by Marie Landry
His voice is still a soft murmur, and he sounds like he’s a million miles away. He pulls a mini carton of milk from the fridge and adds some to both cups, along with a teabag each. This doesn’t seem like the time to tell him I hate milky tea. He unplugs the kettle as it begins to whistle, and pours the water. From the depths of the seemingly bottomless desk drawer, he pulls out a package of shortbread cookies, along with a bottle of what appears to be whiskey. He holds it toward me in question and I shake my head. He adds a splash to his tea, pauses, then adds another before taking the teabag out of my cup.
Somehow he manages to balance both cups and the cookies as he joins me on the bed. “This okay?”
I look into the milky tea and try not to make a face. “Great. Thanks.”
“I meant me sitting on the bed with you. I can sit on the chair if you prefer, but…” He trails off, busying himself with opening the package of cookies. “I could use the comfort, I guess.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” I inch closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. A quiet sigh escapes him as he drops his cheek on the top of my head. Silence stretches like it did earlier in the car. Before, it felt like we were both kind of in shock, like we’d bonded over a weird sort of trauma and weren’t ready to talk about it. Now it seems like we should talk about it.
“How are you related to those people?” Out of everything I could have said, that’s what comes out?
Soft laughter ruffles my hair. “Believe me, Sunshine, I’ve been asking myself that for twenty-nine years.”
My lips quirk at the nickname. I never thought I’d be okay with someone using my mom’s nickname for me, especially since I know I’ll never hear it from her again. It’s different with Kieran, though; he didn’t hear it from her and pick it up, he came up with it on his own. It reminds me of the days not so long ago when I would have thought it was a sign of some sort. Regardless, it’s oddly comforting. Everything about Kieran is oddly comforting.
“When they came in, it only took me a minute to understand why you wanted backup,” I tell him. “You’re just so different. I know a lot of siblings are polar opposites, especially when there’s a big age gap, but man…it’s some kind of miracle you’re as kind and thoughtful and funny as you are.”
His head dips a little, his chin rubbing against the top of my head. “Well, thanks. Like I said, I was always different. As I got older, I knew I didn’t want to be anything like any of them. Greedy and money hungry, doing things for show, making people feel small. My childhood was a lesson in how not to act.” He sighs again, and I wait, getting the feeling he’s not finished.
He eases into an upright position, angling his body toward me. I do the same, meeting his blue gaze. “After all these years, I’m used to it. I hate it, but I’m used to it. The way they speak to me, the posturing, the way they treat me like a stupid child. That’s not even what bothers me.”
“Then what?” I ask.
He takes a slow sip of his tea, likely to buy himself a moment to think. I do the same, bracing myself and expecting to have to force down the milky tea. It’s not so bad, though. In fact, it’s actually kind of good. Kieran watches me over the rim of his cup. His mouth is hidden, but his eyes crinkle.
“Maybe I’ll make a tea convert out of you after all,” he says. I nod and take another sip, afraid to say anything and derail our conversation. His smile slips and he inhales deeply, releasing a shuddering breath. “Okay. What bothers me…what really bothers me is the fact there’s a part of me that thinks my dad is right. That I’m wasting my time here and should just move back to Ireland and work for him.”
“And be miserable? Live with regrets? Always wonder ‘what if?’” I try and fail to mask the incredulity in my voice. I hadn’t expected him to say any of those things. I study his face; he’s done a good job of wiping most emotion from his expression, but his eyes give him away. They tell me everything I said has already occurred to him.
“There are times when I feel like a coward,” he says softly. “Like I’ve run away from my problems and created a whole new set of them. Seeing my mum today…it’s only been a few months, but I’d forced myself not to think about her too much. Not to dwell on the way he treats her and the way she allows him to treat her.” He winces. “I’m not blaming her. She doesn’t know any different, and I know plenty of people stay with people who treat them like shite. But there’s a part of me that hopes maybe someday I’ll be successful enough on my own to take her out of that situation. To do what she can’t or won’t do, and what my siblings have turned a blind eye to.”
