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  We don’t talk the rest of the way to Howth, but Kitty is noticeably less stressed. She’s actually kind of subdued, but after what she revealed about Shane and his father, I am, too. When we arrive in Howth and walk the short distance to Beshoffs, I’m surprised to find a small indoor market, selling not only food, but serving coffee. The smell makes me think I’ve died and gone to Chicago. Keeping a close eye on Kitty as she reads her handwritten list to the fishmonger, I order a large cup and doctor it with cream and sugar.

  The first sip is orgasmic. That gem of a thought leads me to memories of Shane and what happened in the stock room last night. Underneath my clothes, goose bumps raise along every inch of my skin. My cheeks feel burning hot. Clearly, my body is sending the signal that it wants more. Before last night, I’d been full of pent-up sexual tension, but somehow the releasing of it hasn’t lessened this twisty hankering for Shane. If anything, it has only grown in intensity. I think of his hand sliding down the front of my underwear, him licking my belly before going lower, the size of him in my hand.

  Shit. I’m starting to wish this coffee was ice water so I could dump it over my head. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before me and Shane have sex. Crazy, loud, sweaty, dirty…no-strings-attached sex. That’s all it would be. Just two people scratching an itch. A really itchy itch. No entanglements.

  My problem with those rules is they are doing little to comfort me. I don’t know what that means, but it adds a layer of anxiety to the restless need for more. My coffee cup pauses halfway to my mouth when I realize I haven’t thought of Evan once this entire morning. The realization washes over me, more effective than dousing myself in ice water. I came here to get over Evan, to resuscitate myself, but I never expected it to happen so soon. Is it Shane? Is he speeding along this whole unfamiliar process? If so, that’s definitely not going to fly. I didn’t come here to become consumed with another guy, even temporarily.

  I’ve never performed this circus act of separating physical attraction from emotional connection. How do I know if I’m doing it right? In two weeks’ time, when I board the plane back to Chicago, I can’t be in worse shape than when I arrived. On top of losing Evan, I can’t be confused over whatever feelings seem to be evolving for Shane. I can’t let it happen.

  The trouble with that, of course, is that I want to rip Shane’s pants off.

  “All set, then,” Kitty says, entering my line of vision. Excellent timing, since now I can do nothing but envision her son in his birthday suit. “I think I have everything we need.”

  I glance down and see Kitty is holding a giant bag of red apples. “What about the fish?”

  “Fish?”

  Over the Kitty’s shoulder, the fishmonger catches my eye, holding up Kitty’s order in his hand, wrapped in white wax paper, telling me she must have made the order and wandered off before it could be completed. Making sure to keep an eye on Kitty, I dig my wallet out of my messenger bag and pay the man. When I walk back over, she is watching me closely.

  “Martin usually picks up the fish.”

  “He’s sick today,” I explain, certain whoever is listening and judging me will forgive that one tiny lie. Kitty holds out her hand and after a beat, I take it and walk back toward the bus.

  “Did I ever tell you Martin kissed me once?”

  “No,” I lie again. It’s a slippery slope. “How was it?”

  “Lovely.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kitty and I finally reach the Claymore Inn after she has counted each of her footsteps between the bus stop and the front door. Out loud. It’s still only ten o’clock, so the bar hasn’t opened, but I find it odd when Kitty has to knock to be let inside. The fact that one needs keys at all to be let inside during nonbusiness hours confirms my suspicious that I’m the only guest staying at the inn. It’s a good thing I never pulled an all-nighter, or I would have been stuck outside in the rain, shit out of luck.

  Still, Kitty lives here year-round. “Why don’t you have keys?”

  She starts to answer but Shane yanks open the door, cutting her off and making me jump. His hair is a disaster, pointing a hundred different directions. There is a wrinkle between his eyebrows that isn’t normally there. He looks between me and Kitty like he can’t quite believe we’re standing there. Faith rushes up behind him and gives us the same look, before covering her mouth, barely smothering a delighted laugh. I glance over at Kitty to ask her what’s going on with her offspring, but when I notice the tears pouring down her cheeks, I’m silenced.

