Sorry.My mom signs.This is a happy song.
No words yet.I tell her.
There will be.She smiles and moves to the side of the piano.C'mon, play. I want to hear it again.
I grin and play the melody again. My mom's eyes fall closed as she leans into it. Her head sways side to side as she anticipates each shift and the small smile on her face confirms it.
Thisisa happy song.
***
The Bonn na Craic Pub is lively tonight and I know why. The steady drizzle of the last two days lifted this afternoon and the sun came out. It was like the entire village came out of hibernation.
It's early for tourists but there are a few and I give them a tight smile when they start to point. Duncan is sitting in the corner by the front window but he's left the seat next to it for me. So when people walk by they'll only see the back of my head.
Was that on purpose?
The last thing I need is to add "he's thoughtful" to the running list of redeeming qualities I can't seem to ignore.
I stop at the bar and get a pint, watching Duncan focus on his phone. He hasn’t seen me yet and I like being able to see him in this unprepared state.
Except, he seems just as relaxed as ever.
Fluidly, he takes a sip of his drink, his throat working the liquid down, then runs his fingers through his thick brown hair, the natural waves rollingwith the movements of his large hand. What would it feel like to run mine through his hair?
I glance down and observe my WILD HOPE tattoos and for the first time since learning Mike cheated on me I don’t feel like they’re taunting me.
Pint in hand, I turn and ready myself for a drink with Duncan.
Duncan who is wearing a black t-shirt with jeans and brown chelsea boots.
He looks good, and relaxed, and I need to chill out because being nervous to just talk with him over a beer is silly.
"Hey," I greet him with a slight squeak to my voice. "Uh," I clear my throat. "Here are your clothes." I hand over a bag our housekeeper gave me. "I think she even threw in some shortbread."
Duncan peeks into the bag enthusiastically and pulls out a tin with our family crest on the top. "This is like a collector's item!" He shakes it like it’s a Christmas present. "That's so kind of your mom to make me cookies."
"Oh," I laugh. "No. Ma is not a baker. Our cook made those and I'm guessing our house manager packaged them up."
"If your mom's not a baker, who did you make the Christmas cookies with? What about school charity sales?"
"Well, I didn't really help out with the Christmas cookie baking. And my family basically owns the local school so I don't remember us bringing a cake to the tent."
"Now that's a show I'd watch."
"What?"
"Aristocrats trying to bake for Paul Hollywood." He takes a sip and I watch his lips press against the glass before snapping myself out of it.
"I doubt they'd ever let that happen. Too much pride at stake."
"True, I'll stick to the regular season then. The celebrity ones bother me because I don't watch British TV all year long so I don't know who they are."
"My Ma and Da love the celebrity ones." I laugh. "She texts me while we stream them together."
"Granny Franny is more into the murder mystery thriller entertainment believe it or not."
"Oh, I believe it."
