‘Savannah, please. It’s only dinner. I’ll introduce you as my friend. You’ll love them, I promise. My mother makes the best roast potatoes in the country and her gravy is to die for. You won’t want to miss out.’
My stomach rumbles. It’s hours since we’ve eaten.
‘They won’t think it’s weird, you arriving with me?’ Code for -will we be outed if I agree to this?
‘I’ll tell them we went to fix the leak at your place. They won’t read anything into that.’
I want to meet his family. I do. But more than that, I don’t want to leave him. Don’t want this day together to be over. Not yet.
With him, life feels different. I feel different. Lighter. More fun. I haven’t laughed so much in years.
‘You’re sure they won’t read into this as something it isn’t?’ Or isn’t supposed to be, at least.
‘Relax. It’s just dinner.’
Half an hour later, we reach Ronan’s family home, a huge rustic farmhouse nestled amongst rolling hills on the outskirts of Dublin. The evening sun casts a golden hue across the landscapes, illuminating the lush fields and surrounding gardens. It’s not hard to see where his appreciation of the countryside came from.
A gravel pathway leads up to the front porch where two young boys sit on a weathered wooden bench, swapping what looks like football cards.
‘My nephews,’ Ronan says, lifting his hand in a wave as the engine idles to a stop. ‘Joseph’s the taller one. John’s the cheeky one.’
They leap to their feet at the sight of their uncle, running towards us. He’s barely opened the car door before they charge at him, excitement etched in their bright eyes and wide smiles.
‘Uncle Ro, can you play football with us?’ Joseph begs, tugging Ronan out of the car.
‘Uncle Ro, where have you been? We’ve been waiting hours for you,’ John asks, shoving thick-rimmed glasses up on his nose.
‘I was busy. Sorry, guys.’ Ronan strides around to the passenger side of the car and opens the door. Both boys’ mouths drop open in shock. Maybe even horror.
‘You brought a girl.’ Undisguised disgust drips from Joseph.
‘Is she your girlfriend?’ John asks, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
‘This is my friend, Savannah.’ Ronan offers his hand and helps me out of the car.
Nerves slither over my spine. This was a bad idea.
Both boys eye me with trepidation.
There’s only one thing for it. ‘Where’s the football? Who’s going in goal?’ Growing up with two fathers has some advantages.
‘Really?’ Joseph’s face lights up like it’s Christmas.
‘Sure.’ I shrug.
A laugh leaps from Ronan’s mouth as he places a palm on the small of my back, leading me towards the garden to the left of the house. Two white rusty goals flank each end.
‘You should probably go in goal.’ Ronan nods towards my metallic gold sandals.
‘Is that right?’ I kick them off and run after the little guy, John, as he dribbles a football across the lawn. Making a show of trying to tackle him, I let him keep possession and watch as he shoots into an empty goal.
‘You go in goal,’ I point to Ronan, who’s shaking his head, a wide grin splitting his face.
‘I never had you down as a soccer queen,’ he yells, jogging into position as the older boy takes his place defending the other goal.
‘Just like I never had you down as a dance routine queen.’ I’ve watched that video of his rippling torso dancing between my girls way more times than is healthy.
‘Dinner’s ready.’ A plump woman in her sixties shouts from the front of the house. My head whips around and our eyes lock. Her grey, wispy hair is secured on top of her head with a crab clip. She has startling blue eyes, the exact same shade as Ronan’s and her cheeks are flushed rosy. The shock on her face is quickly replaced with a warm, welcoming smile.