  “I did it.” She claps her hands together, then throws herself into Shane’s arms. Laughing through her tears, Faith tries to wrap them both in an embrace, but she ends up simply burying her face between their shoulders. “I bloody did it.”

  For a moment, Shane still appears stunned, but his body finally relaxes and he begins patting Kitty’s back. “Well done, Kitty.”

  She pulls back suddenly, nearly toppling them all to the ground. In her hand, she holds up the bag of apples like a fisherman holds up a giant sea bass. “I got apples. I reckon I’ll bake a pie. I don’t know yet, since I’ve only started thinking about it.”

  Faith is still wiping tears from her cheeks. “I’ll help you.”

  “Grand.” She giggles like a girl half her age. “That’s grand.”

  I’ve been watching this scene play out with a mixture of awe and confusion. The magnitude of what is taking place and why might be lost on me, but the impact of their unexpected happiness is not. Faith’s eyes are luminous, cheeks flushed with excitement. Shane looks astonished, with a touch of pride struggling to get out. And Kitty, well…she looks like George Clooney just walked in and proposed. It’s a moment I wouldn’t even feel comfortable photographing, because it should just exist in this sliver of time, for this family, never to be shared by anyone. Including me. Beginning to feel like a major interloper, I put my head down and bypass them into the pub.

  I’m halfway up the staircase when I hear footsteps behind me. “Willa.”

  God, Shane never lets me have my damn exit. That should irritate me way more than it does. I don’t pause in my journey up the stairs. “I really have to do laundry.”

  “Your laundry is almost done.”

  “What?” I whirl around on the top step. “Tell me you didn’t do my laundry.”

  “I don’t have a death wish,” he says. “Faith did it. We have machines in the cellar. You can use those next time, instead of finding a launderette.”

  “Oh.” This is my chance to redraw the battle lines. I’m surprised to find how reluctant I am to do it, but I don’t have a choice. He’s taking up too much space in my head. “Thank you, but there won’t be a next time. I have enough clothes to last the next week and a half.”

  At the blunt reminder that I’m leaving, something flickers in his expression before it disappears. “The offer is there nonetheless.”

  I nod, then turn to keep walking. When my fingers close around my doorknob, his hand fits over mine to keep it from turning. I didn’t even hear him move. His silent speed paired with the simple touch of our hands sends a wave of anticipation rolling in my belly. Determinedly, I fight it. I feel like a battle is being waged inside me, between my attraction to Shane and the scarier, unwanted feelings creeping in. It’s no mystery that I will lose the physical battle, but I’m trying to win the overall war. Holding out as long as possible is my only hope. I’m afraid I won’t be able to separate the two, so I’m hoping to limit the fallout. Damage control in reverse.

  “Thank you. What you did for Kitty…”

  Taking a deep breath, I school my features and turn to face him. God, he really is severely beautiful. Having all that quiet intensity up close and focused on me is daunting, but I’m also beginning to crave it. Trapped in his line of sight is quickly becoming my favorite place. Not good. “You got me in touch with my sister in the hospital. Consider us even.”

  “You didn’t do it to repay a favor.”

  He sa
ys it with such certainty, I know protesting won’t change his mind. “You think you know me so well?”

  “I’m beginning to.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Willa, Kitty hasn’t left the inn since my father passed away. This morning was her first time outside in six months.”

  For a moment, all I can do is stare. “Six months?”

  Shane nods. “Even when my father was alive, he didn’t like her going out much. Didn’t give her the chance.” His gaze holds mine. “I know you well enough to see you’re about to make light of it, being the one to bring her out. I won’t let you.”

  “I wasn’t.” I totally was. “She was very brave. That’s what I was going to say.”

  He tilts his head. “No incidents along the way?”

  I shrug. “She may have tried to pay the bus driver in apples.”

  “It might have been an accepted form of payment the last time she rode the bus.”