I swallow hard. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to go with Kieran today, and yet mothers are a touchy subject for me. Maeve is so different from my own mom, who was vibrant and funny, said what she thought, and wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. “That’s incredibly admirable, but you know it’s not your job to save her, right? You’re allowed to have your own life and live it how you want to.”
“Aye, logically, I know that.” He’s avoiding my gaze now, dunking a cookie into his tea and taking a bite.
“But your heart is a different matter?” I ask, and he nods. “Do you think you could be happy here? If you made a bit more effort maybe? I don’t mean that in a critical way, but you said yourself you don’t really socialize or do much beyond school.”
He tilts his head back and forth, popping the rest of the cookie in his mouth before finally looking at me again. “I think I could, yeah. The goal was always to return to Ireland, so I wasn’t too keen on getting close to people only to have to say goodbye. I suppose if I was happy here and found something worth staying for, I would. I love Ireland, but if I moved back, I’d want a fresh start. Somewhere away from my family, away from Dublin. I’ve never felt a true sense of home, so I could start over anywhere.”
Home. The thought makes me smile even as I blink back tears. Growing up, I always had a home in the traditional sense—a beautiful house I felt comfortable and safe in, where I never wanted for anything—but when I think of home in the truest sense, I think of my mom. Her smile, her musical laughter, her hugs that had the power to soothe and make me feel as if it was possible to heal any part of me that was broken.
When Kieran ducks his head to meet my eyes, I realize I’ve been holding my breath and trying not to cry. I sit up straight, plastering a smile on my face and laughing lightly. “Sorry. I was off with the faeries again.”
His lips lift in response, but the concern doesn’t leave his eyes. I suddenly wish I’d agreed to a shot of whiskey in my tea after all. On impulse, I rise up on my knees and reach across Kieran to set my teacup on his desk. I gently take his cup from him and set it next to mine.
“The day we met, you were curious about the cuddling aspect of my job at HTC, right?”
He’s eyeing me with a mixture of interest and amusement, his head cocked to the side. “Mm. Am I meant to cradle you like that football player you mentioned?”
The twinkle in his eyes draws a genuine smile from me. “Not quite. Here.” I arrange his pillows against the wall before leaning back and motioning for him to do the same. He seems wary as he settles in beside me. “This is meant to comfort and put you at ease, so if you’re uncomfortable at any time, we’ll stop. Sometimes it takes a few minutes to adjust and get used to just holding and being held. Okay?”
He gives me a nod, so I hook my arm around his shoulders and slowly draw him toward me. One of his arms goes around the small of my back, his hand settling on my hip. We shift and wriggle, our bodies pressing closer with each movement until his head is resting on my chest just below my shoulder, and our arms are looped around each other.
“Okay?” I ask again once we’re both still.
“Perfect,” he murmurs.
I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, relaxing my body limb by limb and trying to clear my mind. Trying and failing, because all I can think about is how this is supposed to be platonic and it feels anything but.
As much as I try to deny it and have tried since a few days ago when I first met Kieran, something feels different with him. There’s this spark to him I haven’t seen in anyone else in a long time, something that piques my curiosity and makes me want to know more. His sweet boyishness has charmed me, and yet my body responds to him the way it would to a man I’m interested in.
I’m so screwed.
“This is nice,” he says after a few minutes. His voice is low, his words almost slurred as if he’s falling asleep. He’s on my left side, and his head is positioned in a way I’m sure he can hear my heart beating. When I was little, I loved sitting like this with my mom and listening to her strong, steady heartbeat. She always told me her heart beat just for me, and had since the moment I was born.
And there are the tears again. Great. Thoughts of my mom are never far from my mind, and I’ve accepted the seemingly permanent ache in my heart from missing her, but seeing the tumultuous relationship between Kieran and his family today has really stirred stuff up for me.
