If I wasn’t already halfway to falling in love with Savannah Kingsley, the sight of her cradling my nephew’s tiny body to her breast is enough to ruin me forever.
She might be a celebrity blogger, but she has an innate ability to put everyone around her at ease. By the time dinner is over, my entire family is eating out of the palm of her hand, while baby Mark’s deep contented breaths resound around the table.
No wonder. I’d be content too if I were snuggled on Savannah’s spectacular breasts.
‘I should probably go.’ Savannah’s lower lip juts out as she preens over the baby in her arms before reluctantly handing him back to Rachel. ‘It’s almost the twins’ bedtime. Also known as ‘The Witching Hour.”
‘The Witching Hour?’ I repeat slowly.
‘Yeah, that last hour before bed where they’re exhausted and fight everything, bath time, bedtime, and especially each other.’ Savannah stands up.
‘Oh, I remember it well.’ Mam’s chair legs scrape the wooden floor as she pushes back from the table to see us out.
‘Thank you so much for having me.’ Savannah hugs my mother with a natural ease that makes me feel stupidly fuzzy inside.
‘Anytime,’ she says, offering Savannah’s arm a parting squeeze.
I brush a kiss over my mother’s cheek. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Do,’ she says, her blue eyes twinkling.
I was lying when I told Savannah my family wouldn’t question me bringing her here. Question that she was simply a friend. I’ve never brought a woman to meet my mother in my life. Not in any capacity. And tomorrow, there will be a million questions fired in my direction. Despite this, I trust my family implicitly. Trust their discretion.
My hand gravitates to Savannah’s thigh once again as I drive her home in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
‘Are you okay?’ I check finally, as I pull up outside her house.
‘Yes.’ She nods, staring thoughtfully ahead. I wish I knew what she was thinking. What she was feeling. ‘Thank you for everything.’ She angles her head to face me and her full lips graze mine for a fleeting second before she hops out of the car with her overnight bag tucked firmly beneath her arm, along with my heart.
‘It was a pleasure,’ I say, mostly to myself, watching longingly as she strides inside her house without so much as a backwards glance.
She gives me no inclination of when I’ll see her again.
OrifI’ll see her, in an intimate capacity at least.
I’m terrified of pushing her before she’s ready, but equally terrified of not pushing for this, for us, when every fibre of my body screams we’re meant to be.
The following day I drive to St Jude’s for the swimming lessons, balancing a takeaway double espresso in one hand and the other resting on the steering wheel as I negotiate three lanes of city traffic. Lana Del Ray is crooning about summertime sadness on Ireland AM. Flashbacks of the weekend are driving me demented.
It’s only a matter of hours since I saw Savannah, but like an addict, I’m wondering how to get my next fix.
The radio presenter, Abby Connolly, wife of Callum Connolly, a former Ireland rugby player, interrupts my thoughts as she announces her next guest.
‘That was Lana Del Ray. Welcome to Ireland Today. If you’re just tuning in, you’ll be excited to hear this morning’s special studio guest is none other than Savannah Kingsley, known to most of you as Single Sav.’
I jolt upright so fast, I almost spill the coffee all over the interior of the car, and myself.
Abby continues, ‘It’s an honour to have Savannah in the studio with me today. I’m a huge fan. Callum and I have made no secret of our struggles adjusting to parenthood. How she does it alone, balancing her twins with an amazingly successful career all by herself, is a testament to the strength of her character, and to the size of her heart.’
Abby’s not wrong.
I reach forwards and whack up the volume. The sweet sound of Savannah’s voice floats through the sound system of my car.
‘Hi Abby, thank you so much for having me on your show. It’s an honour to be here. You don’t know it, but you kept me company all through those bleary-eyed baby days. Your familiar voice gave me hope on the mornings I didn’t know how I was going to get through the day.’
‘Ah, that’s so lovely of you to say,’ Abby coos.
‘The twins both suffered with reflux. They seemed to takeit in turns to wake me each time I dared to close my eyes.’ Savannah forces a laugh, though there’s nothing funny about reflux. Rachel’s boys, Joseph and John, both suffered the same way. It’s horrific for both the child and the parents.