  We share a quiet laugh. Oh sweet Jesus, he’s funny, too? Up until now, any humor directed at me has been sarcastic or insulting. His laugh is rich and deep, reminding me of the coffee I’d drank that morning at Beshoffs and where my orgasmic coffee thoughts had led. Shane’s shoulders flexing against the backs of my knees, his stubble scraping my thighs. I feel my cheeks burning, my eyelids getting heavy. Shane notices and interprets what I can’t see, can only feel. I know this by the barely audible groan in his throat.

  He takes a step forward. With a massive case of reluctance, I back up against my door so hard, it shakes on its hinges. A single one of his eyebrows raises, but he doesn’t stop moving closer. One of his warm hands rises to cup my cheek. “We’re back to that, are we?”

  I don’t have an explanation. What can I possibly say? I think I’m starting to feel more than healthy lust when I’m around you. It’s too soon after Evan. We’re both leaving. Stop making me laugh, you dick. These are the scattershot thoughts pinging around in my brain, but I’m mostly thinking them to distract myself from Shane’s descending lips. To remind myself why we’re not about stolen kisses in the hallway and quiet laughs.

  “Kitty told me about what happened with your father.”

  Shane goes eerily still. I watch as every ounce of heat evaporates from his blue gaze. The hand on my cheek drops to his side and I miss having it there immediately. Self-hatred is a living thing clawing at my throat. I wish I could take back the words. My self-preservation wasn’t worth the haunted look I’ve put in his eyes. “What exactly did she tell you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Willa,” he growls.

  My heart is pounding so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it. “He kicked you out.”

  His attention is fixed on a spot above my head. “That’s all?”

  “There’s more?”

  He laughs and the dark quality of it is so different from his earlier one, I wince. The Shane that followed me up the stairs to say thank you is gone. And I banished him. “Here’s what I’d like to know. What was your intention in bringing it up that way?”

  I do my best not to betray anything on my face, but I see a glimmer of recognition on Shane’s nonetheless.

  “If that’s what you do when someone gets too close, I can see why things didn’t work out with your ex-boyfriend.”

  The oxygen is sucked from my lungs. I think I actually gasp for air, but I can’t hear over the rushing in my ears. He’s 100 percent right, of course. That’s why it hurts so bad. The nature of my doomed relationship with Evan is vastly different from what’s going on between me and Shane, but the principal is the same. I can’t let anyone in. I’m broken. So I do what any self-hating coward does when they’re on the ground getting kicked. I lash out.

  My face is inches away from his. Neither one of us looks capable of backing down. “What are you more upset about? Me bringing up a touchy subject, or the fact that I’m not already on my knees returning the favor from last night? Is that what you were expecting?” I fling my arms out wide. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  His jaw tightens. “I bet that works with everyone else. Spouting a bunch of bullshit to change the subject.” He grips my upper arms. “It won’t work with me.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “We both know that’s a fucking lie.” He drags me up against him. “Last night you wanted me so bad you were shaking. What. Changed?”

  “You.” The word explodes from my mouth. “I liked it better when you wanted me gone. At least I knew what to expect. At least I knew it wouldn’t matter when I left.”

  “It matters now.” His voice is whip sharp, but the punishing grip on my arms is loosening. He’s searching my face for something and I have no idea what. “Is that what you’re saying to me?”

  “No,” I whisper the lie, knowing full well what I’d just revealed. That I’m scared of getting too close when there’s an expiration date. That I’ve developed feelings for him. He’s too astute to have missed the significance. “It wouldn’t matter, anyway. I’m the girl who hurts people to keep them away. Congratulations, you just saw it live and in color.”

  “You didn’t like bringing up my father. I could see that.” His thumb starts moving in soothing circles against my arm. “Same way I didn’t like bringing up your ex-boyfriend.”

  I want nothing more than to lay my head down on Shane’s shoulder and let him tell me I’m not a world-class fuckup. He actually seems to believe what he’s saying. Too bad I don’t.

  “You can’t fix me with a few magic words.”

  “Willa.” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to fix.”

