“Hello, Seamus.”
The man turns to me, brushing curly brown hair out of his eyes. Moira and Calder have the same unruly mass as their brother, but Owen shaved all his off at the start of our senior year in high school and never stopped, last I checked. A practical choice.
“Isla. Good to see you.” Seamus’s smile is reserved in the same way I imagine mine often is.
However, I’ve watched this man become boisterous and outspoken when among his family. I’m never boisterous and only occasionally outspoken. Normally, the anomaly occurs at work when a man attempts to tell me how to do a job I was hired for.
“You’re not enjoying the party,” I point out.
His smile widens, and I wonder why the fates did not pair the two of us together. Our personalities are a much closer match.
But maybe the gods prefer variety in their pairings.
“Are you?” Seamus watches me as I sip the drink his younger brother made me.
“This tastes good, and I have a task to complete. I enjoy striving for and reaching goals.”
“And drinking vodka while doing it?”
“That helps.” We share a smile. “Where is Owen?”
Seamus raises his eyebrows until they disappear behind the curls that still linger over his forehead. “Down at the dock. You need him?”
“Possibly.” I stroll away, heading for the stone path that leads down to the large dock, which juts proudly out into the greenish-blue waters of Lake Galen.
Do I need a mate?
Not particularly.
Do I want one?
I’m here, so it would seem that, on some level, I do.
In that case, yes, I do need Owen.
After skillfully maneuvering through another crowd by the water that must surpass triple digits, I finally spot him. Owen MacNamara stands on the far edge of the dock. As I watch, he tilts his head back, downing a beer in a few deep swallows, his strong neck muscles working with each pull. Everything about Owen is strong. The man has a broad chest and defined arms, all on display, as he’s currently shirtless. In the years I’ve spent away, he’s gained more mass to his figure. Not that I’m complaining. There are many ways that ample muscle is useful, both inside and outside of intimate relations.
He is a view to be admired, and I appreciate his form as I approach.
“Hello, Owen.”
At the sound of his name, the man faces me, a smile lighting up his broad features.
Promising.
“Isla! It’s been forever.”
An exaggeration, but I’ll allow it as he reaches forward to squeeze my shoulder in much the same way his mother did. Soon, we’ll have to elevate our forms of intimacy, but for now, I am content with the affectionate greeting.
That contentment evaporates when Owen steps back and hooks an arm around the waist of a tall woman. Her hair holds a curl much tighter than his, and her skin is darker than his pale Celtic ancestry could ever hope to achieve.
I would know, having descended from the same area of the world as him.
“Ramona, this is Isla. An old friend. Isla, this is Ramona. She’s a professor in the Environmental Studies Department at Ramla University.”
My conclusions deviate. One part of my brain informs me I should feel some sort of jealousy. My future mate has partneredwith an attractive, intelligent woman who is prime competition for his affections.
Yet another section of my brain points out how perfectly her professional interests align with Owen’s, as he runs his own recycling company that serves all of Lake Galen and the nearby town of Folk Haven. Perfect pairings always bring a sense of ease to my nerves when they are on edge. And nothing puts me more on edge than a crowded party.
