“It’s grand.” Kieran unwinds his scarf and removes his jacket, draping them on the back of one chair. I sit in the other chair and take the opportunity to check him out: lightweight green sweater, dark jeans, black boots. He shoves the sleeves of his shirt up a few inches, exposing leanly muscled forearms and a leather cuff bracelet on one wrist. Plopping into the seat across from me, he grins when he catches me staring.
“Do I pass the test?” he asks.
“Test?”
“Mm, do I look like a serial killer or a charlatan or some other unsavory creature you wouldn’t want to be alone with?”
The question catches me off guard, making me sputter out a laugh. “No, you look perfectly respectable.”
He gives his head a slow shake, mock regret flitting over his features. “Respectable. Damn. And here I was always told I was trouble.” He peers up at me with a playful glint in his eyes.
Oh god. If he keeps smiling at me like that, therewillbe trouble.
Once Darryl has taken our order—a cup of ‘very strong’ black tea for Kieran and a peppermint hot chocolate for me—Kieran leans on the table, lacing his fingers in front of him.
“I must admit, I’m not quite sure how to go about this,” he says. “I don’t want to seem flirty and have you think I’m making light of the situation. I’m grateful you agreed to meet with me.” He pauses, and before I can respond, he adds, “What changed your mind, if you don’t mind me asking? Was it my sob story? Did I lay it on too thick?”
“No. I changed my mind because I…”Need the money. Nope, can’t tell him that.Wanted to see if you were as cute in person as your profile picture. Definitely can’t tell him that. “I thought it took a lot of guts to go through the screening HTC requires and then contact a stranger. I got thinking about it and decided there was no good reason for menotto help you.”
Darryl arrives with our drinks and I watch as Kieran adds two creamers to the dark brew in front of him.Blech.The tea is so strong I can smell it from here. He takes a sip and nods his approval.
“Well, as I say, I’m grateful. And I promise if we don’t get on today, I’ll let you off the hook for next week.”
His voice is light and he’s smiling, yet there seems to be a real sense of insecurity lurking behind the words. I try to keep my expression neutral; it’s something I learned in my HTC training. My natural empathy can sometimes be mistaken for pity, which tends to put people on the defensive.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” I tell him.
One side of his mouth lifts. “Diplomatic, I like it. You’ll do well with my family.”
I silently thank him for creating the perfect segue. “Tell me about them.”
His smile dims a few notches and he sighs quietly. “I know that’s why we’re here, but I was hoping we might ease into that particular subject…”
“Okay,” I say quickly, hoping to reassure him. “Whatever you want. We’ll talk about something else for now until you’re ready.”
“Cheers, Meredith.” He smiles faintly, taking another sip of his tea. “Can we talk about you? Will you tell me a bit more about Human Touch Companions? I get the general gist of how it works, and I read your profile and your list of…ehm…services?”
I press my lips together to hold back a laugh. I have a feeling he’s curious about one thing in particular: the cuddling. “I’m assuming the friend who referred you told you how things work, and that you read the info on the website before contacting me.” He nods, so I continue. “Okay, so the people who originally created the site with the intention of it being based on the comforts and health benefits of human touch—cuddling, hand-holding, et cetera—quickly realized it could go beyond that. Some people simply want companionship. Someone to sit and talk to or do things with or help them with things. I’ve taken people to appointments, helped them grocery shop, been a study buddy, accompanied people to a movie or a meal, that sort of thing.”
Kieran seems to contemplate that for a moment. It’s a lot to take in, and I know it probably sounds strange to most people, but I’ve seen the advantages firsthand. “But you do actually…cuddlepeople? And get paid for it? Is it weird accepting money from someone you’ve just snuggled?”
There’s no judgment in Kieran’s voice. His face is open and curious, like he genuinely wants to know. Normally, I hate being asked about this; I’ve had people look at me like I’m taking advantage, especially since many of my clients struggle with mental health issues or are just plain lonely. But if someone is on the HTC site, they’ve been referred and have accepted the terms of condition, so they know going in they’re paying for a companion. “Yes and no,” I say. “I hated it at first. I figured I’d donate my time, take on a few people here and there, but my advisor told me I had to start thinking of people as clients who were paying me for a service. I have bills to pay just like everyone else.”
“Makes sense,” he says, bobbing his head. “What about the cozying up to strangers bit? Does that ever get uncomfortable?”
I make a non-committal noise and tilt my head back and forth. “Again, yes and no. Initially it can be kind of awkward, but we both know what we’re getting into from the get-go. For a lot of people, I’m just a body, another heartbeat, and my presence provides comfort.” I think back to a client I had a month or so after I started working for HTC, and a small smile makes my lips twitch. “One time I had this big, burly football player. I was afraid of two things: that he’d break me in half or he’d be this dude-bro jock, making inappropriate comments and trying to cop a feel. We sat together on this tiny loveseat that was barely big enough for him, let alone both of us, and he cradled me like I was the most precious thing in the world. It was a humbling lesson in how we make snap judgments about people. He just needed comfort. All of us need that sometimes.”
“Mm.” Kieran nods again, slower this time. “All of us.” He drops his gaze to his tea, and the way he goes still and silent makes me do the same. I wait patiently, sensing he’s about to open up. “My home wasn’t a warm, loving one. My dad was like a drill sergeant, and my mum was raised with the belief it was a woman’s duty to get married, stay at home with the children, and do as her husband commanded. If she showed us affection, she was ‘coddling’ us. If she let us get away with anything it was because she was ‘too soft’ and my dad would double down on our punishments as a way to punishher.”
“God, Kieran, I’m so sorry.” I’m sure I’m doing a terrible job at schooling my face now. In comparison to his, my home life growing up was rainbows and unicorns. My mom was affectionate and loving, rarely raised her voice, and provided a safe, loving environment from the very beginning.
He lifts a shoulder. One side of his mouth rises in unison, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s how it was.”
“You have brothers and sisters?” I ask.
“Mm, one of each, both older. My sister works for our dad in the family business—real estate investments and development in and around Dublin—and my brother is a barrister. I was born considerably later and have always been different, always wanted to do my own thing. I got into a bit of trouble in my teens, nothing too serious, but they held it against me and assumed I’d always be a screw-up. I moved out on my own at seventeen and worked various odd jobs until I was hired by an architect of all things.”
He gives his head a little shake as if the fact still surprises him. “I was basically an errand boy until one day I was in his office while he was going over the books. I peered over his shoulder and pointed out where he could be saving money. Turns out I’ve a head for numbers and didn’t realize it during my school days.”
