He hangs up and I slide the phone into my pocket. Out of the corner of my eye I see the man Jenna was sitting with stand and touch her shoulder, she gives him a quick, kind look but her eyes snap back to me as he walks away. She opens her mouth and I can see her hands twitch as if to move towards me again, but I am quicker. I take great strides to practically jump my way over to her. Even then I don't scoop her up in my arms because I want to look at her more first.
With just inches between us, I soak in how Jenna both looks exactly the same and very different. Her hair is the same length, but she has a fringe now and part of it is grey-white, in just one corner. It looks distinguished and frames her chestnut eyes beautifully. Her cheeks are still painted with a galaxy of golden freckles and while there is more softness in her chin and more lines in the corners of her eyes, they seem to add something, not take anything away. Looking down, I see her body is a little more toned than before – her arms more defined and her waist narrower – but her arse, noticeable even from the front, is still there and I nearly fall to my knees there and then to give thanks for that. I see the same gold chain around her ankle, and I feel a rush of love for her, and for her mother, who I hope is watching her daughter take this next step into a life filled with love.
“Jenna,” I say.
“Marty,” she says and it’s upon hearing my name in her silky warm voice that I know she feels exactly the same way I do.
“I hope you weren’t looking directly at the sun,” I say nodding at the sunset but keeping my eyes on her.
“No, I wasn’t,” she says as her smile deepens and her eyes lock with mine. “But I am now.”
Epilogue
Jenna
361 Sunsets Later
When my breathing slows and my belly stops quivering, I release my grip on Marty’s head. As I open my eyes and see how the light in the room has changed, I gently tap my fingers to get his attention. He stops kissing my thigh and licks his lips as he locks in eye contact with me. And just like that, I'm ready for more. I think I will need a chapter in my next book about how tall, bearded Irish thirty-year-olds have the ability to restart my libido in half a second.
“Look outside.” I nod towards the nearest window, which overlooks our small garden. A green space that is thankfully well covered by trees and shrubs so nobody can look in on these spontaneous love-making sessions of ours that are a near daily occurrence.
He looks then sits up completely. “Do we have time?”
I glance at my watch. “Yes, easily. You get the leads.” I stretch forward, pushing my skirt down and bending to press my lips to his, letting my tongue roam, licking all traces of me off his beard.
Then we move. Him getting his keys and the dogs' leads, and me quickly grabbing my cardie and running to the toilet as I call for the dogs who come running instantly.
When I'm done, he's standing at the open front door, holding out my bag and positioning my Birkenstocks in a way I can just slip into them.
I hook my hand in his arm as we wander down the path, my other hand holding AJ's lead. A moment later Marty gets yanked forward by Rocky.
“Jesus, Rocky, slow the fuck down you fecking terrorist eejit dog!” he yells then turns to his left. “Oh, Mrs Dougal. Didn't see you there, good evening!”
I blush and bite back my laugh. She's one of the very few people who have given us some form of hostility to our relationship - namely gossiping very loudly in her garden about ‘the handsome young lad and that much older woman who have shacked up next door’ when we bought the place six months ago. So I am definitely not going to prompt Marty to apologise for his language in front of her.
We walk briskly up our street and then take a few turns before we are in Marlay Park, a generous stretch of grass and woodlands with the rolling hills of County Wicklow in the background, and on days like today, when the sky has been unusually clear, a beautiful view of the sun sinking behind them.
Not needing to say where we want to be, Marty and I head to the Dog Park and let Rocky and AJ off their leads. On the way we pass plenty of evidence others have been enjoying the park for a few hours already – they’re drinking beers, lying out on picnic blankets, or enjoying portable BBQs they're not really allowed to - all soaking up this early summer sunshine that is so very welcome.
I've not hated living in Dublin for the last ten months. I've enjoyed it very much, but the weather has bamboozled me. It's not like it's different to London - the greyest city in the world - but the rain always feels wetter, the cold a bit chillier, and winter felt longer and bleaker than any I'd experienced before. That was what was going on outside our four walls, but inside was a different story.
Inside was perpetual summer.
I came back to Dublin with Marty after four days and another five sunsets together in Crete and in between seeing his parents and sister again, meeting everyone at his work and watching him move around a kitchen like he was dancing - whether ABBA was playing or not - we talked about where we would live together. We gave ourselves time to think on it when I returned to London for a few weeks, but the answer was already clear in my mind.
London had lots of positives for Marty from a work perspective, but Dublin was where his family is, and I was more ready for the upheaval of moving than he was. I’d spent most of the year before our reunion mentally preparing myself to leave London for him, even hoping it would happen, while Marty had spent mostof his five years falling back in love with his life there. I wasn't willing to make him leave it so soon. My work could be done anywhere, and he agreed there was more he wanted to achieve in Dublin before he went elsewhere.
“Thirty tomorrow,” I say as I slip my hand around his waist. We're standing still now, facing the sunset, both of us taking it in turns to quickly check if AJ is sniffing out treats from someone else’s pockets or Rocky has bolted to the other side of the park.
“I know,” he says and runs a hand through his beard. “I'm so fecking old!”
I lightly hit his stomach. “Piss off.”
“I'm glad to be thirty,” he says. “I know it doesn't work like this, but it makes me feel like I'm almost catching up with you.”
“You're right, it doesn't work like that. But it may stop some of the raised eyebrows I get as I can now say you're thirty-something rather than twenty-something.”
“Then what would we have to laugh about?” He bends to kiss the top of my head. “Actually, don't answer that. We never run out of things to laugh about.”