Kieran’s arms cinch around me, making me realize I’ve been tightening my own hold. Despite the fact I’m supposed to be comforting him, I wonder if the melancholy side of him I’ve seen since we left Luigi’s recognizes the same in me.
I have no idea how long we remain locked together. Long enough for me to finally clear my mind, and also long enough I think Kieran might have fallen asleep. I smile, thinking of Kitty and the number of times we’ve woken up together after a cuddle session. Sometimes it’s nice to just be with someone—no talking, no expectations, no feeling of having to entertain or be entertained. Just two people who are little more than strangers, seeking comfort and finding it in each other’s arms.
Kieran’s arm slides from where it’s been draped across my stomach, and he pushes himself into a sitting position. He’s wearing a soft smile as he meets my eyes and stretches his neck and shoulders. “That was…I don’t even know how to describe it. I feel so much better. Lighter.”
“That’s the magic of human touch,” I say.
His smile widens. “So, does that go on my tab too? Should I start a running one?”
I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “That one was on me. I could sense you needed it, and to be honest I did too.”
He pretends to be scandalized, mouth open in an O and eyes wide. “Meredith Cormier, you used me. Maybe I should charge you.”
Seeing him back to his playful self makes me laugh for real this time. “Maybe you should.”
He sobers quickly, reaching out to touch my knee. “Truly, though, thank you. You’ve saved the day in more ways than one.” He leans in, brushing his lips against my cheek. Surprised, I suck in an involuntary breath, my face turning toward his of its own volition. His lips leave my cheek, but his face hovers close to mine. We just spent at least half an hour cuddling, but in the blink of an eye something has changed. The air is charged.
I want to kiss Kieran. I want it so badly I can feel it all the way to my toes. My hands itch to reach for him, to touch him in a very non-platonic way, and to have him touch me in return. Our faces are so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips. It’s like we’re frozen in time, hovering on the precipice of this going from a friendly, professional arrangement to something more. My brain knows I shouldn’t let it happen, but my body has overridden my common sense.
A door slams down the hall and someone laughs loudly. Kieran and I startle apart. His momentum has him rocketing off the bed, where he paces in a tight circle before stopping in front of the bed, hands on hips. I watch him, my heart doing a great impression of a wild horse.
“Something just happened, yeah?” he asks breathlessly.
“No,” I answer quickly. “Yes? I don’t know. I should go.” I didn’t think this moment could get more awkward, but as I scoot to the edge of the bed the springs in the mattress creak in time to my movements. Naturally, it makes me think of other, probably more fun, and a lot less awkward things that make mattress springs creak.
I snatch up my jacket and shoes and hurry to the door. Kieran plants his hand on the wood above my head, stopping me from flinging it open.
“Meredith, please. At least let me walk you out.”
He’s not touching me, yet the heat from his body seeps into me from behind. My brain is clearly on overload because where his presence and the nearness of our bodies electrified the air only moments ago, now his closeness brings me comfort again. I give myself a mental shake and duck out from under his arm. “Of course. Thanks.”
We take the front stairs this time, ending up back where we began when we first arrived. He waits while I put my shoes and jacket on, then follows me out onto the front steps. The temperature has dropped since the sun went down, giving the air a chill that makes it feel more like fall than spring.
“I don’t know what just happened up there,” Kieran says, making a vague motion toward the house, “but I need you to know I’m grateful to you for having my back today. It could have been a whole lot worse, but you kept me grounded. I know it may seem like they weren’t exactly on their best behavior, but trust me, that was actually mild compared to how they usually are. I suspect it was at least partially your presence that mellowed them. So thank you. Truly.”
“I’m glad I could go with you,” I say honestly. “And I’m doubly glad me being there helped.”
He nods, his expression solemn. “I suppose it would be weird to ask for a hug now?”
