Which is proof that we’re made for each other. Most people would be scared of the depth of hunger I have for her in my life. Those kinds of declarations would be frightening. But my Amy? It calms. It heals. It nurtures.
“So you’ve said. I just…still struggle to believe it,” Amy admits. I wish she knew. I wish I could show her my mind for the past few years, how she’s filled every corner of it, how my world has revolved around her. I wish I could show her that the decisions I’ve made, the plans I’ve crafted, everything has been because ofher.She’s been at the center of it all.
I cup her cheeks. “Then I’ll prove it to you. Starting with some breakfast. Which I can’t really take credit for, since it’s my aunt’s stew, but…”
Amy shrugs. “That’s okay. Sounds lovely to me.”
“I know it’s not a traditional American breakfast food.”
Amy just chuckles and shrugs again. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly a traditional American.”
I laugh and kiss her forehead. “A fair point. All right, come on.” I pull her into the dining room. Her eyes light up at the table being set and the candles lit, despite it being…so simple. “Come and sit.” I pull out a chair for her to sit at.
Her voice is quiet as she slips into the seat. “It’s so lovely, Kerry, thank you.”
I scoff and kiss her hair, struggling to keep my hands off of her as I push her chair in. “Nonsense. This is nothing.”
She looks over her shoulder at me and shakes her head. “No. This is far from nothing. This is…effort.”
I frown and tuck strands of her freshly washed, wet hair behind her ear. “Only a little, leannán.”
“A little effort is still effort, and that means something.” Her voice is so soft, but so resolute. It comes from a scarred past. There’s a weight to it even in its meekness.
It makes me furious. I take a deep breath, not wanting even a drop of that anger to leak into my tone. “You are worthsomuch effort, Amy. Something I’m more than willing to show you, time and time again, day after day. This is just the start.”
She looks back at me, big brown eyes studying me again, as if searching for the truth of my words, the extent of my thoughts. I hold her gaze for a moment before kissing her hair and walking into the kitchen to get the food.
It takes me a couple of minutes to bring it all to the dining room table. I have to stop Amy from getting up to help, shooing her back to her seat. But when I finally have the champagne bottle in hand and pop the cork open, making Amy shriek in surprise and then laugh, I know I’ve done the right thing. My mind, no matter how depraved, chose the right person to become obsessed with. To love.
“Isn’t it kinda early to be drinking?” She laughs.
I grin at her and pour the bubbly into the glass flutes I brought out for us. “You’re in Ireland, no such thing. And our sleep schedules are all broken anyway, so what’s the concept of time to us?”
She just grins at me and shakes her head, sipping her champagne. “This is really good.”
“Marjorie has good taste. She always has.” I sit down and start serving her the stew.
She watches with slightly raised eyebrows, although I’m not sure why. “That explains some things about you. You seem set on the finer things in life.”
I chuckle as I dish up stew for myself. “Not necessarily. It’s a definite perk of my line of work, but I just insist on the finer things foryou.”
She raises her eyebrows again as I dish her up some salad next.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I mirror her raised eyebrows.
She looks up at me and blinks several times. “Look at you like what? I haven’t even been looking at you. I’ve been watching you serve the food.”
I chuckle. “So literal. But that’s what I mean. You look…surprised.”
She sighs and twists her hands together in her lap. “I kind of am. I guess I’m not used to…”
I pause, studying her face as she looks down at her lap. I give her time to finish her sentence, not wanting to interrupt her.
Amy closes her eyes for a moment, and I can tell she’s contemplating her word choices. “Men don’t usually serve women food like this, I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about it much until you started doing it.”
That same anger from before sparks again. “That’s preposterous,” I grit out. “If their pride is so fragile and easily threatened, then they are weak. That can be used against them. They should be more careful.” I scoff and shake my head. “As if something likethatcould define manliness. They are just weak, lazy men.”
Amy’s eyes widen, but then she bursts into laughter. “You know what? You’re right. They are.” She grins at me as she raises her glass. “I’ll cheers to that.”
