“Yes, sir,” I respond hesitantly. “Thank you.”
I make my way to the table, slowly sliding my chair out enough to ensure I don’t brush up against her. I sit down beside her, keeping my gaze forward. I notice her scent, a blend of autumn and vanilla. Still the same. Like home. As I settle into my seat, I can feel the warmth from her body beside me. After our wordless exchange in the sitting room, the anticipation is thick between us. I want to be the one to break the silence, but something tells me to wait.
Maeve is sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, looking anywhere but in my direction. Cormac is telling a story about him and my father fromyears ago. They’re both laughing uproariously. Even Eoin is smiling, his dark eyes unusually warm. I do a double-take, not quite believing it. I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever seen Eoin smile.
“Ah, Cormac,” my father says, shaking his head. “I heard Aodhánwas in town. Have you spoken with him yet?”
“Aye, I reached out to him,” my father answers after taking a long drink from his wine glass. “I told him he needed to leave the matches at home, but to swing by to see his old friends before he goes back home. You of course remember when he set that dock on fire?”
Cormac's booming laugh fills the room, and soon, the two of them launch into another memory, drawing laughs and smiles from everyone else. Everyone, that is, except Maeve.
She’s sitting ramrod straight in her chair. I can see the vein in her neck pulsing rapidly.Is she really that nervous around me?Her hair is much longer now, almost down to her waist. It’s incredibly sexy. She nervously brushes a strand over her shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of a small tattoo behind her ear. I try to study it out of the corner of my eye. It’s white ink, I think.
“Callum? Earth to Callum?”
I look down the table at my mother, who is looking at me expectantly, along with everyone else. Everyone except Eve, of course.
“Sorry, could you repeat that?”
I see the corners of her mouth lift slightly. “When are you planning to see your Great Uncail Declan again?”
Unable to process anything at a normal speed, I hesitate as if I’mnotthe one who made plans to fly out of the country.Get it together, Cal.
“Uh, I was going to fly out on Monday, but I could move the date if necessary. Why do you ask?” I pick up my glass and take a large sip.
“Oh, well, I just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t interfere with the w…”
“Waxing appointment?” I say quickly, cutting her off. My fear of anything to do with the…agreement… being divulged to Maeve caused me to jump the gun, and I suppress a groan.Why did I fecken say that of all things?
Maeve coughs into her wine glass. I look over as she sets it back on the table, the back of her other hand against her mouth. She’s even more flustered now, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was stifling a smile. As she withdraws her hand from the wine glass, she accidentally knocks her napkin and silverware to the floor with her elbow. The clattering noise is deafening.
We both reach down at the same time, bumping heads as we lean over. We each let out an "oof"and reach for the spots of contact. My breath catches in my throat. Her eyes lock with mine.
She nervously reaches up and touches her throat, and I see it. She’s wearingmyring.
I stare at it for a second or two, then look back into her eyes. We’re so close now, I can see all of the specks of golden brown inside the green. I can feel her breath on my face. I look down at her lips, then back into her eyes.
She looks vulnerable and nervous, almost… softer.
Neither of us has leaned away yet. Our faces are still so close. I can feel her breath on my skin.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” I whisper softly, but she quickly straightens in her chair and cuts me off.
“It’s fine.”
And just like that, her defenses are back up. She grabs her glass of wine and takes a large gulp.
I reach down and grab her napkin. With a swift motion, I shake it once, and I see Maeve jump slightly at the audible pop. I fold it into a triangle and place it in her lap, letting my fingers trail against her arm.
She looks at me again, and her posture relaxes.
“Thanks,” she whispers, so softly I almost miss it.
I smile. There she is.
“Always, Maeve.Always.”
Callum 15 Years Old
