo, which brought me back to the days when we were roommates and I'd walk into the bathroom after her shower only to discover that she'd used all of the hot water. There was something so comforting about that smell.
“I know. And I love you, too. I promise I'll be less of a pain next time I see you.”
“When will that be?”
She shrugged. “I don't know. I have to go out of town for a work thing next week and Luke's parents want us to go with them to their house on the shore of Maryland. I'll have to look at my calendar.”
I donned my requisite sisterly smile. “Okay. We'll figure something out.”
“Eamon's coming to see you, soon. Right?”
“He is.” It was the sole bright spot right now.
“Cool. I'm sure you're looking forward to that. Maybe Luke and I can have you guys over for dinner after he gets into town. That would be fun. Luke's actually a bit of a fan. Although he's a total music geek to begin with.”
“I didn't know that.”
“Yep.” She nodded then looked at her phone. “I should go grab my train.” In a flash she kissed me on the cheek. “Love you. Talk to you later.”
I stood there on the sidewalk and watched her walk away, her blonde hair swinging back and forth. I decided to soak up the anxiousness that came over me when she left. I had to get used to it. There was so much more of it ahead.
I opted to walk back to my apartment, relishing the cold damp air and the sense that winter was coming. Before we knew it, Thanksgiving would be here, and then the wedding. Hopefully Eamon and I would still be in one piece by then. I not only didn't want to go to my sister's wedding by myself, I wanted to make something in my life work.
As soon as I keyed into my apartment and threw down my stuff, I pulled up Facebook on my computer and prepared myself to write a message to Aunt Lucy. I had about fifty false starts before I decided on the most direct approach.
Aunt Lucy,
I'm writing because Amy is getting married right before Christmas. You should get an invitation soon, although I'm not sure when she's sending them. As you know, every bride needs something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. Amy would really like to wear our mother's pearls as her something old. As far as I know, Grandma Price has them. Is it possible for you to play intermediary with getting it for Amy? That would be a huge help to me. If you need me to speak to Grandma directly, I will do it, but I thought I'd start with you since you see her more regularly. I hope all is well with you.
Love, Katherine
I didn't particularly feel a lot of love for my Aunt Lucy, but warmth seemed like the way to go for now. I shut down my laptop and did the only thing I could do. Poured myself a glass of wine, made myself a quick dinner, and curled up in bed with a book, waiting for Eamon to call.
Like clockwork, he rang at eleven. “Only two more days,” he said right away.
“Crazy, isn't it?” I snuggled up under the covers in my very non-sexy pajamas. After the day I'd had with my sister, I was not in the mood for an iPhone booty call.
“It's actually less than forty-eight hours. I should get to your place Sunday morning.”
“Sunday morning? Wow. I thought you were flying in from San Francisco. Don't you have a show Saturday night?” I started mentally going through the list of all of the stuff I needed to do—laundry, shopping, shaving.
“I had my road manager get me a seat on the red eye. I didn't want to stay in SF and get up in the morning. I'd rather just land and get to your place right away.”
I still couldn't believe this was happening. All these weeks of talking, and the waiting was about to be over. “Sounds perfect. I can't wait.”
Chapter Eleven
At ten on Sunday morning, Eamon showed up at my apartment dressed as the man in black. Black bomber jacket, black jeans, charcoal wool scarf wound around his neck. His dark hair was pushed back from his face, showing off his now-feral beard. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. I could see how excited he was to be here. This unbelievable man was happy to see me.
“Hi.” I didn't know what else to say. I was so painfully aware of what we both wanted first from each other—everything we stopped short of doing at the Four Seasons.
He carefully set down a battered acoustic guitar case along the wall just inside the door. His canvas duffel didn't get the same treatment, forcefully flung across the floor. “I hope you had the sense not to make any plans today. We are not leaving this apartment.” His voice was rough and my head dizzied with the possibilities.
Plans. If only he knew. The sheets had been washed. Every square inch of my place was immaculate. I was not only wearing really nice underwear, it was a matching set. “I’m not dumb, you know.”
“Wasn’t saying you are. I didn’t want to take off your clothes and have you tell me you got tickets to see Hamilton.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s still impossible to get tickets.”
He smiled wide and uncoiled the scarf. “Funny. You’re funny.” He unzipped his jacket. My breaths got shallower with every tiny stretch of his skin. He looked skinny, and that made me want to feed him, but dammit, I had to focus. All the while, he didn't take his gray eyes off me. He wrapped one arm around my waist, dug the opposite hand into my hair, and nearly made me collapse on the floor with a whisper of a kiss on the corner of my mouth. There was tongue—the sweetest amount, except there was nothing sweet about it. The subtext was nothing but hot sex.
