CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time we reach my car, I’ve realized two things: I have no idea how Kieran got here, and…“I can’t drive.”
“What?” Kieran plows a hand through his hair, making the naturally messy-looking tresses stand even taller. His other hand is still tightly gripping mine. “Ah shite, of course.”
“It’s okay, we’ll call a taxi and I’ll come get my car later.” My words don’t seem to register with him. I tug his hand and his gaze snaps to mine. “I’m sorry about what happened in there. I shouldn’t have gone off on your dad like that. I was mostly able to tune him out, despite wanting to tell him off for some of the things he said to you. But when he told your mom to shut up, something in me snapped.”
Kieran’s lips twitch. “Donotbe sorry, Meredith. You’re my hero right now. Heroine? Hmm.” He pauses, and when all I can do is let out a surprised laugh, he says, “You just stood up to a man who’s feared by half of Dublin. I want to fall at your feet and worship you.”
My answering laughter dies quickly as something occurs to me. “I hope I didn’t make things worse for your mom.”
His grin wavers and slips from his face. “I don’t think so. He’ll likely be in a piss-poor mood, but she’s accustomed to that, and I think it’s mostly bluster these days. As hard as it may be to believe this with how obnoxious he was during both our encounters, he seems to have mellowed a bit since I left Ireland.”
I watch Kieran closely as he speaks. Despite the deep furrow between his brows, I think if he was genuinely concerned for his mother’s safety he wouldn’t leave her here. He knows his family best, so I have to trust him.
Digging out my phone, I open the app for a taxi and request one at Connelly’s. My finger hovers over the button to request a second car since Kieran and I live in opposite directions, but I think it’s a good idea for me to go with him. Since I’m keeping things professional and this is part of my job, I need to see this all the way through, which means providing comfort for him after the meeting from hell with his parents.
Switching over to text, I shoot a quick message to Ivy, asking her if it would be possible to be on standby to pick me up at Kieran’s when we’re finished. She answers immediately in the affirmative, so I text her Kieran’s address along with a thank you and a ton of kissy face emojis. After I hit send, I wish I could take it back. What if she thinks the kissy faces mean I’m planning to make out with Kieran?
The taxi pulls into the parking lot and I open the back door, motioning for Kieran to go first. As he scoots across the seat, I tell the driver his address.
“What about you?” Kieran asks.
“I was hoping you’d make me another cup of tea,” I tell him. “Withwhiskey this time.”
*****
Sitting on Kieran’s bed, I have a sense of déjà vu. He’s just returned from the bathroom and plugged in the kettle, and he’s pulling things from his desk drawer, reminding me of Mary Poppins with her bottomless bag.
“I’ll remember not to put milk in this time,” he says over his shoulder.
“I actually kind of liked it.” My eyes follow the movements of his long fingers as he fiddles with the teabags and rearranges the cups and saucers. I wonder if I’m the only one who feels like his room is smaller than it was last time we were in here together. I was tempted to sit on the desk chair instead of the bed, but figured I’d be in the way of his tea making. So here I am, sitting ramrod straight, clutching a pillow in front of me.
A few minutes later, Kieran hands me a cup of tea. He perches on the edge of the bed as far from where I’m sitting as possible while still being on the same piece of furniture. “Biscuits!” he says, jumping up and rummaging around in the drawer again. He pulls out a small package of cookies and sets it on the bed before sitting on the desk chair.
I stare at him, willing him to look at me, but he’s concentrating on his tea as if it’s a crystal ball that holds all the secrets to life.
With a sigh, I pick up the package of cookies and open them. I’m not hungry after such a big meal, but I need to do something with my hands. I also need to come up with a safe topic of conversation that will get Kieran talking again. Maybe dispel some of this awkwardness. This is likely the last time we’ll see each other, and I want to leave things on a good note. Something we can both look back on and feel positive about. Although, truthfully, I’m not sure I’ll allow myself to think of Kieran too much past today. Still…
“Shortbread is my favorite,” I tell him. All my training for HTC focusing on conversation starters and putting people at ease is clearly coming in handy now with a deep, philosophical topic likecookies.
Kieran finally looks up from his tea. “Mm, mine too, actually. I had a Scottish nanny when I was growing up, and she was always making shortbread.”
I hold the package of cookies in his direction. When he reaches for them, I draw them back toward me and wave them around, wiggling my eyebrows and jerking my head toward the bed. A hesitant smile flirts around his mouth. I can see the change in his eyes the moment before he gives in and returns to the bed.
“One of my best friends is from Scotland. I always make him bring me authentic Scottish shortbread whenever he goes home for a visit or for work.” I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but Kieran’s eyebrows seem to lift slightly when I refer to my friend as male.
“Nice friend you have,” he says. “Shortly after I arrived in Canada, I scoured the international section in the supermarket for things from back home. They have more imports from the UK than Ireland, but I was happy to find these at least.”
I almost tell him I’ll share some of my shortbread stash from Hugh’s last trip until I remember I won’t be seeing him again. The thought makes me swallow a sigh. “So, you had a nanny?”
Kieran tells me about his Scottish nanny, Rhona, a woman who was with his family from the time he was an infant until he became a teenager. He wears a fond smile as he shares stories about her and how he spent more time with her than with his own parents. “A blessing, really, considering what my parents were like,” he says at one point.
As I lean back against the wall, sipping my whiskey-laced tea and eating buttery shortbread, I realize I could listen to Kieran talk for hours. Like most of the Irish people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, he’s a natural-born storyteller. I love watching his animated features and expansive gestures, and when he puts on a thick Scottish burr to imitate Rhona, I laugh so hard tea nearly shoots from my nose.
Kieran’s room grows gradually darker as the sun sinks in the sky. A surge of emotion rises in me when the fading sun angles in and bathes Kieran in a soft spotlight glow. I hate the idea of not seeing him again. At the very least, I wish we could stay friends, but I’m not sure if that’s possible for a variety of reasons…one of them being the urge I feel to reach for his hand and pull him to me in a not-at-all platonic way. Now more than ever, I can’t afford to blur the lines between business and my personal life.
Kieran reaches for the lamp on his desk and flips it on. The light is faint, but it changes something in the atmosphere. It’s as if we’ve been living in a little bubble outside of time, just the two of us, with no expectations or rules. A sudden urgency builds deep in my core, telling me I need to leave. Now.