  When all I can do is stare, he plants a soft kiss on my forehead. Then he lets go of me and returns downstairs, leaving me watching him from the top of the landing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following day I avoid the Claymore Inn like the black plague. I’m dressed in my freshly laundered jeans and out the front door before Kitty even knocks on my door to serve tea. Yesterday, I’d inadvertently let Shane know that this thing between us isn’t quite as cut-and-dried as I’d planned. He’d hit me in my weak spot, bringing up Evan, and I’d been vulnerable afterward, or I never would have revealed such a weakness. Since I had, I wanted to put off any contact with Shane. Otherwise, I would see one of two expressions on his face.

  Pity being the first one. It’s likely that Shane has zero problem having a purely physical relationship with me. I’m actually kind of a jackpot for him. I’m geographically convenient, since we’re currently living under the same roof. Plus, my imminent departure guarantees that he won’t have to suffer through a where-is-this-relationship-headed talk. Cha-ching. I’d rather walk around Dublin in a chicken costume than have that talk, too, but after what I said yesterday, he knows my detachment is an act. His, however, is not. If I see an ounce of pity on his face because of that, I swear I’ll expire of mortification.

  The second option is far less likely. Shane might not pity me. He might feel the same way. This reaction is far more dangerous than option one, because I wouldn’t be able to stay away. He would suck me in like a vacuum cleaner, and I wouldn’t come up for oxygen until I have to pack for Chicago. A mere nine days from now. It would be emotional suicide.

  Honestly, I’m not even sure these feelings are genuine, or just an illusion I’ve created to get over Evan. It’s possible I’m just fragile after our breakup and my fascination with Shane is a coping mechanism. I never thought I’d be the type of girl who could develop feelings for another guy so quickly. It’s fickle. A trait I’ve never equated with myself.

  With a heaved sigh, I lean against a wooden piling at the end of the pier I’m standing on. Since I didn’t get much of a chance to take photographs yesterday while I was with Kitty, I’d come back to Howth this afternoon to remedy that.

  Sitting on the north side of Dublin Bay, Howth overlooks a busy harbor, fishing and tourism boats passing each other through the narrow inlet. Students and families carry bags from Beshoffs full of fish and chips, plunking
down on the pier to eat their late lunch. It’s another unusually warm day, and I’ve been told by several store owners that I should count myself lucky to witness such a long stretch without rain. I lift my face up to the sun, enjoying the weight of my camera in my hand, trying to think of nothing else.

  Instead, I see Shane, as if his image has been stitched on the back of my eyelids. His relief at seeing his mother yesterday, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his hands. This can’t be a coping mechanism, because it’s doing nothing to help me. I might be thinking of Evan less, but those gaps are being filled by Shane in an altogether different way. When I think of Evan, I think of purple flowers. Irises. He was the first boy to ever present me with flowers, and that moment is imprinted on my subconscious. I think of hand-holding and lying on a flannel blanket in the Millennium Park. Playing Frisbee. Eating Italian ices.

  I think of trying too hard, of forcing a smile onto my face. I think of failure. Regret.

  Pushing aside those troubling thoughts, I let myself think of Shane. On cue, my pulse trips over itself, then grows loud enough to hear over the waves lapping against the side of the pier. I try to picture him on a blanket in Millennium Park, except instead of playing Sudoku like Evan used to do, his hand is tracing lazy circles around my belly button. He’s letting the Italian ice drip a little onto my skin, then licking it off slowly. He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, instead of giving me that look I used to dread. The one that’s trying to puzzle me out.

  Quickly, I raise my camera and discreetly snap an elderly couple watching their granddaughter toddling along the pier, holding her father’s hand. They look fierce in their pride, as if they share a heart and mind. Turning before they can catch me watching them, I snap two fisherman that sound like they’re arguing over a soccer match. At the end of their argument, however, they slap one another on the back and part ways with an, “I’ll see ya ’round, mate.”

  Laughing softly, I sit down on the edge of the pier and let my feet dangle. It’s dark before I know it, all the boats returning to the harbor for the night. Yet I’m no closer to a solution for my Shane problem, I’m out of film, and I’m starving. I stand and dust off the back of my jeans, wondering where I can go next to avoid the Claymore.