“I don't even get a hello?” I wanted to continue to be amusing or at least get my bearings before this happened. Why couldn't I shut up already and rip off his clothes?
“This is my hello.” He reached down and grabbed my ass, pulling my hips into his.
I smiled as our lips drifted closer together. “I like your hello. I like it a lot.”
“My hello misses you.” Skipping a real kiss, his mo
uth roamed to my neck. I closed my eyes and gave into his apparent need to torture me. Every inch of Eamon was meant for making me feel good. He was going to remind me of it. With meticulous detail.
“Good. I missed your hello.”
He sucked in a breath through his nose. It was the sound of a desperate man. “I missed everything about you, Kat.” He kissed my cheek, my temple, my forehead. “Your hair. The way you smell. Your smile. Your glorious neck.”
My heart nearly melted. He always knew the perfect thing to say. I smoothed my hands around his waist and tugged up his flannel shirt, exploring his back, every muscle and channel familiar. “I missed everything about you, too.” I could've produced a complete inventory in no time of the many, many things I had missed about Eamon.
His mouth finally landed on mine and I went blind. I knew exactly what it felt like to kiss him, but somehow there was an element of surprise. How could anything feel so good? I was sinking and floating at the same time. The kiss made the last one we shared look like a first date. Gone was the backwards tug of war. We knew how to do this to each other. We knew exactly how our bodies fit together.
My hands fumbled with the front of his shirt. The desperation and anticipation of the last few weeks—hell, the last decade—burned through me like a spark zips along a fuse. I was a botched up mess with his buttons, like my hands couldn't remember how to work, but multitasking with Eamon—kissing and undressing him—was no small feat. I was on sensory overload.
I forced the final button through the hole and pushed the shirt past his shoulders. He caught it in one hand and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. When he curled his fingers under the hem of my sweater and lifted it over my head, everything went from being familiar to new. And back again. The excitement, the tunnel vision, the way the rest of the world disappeared when I was with him came roaring back like it had been waiting in the deepest corners of my mind. Waiting for its chance. Any doubts I'd had about recapturing what we'd once had were gone. It was still there. It was right here. All around us.
He pulled me closer, our bare stomachs touching as we stumbled across the room. “I don't know where I’m going.” His voice came out as a burst between kisses. “Show me.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” I took his hand and tugged him down the hall, past Amy's empty bedroom, and the bathroom, to my room.
He smiled when we stepped inside. “Much better.” He perched on the edge of the bed and reached down to untie his boots. He was watching me while he plucked at the laces, but I was watching him, too.
The sun streamed in through the window, catching threads of silver in his hair. His boots and socks were gone now and I stepped between his knees, slipping my fingers through his long, somewhat tangled locks. “You've got some salt and pepper in here now.”
“Mostly salt in some spots. That's what eleven years will get ya.” The rumble in his voice was back, working its way into me. It was like my own personal dog whistle. It shook me awake every time he spoke.
“I like it. It's sexy.”
“You fancy the old man with the long hair?” He peppered my belly with kisses while he unhooked my bra and pulled it down my arms.
I laughed and sank down to my knees, resting my arms on his thighs. “I do. He's ridiculously hot.”
He leaned closer and kissed me, squeezing my ribcage with his legs and cupping my breasts with his hands. How was it possible that all these years later, the calluses on his hands would feel the same way, perfectly hard and rough against my nipples? A sharp gasp left my lips.
“I love it when you make that noise,” he mumbled against my lips.
“You're torturing me.”
“No, darling. I just want you to feel good.”
As if I could feel anything less right now.
He threaded his arms under mine and hoisted me back onto the bed, on top of him, my legs twisted between his. He groaned as I let my full body weight rest on his, and he wrapped his leg around me and flipped me to my back. He stretched out alongside me. His warm lips found my breast, sucking on my nipple, flicking at it with his tongue. Oblivion was already in my sights.
I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He did the rest of the job for me, pushing them and his boxers past his hips and onto the floor. I rolled him to his back and kneeled between his legs.
“Don't start this while you're still wearing clothes, Katherine. You're going to frustrate the hell out of me.”
I smiled and popped off the bed, dispatching my jeans and panties. “Better?” I asked, setting a knee back on the mattress. I didn't wait for an answer before I took him in my hand, his skin so smooth and hard against mine. Again, our blissful history swirled in my mind, the untold times we’d done this together.