Why does he have to be so damn adorable? He’s not making this any easier. I straighten my spine, gathering my courage. I imagine myself donning a suit of armor, impenetrable not to arrows or other weapons, but to emotions. This is my job and I need to keep my personal feelings separate from business. I smile, hoping he can’t see how it wobbles at the edges. “Not weird at all.”
He steps toward me slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking me. His arms wrap around me loosely, and when I sigh and rest my head against his chest, his hold tightens. I close my eyes and allow myself a moment. Just one moment. There’s no harm in that, is there? He smells good and his steady heartbeat is soothing. I try to ignore the thoughts that wrestle to the forefront of my brain: that Kieran is smart and sweet and sexy. That his voice does things to me. Things I shouldn’t be acknowledging.
His hands slide down to grip my hips, and he eases away to look at me. His gaze drops to my lips, lingers, then moves back to my eyes. “Blurred lines,” he murmurs.
I nod. My body suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and it takes all my effort to keep my head up. “Blurred lines,” I agree.
“Thank you for agreeing to come with me next week to see my parents again, but I can manage on my own.”
“I said I’d go and I’m good to my word. I know they’re your family, but it feels a bit like throwing you to the wolves.” I was hoping for a laugh, and I get it, albeit a light one. “Maybe after that we shouldn’t see each other again, though.”
His hands drop from my hips and his expression goes blank. “If you think that’s for the best.”
I don’t answer, because I can’t honestly say I think it’s for the best. The logical, professional side of me knows it is, but the rest of me hates the thought of never seeing Kieran again past next week. Instead, we agree he’ll text me when he knows the details of the next meet-up, and we say good night.
When I get into my car, the first thing I notice is Kieran’s scent lingering in the air. I peer toward the front of the house, where a shadow moves near the door. He’s still standing there, probably watching to make sure I get away safely.
Who knew an almost kiss could make things so much more complicated than they already were?
CHAPTER FIVE
Seven thirty in the evening is way too late for me to be drinking coffee, and yet here I am doing exactly that. And wishing it was spiked with whiskey.
I’m sitting in my friend Piper’s bookstore, waiting for book club to wrap up. I had to flub my way through the discussion because I
haven’t had time to read beyond the synopsis of the book. I was half tempted to skip tonight’s meeting, but I knew my friends would worry if I didn’t show.
In the five days since I last saw Kieran, I’ve filled every waking moment with work—my regular shifts at Bellevue Village, plus as many clients as I could cram in for HTC. During the sliver of downtime I’ve allowed myself between those things, I’ve mostly been researching subsidies and various funding possibilities for my mom.
I need this coffee to work its magic because I have a long night ahead of me when I get home. The other day I took a break from researching nursing home subsidies to clear out some junk on my computer, and I came across the folder of all the travel articles I wrote over the years before I started working full-time for Hugh and Ivy. There was a file with a dozen or so drafts, which I decided to pitch to some of my old contacts. I ended up selling a few of them, so now I need to actually write the articles, edit the pictures to go with them, and send them off.
If I can continue working two jobs and add in some freelance work on the side, I should be able to keep Mom in Birch Hill even if I can’t get extra funding. I’m sure I’ll eventually get past the exhaustion and the desire to curl up in bed and stay there forever. Staying busy keeps me from worrying and wallowing. My mom is still alive, but her essence—what makes her her—was ripped away, scattered to some hidden corners of her mind, and locked behind impenetrable doors. I have to stay strong for her and keep going. I need to dig deep, find the positivity that’s always come easily to me, and continue being the ray of sunshine my mom always said I was. I can’t allow myself to acknowledge the pain, the anger, the sadness, the hole in my life left by Mom’s absence. I need to fill that hole or I’ll go crazy.
The sound of scraping chairs and animated chatter fills the air, snapping me from my thoughts. I blink several times, trying to orient myself, wondering for a second if I nodded off. I cast my gaze around at the members of the book club, who are all rising and heading to the refreshment table or the stacks. My eyes are drawn to Piper’s red hair; she’s mingling, answering questions, and giving book suggestions.
