“Hey now, what’s all this?” Connor’s brow furrows, concern mixed with panic.
“Sorry,” I choke out, trying to pull myself together. I can tell he’s confused, as men often are by emotional outbursts.
He takes my face in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away my tears. “What is it?”
Through the sniffles, I admit, “I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m just . . . happy, I guess.”
But even as I say it, I can’t help but feel a twinge of fear deep inside. How gray and dull will life be when this is over?
I’m waiting for him to inch away from the crazy, crying woman. His jaw tightens, but he wraps me in those strong, steady arms. And then he kisses me, not minding the tear-streaked mess that is my face.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Nothing wrong with a happy cry.”
I let out a watery laugh. It doesn’t matter when it ends. I’m here now and I’m going to live in the moment.
???
I wake after the second most incredible night’s sleep ever, cocooned in our charming Irish cottage. I expected Connor to be all about the glitz of luxury hotels, but he surprised me with this cozy hideaway.
It’s like Belle’s corner in the Beast’s castle, minus the enchanted furniture that talks back, of course.
Today we rented a car and drove the scenic Ring of Kerry, stopping at every beach and mountain view on the map. Seriously, it’s like I’ve landed in my very own fairy tale, surrounded by jaw-dropping landscapes.
Now, back at our little hideout, I’m sprawled on the comfiest couch known to mankind, toes buried deep in the fuzzy rug. Outside the cottage window, the wild sea pounds against a deserted beach.
The only thing that would make it perfect was if Connor were here. Where is he? He put on sweatpants and earplugs and said was he was going for a jog, but that was well over an hour ago.
I grab his jacket hanging on the stand, swamping myself in his scent and warmth. It’s springtime, but apparently Ireland never got the memo.
I close my eyes, inhale the scent of the Irish sea air, and let it wash over me, soothing my frazzled New York nerves. The sand beneath my feet feels heavenly. The steady hush of the waves creates a soothing, unfamiliar lullaby.
I can’t believe I’m really here—it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in ages.
I sit outside for what must be twenty minutes in the hammock, relaxing but also worried that after my emotional breakdown last night, Connor has checked into a hotel to escape the crying lady.
Then, I spot a figure coming along the far end of the beach. Shit, he’s been running all this time? My god. I feel lazy now. I’m pretty sure I’ve broken a sweat just watching him from afar.
He’s so into his running, he doesn’t even see me.
He stops in the middle of the beach and . . . oh my god, this guy is completely nuts. He whips off his T-shirt and sneakers like he’s in aBaywatchaudition and dives into those big, white, frothy,freezingwaves.
I know because I dipped my toe in them earlier and nearly lost my foot to frostbite.
I dash to the water’s edge, watching him wrestle with the waves like some kind of sexy Aquaman warrior. His strong shoulders dipping in and out of the water, muscles rippling under glistening skin. Sweet baby Jesus.
Who in their right mind would want to be in that water?
It’s like he needs to struggle, suffer, conquer. From the shoreline, I can practically see the stress and adrenaline ricocheting off his shoulders. Always battling some inner demon I can’t see.
Then he spots me and waves. He strides out of the sea, dripping wet, water cascading down his chiseled abs and—oh my—clinging to his running shorts in all the right places. Every part of his body is fine-tuned, and I’m practically panting just drinking in the sight of him.
“You’re crazy,” I shout, hugging his coat tighter as he comes to drip beside me.
“It’s good for you. Join me.” He grins, running his hands through his hair, droplets rushing down his sculpted chest.
I can’t help but smile. He’s been much more playful and carefree since we got here, and it’s intoxicating.
In my head, there’s a rom-com montage happening, with Connor heroically swooping me up from the waves, all slow-mo and dramatic.