He clamped his eyes shut and knocked his head back on the bed. I stroked him. Firmly, but not too hard, and all I could think about was how I wanted to make him happy, but more than anything, I wanted to feel him. Inside me. This was everything I’d thought about that morning we had breakfast. Everything I'd fantasized about over the last few weeks. Everything I would've killed for after I left Ireland, when I had to lie in my bed at night and try to sleep, all while my brain wouldn't stop remembering the magic of every moment with him.
I didn't bother asking if he had a condom. I opened my bedside table drawer and plucked one from the box. I rolled it onto him. One step closer to what I wanted. And then I stretched out next to him. Goosebumps dotted my arms. There was nothing else holding us back. No more clothes between us, no more space, no more distance. The universe had pulled me back into the arms of the only man my heart wanted the way my lungs wanted to breathe.
He pushed my hair from my face and kissed me deeply, then eased me to my back and climbed on top of me. We didn't talk. We didn't need to. We both knew what the other wanted. That was a very special brand of knowledge—when words become extraneous. I closed my eyes and pulled his smell into my nose—salt and soap and sunshine. There was no other way to describe it or just how easily that perfect smell took me back to our other time. When I had found hope and joy in the simplest things. When I knew what it was like to be happy.
But I wouldn't live in the past. Not today. Thinking like that did a lot of damage to a person, and it ruined the present. I opened my eyes and kissed his forehead. I studied every line, every new, tiny crease around his eyes. This was exactly what I'd wanted so badly the other morning. To have him weigh me down and make me remember that this was the here-and-now.
He thrust inside exactly as he'd done so many times, but now was different. I felt both whole and vulnerable. We were one again. Something I'd thought would never happen. I'd been convinced the Eamon chapter of my life was over, that he and I were never meant to be.
And now it felt as though my once-hidden second act with Eamon was just beginning.
On Monday morning, I called Summer and took a personal day. In nearly eight years at NACI, I hadn't taken a single day off. I was the person who scheduled a dentist appointment at lunch so I wouldn't miss work. But Eamon was already making me do things I would never do. We'd spent all day Sunday naked or half-dressed, in bed or in the shower. I'd even gone to bed with wet hair.
Summer was as shocked as I was when I called. “I hope everything's okay.”
“Everything's great.” Eamon was in the bathroom, so I could contain my enthusiasm without worrying that he might think I wasn't ridiculously happy right now. I didn't want to gush to my boss or give any details about how I might be having sex all day long. Not professional. “I have some things I'd like to get done around the apartment. Stuff I've been putting off.”
Eamon was standing in the doorway now, completely naked, leaning against the jamb and listening. Good God, my sister was right. I was a lucky bitch. I patted his spot on the bed next to me.
“You have more than enough days, so I'm not worried about it,” Summer said.
“And everything will be okay with you-know-who?”
“Oh, Mil
es? Don't worry about him. I'll take care of him. We'll miss you, of course, but enjoy your day. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes. Absolutely. See you then.”
Eamon climbed into bed while I ended my call and rolled to my side, placing my phone on the bedside table. “Your hair's a very sexy bird's nest,” he said, kissing my neck and pressing his long body up against my back.
Would I ever grow immune to Eamon's touch? Would I ever get to the point where this wasn't pure bliss? “So you're telling me you like things that are a complete disaster.”
“The more disastrous the better.”
“And you're happy with the sheets the way they are right now?” I kicked at the covers. Everything was twisted up—the duvet, the top sheet. Even the fitted sheet kept popping off the corner closest to my head, which was driving me crazy.
“Hadn't even noticed there was a problem.” He pressed a single kiss to my cheek. “That's how happy I am to be here.”
I rolled to my back and peered up at him. If my hair was a disaster, his wasn't much better, but he pulled off the disheveled look perfectly. The man could've walked into a photo shoot at that very moment and he would've had no problem. “I’m happy you're here, too.”
“It's amazing, isn't it? Being together again after all this time?”
I smiled, smoothing his hair back from his face. “It really is. I keep having to remind myself that this is really happening. I woke up in the middle of the night and I flipped on the lamp for a second just so I could make sure it was really you.”
“Expecting someone else?”
I slapped his arm playfully. “No.”
“You really did that?”
“I did.”
The way his face lit up was so beautiful. It made it hard to breathe. “I must've been tired to sleep through that.”
