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“Think about what?” I asked, confused.
“You’re not cleaning a bleeding thing on your birthday,” he stated, holding a plate in each hand.
“I don’t mind—”
“And your face.” He shook his head. “And your ma. Christ, it’s your birthday—”
“You said we could forget it,” I strangled out, feeling my voice tremble, as panic set in.
I did not want to think about it. I knew what was coming when I left this house. And I wanted to forget.
For a couple more hours, I wanted to pretend that hell wasn’t waiting for me on the other side of his front door.
Johnny looked like he wanted to fight with me but he shook his head and exhaled a low growl. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he finally said. “Drop the bowls in the sink and come with me. I’ll sort it out later.”
It went against my nature to leave a mess behind me, but I complied with Johnny’s instructions and followed him back down the hallway and into a large sitting room with a roaring fire already burning in the fireplace. Without thinking about it, I moved straight for it, groaning in relief when the heat wafted against my bare legs and hands.
Johnny set the plates down on the glass table in front of the fire and then dragged the couch over from the wall, setting it right in front of the fireplace.
“You don’t have to do that for my benefit,” I hurried to say.
“It’s freezing out,” he explained. “And this house is so big it takes forever to heat.” Waving a hand in front of the couch, he said, “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Without another word, Johnny walked out, leaving me alone in his enormous living room. Too stunned to do anything but stare, I remained by the fire, warming my back and wrangling my emotions into touch.
When Johnny returned a few minutes later, he was carrying two mugs of tea.
“Two sugars and a small drop of milk,” he announced with a wink, setting the mugs down next to our plates.
“Thank you,” I whispered, overwhelmed by his kindness.
Johnny sat down on one end of the couch and arched a brow at me. After a couple of minutes of internal debate, I gingerly followed him, taking the other end of the couch, leaving a space between us. Grabbing the remote, Johnny flicked on the television that was mounted to the wall above the fireplace.
It was huge. At least eighty inches.
“Any preferences?” he asked me, scrolling through the channel guide on the screen.
I shook my head. “Whatever you want.”
“Birthday girl’s choice.”
I blushed. “Surprise me.”
Johnny glanced at the television and then grinned sheepishly. “Ireland are playing in the Six Nations Championship in a bit.” Shrugging, he added, “I was planning on watching it.”
“Then put it on,” I encouraged him.
His brows shot up. “You don’t mind?”
“It’s your television,” I replied. “Why would I mind?”
“If you get bored, just tell me and we can put on something else,” he muttered as he flicked on the match, attention immediately glued to the screen.
When the Irish senior team marched onto the pitch for the national anthem, Johnny’s entire face lit up. His eyes danced with excitement as he tapped his hand against the couch. He looked very young. And adorable.
I waited for Johnny to pick up his sandwich before reaching for mine and taking a small bite. The taste of ham and melted cheese dripped on my tongue and I moaned before hurrying to devour it.
“I’m going to be there one day,” Johnny stated, tilting his head in the direction of the telly. “One of these days that’s going to be me, Shannon.”
