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“Do you have children?” There I go again, blurting out questions about his private life.
He laughs louder this time, and when he finally stops, he says, “Freya, I don’t have children, a wife, or a girlfriend.”
“That obvious?” I ask, a faint blush turning my cheeks pink.
“Aye. But while we’ve gone there, do you?” His eyes dance with amusement.
I shake my head. “No. No significant other, completely free to—” I stop mid-sentence, my fingers flying to my lips, forcing them to remain closed and not blurt out what I might want to do with him. I’ve only just met Rory, but it feels so simple and easy talking with him that I need to remind myself of the fact.
He reaches for my free hand. “I’m glad.” It’s lucky I’m sitting down because I think my heart literally just stopped.
“Another drink?” I ask. Even though I still have about half of mine to go, his glass is empty.
He withdraws his hand and stands. “Let me go.”
“Okay,” I squeak out, and the moment he disappears through the door, I drop my head to my hands on the table. I need to get a grip on myself. Two deep breaths, then I sit back up, pulling out my phone to check the time. I still have a little while before I’m expected at the hospital.
Rory returns with two more beers, and when he’s settled back into his seat, I’m ready to ask a preprepared innocuous question.
“What are your plans now that there’s no buck’s weekend?”
He blinks several times. I don’t know what he expected me to say, but I can bet it wasn’t that.
“It’s my first time here, and I’m looking forward to exploring your city, starting with the Nordic House tomorrow. And then I’m not exactly sure.”
“I love the Nordic House. Is there a particular exhibition you’re hoping to see?” This is good. A casual, normal conversation between two people who just met.
“Not really. I studied Scandinavian architecture at university—in particular, Alvar Aalto, the architect who designed the Nordic House.”
“He was Finnish, wasn’t he?”
Rory’s brows lift, and a grin stretches his cheeks wide. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Of course I have. I studied fine art at IUA, the Iceland University of the Arts. I virtually lived at the Nordic House, and I’ve even taken part in a couple of exhibitions.”
“I’m impressed. So I know you’re an artist; I’ve seen your hands.” He winks at me, and my belly flutters excitedly. “But where do you live?”
“Dublin. I’d like to tell you I’m a full-time artist, but really, my paintings could only be called a hobby at this point. One day I hope to change that, but until then, I’m happy working in a small art gallery in the city.” It’s more information than I’d usually tell someone I’d only just met.
His stare burns into me. But looking up is dangerous territory when his penetrating gaze seems to be peeling back my layers. So instead, I pick at the corner of the cardboard coaster under my glass, playing back the truth I just admitted, and something doesn’t feel right about what he said earlier.
“Rory, if you love architecture so much, why do you design houses you don’t like?”
His chin lifts, and he sits back in the chair. This time, his posture is stiffer, not casual, and his dark eyes, which minutes ago sparked with amusement, are dull dark orbs.
“Well, that’s a long story that we probably shouldn’t get into over a first drink.”
In my eagerness to understand him, I’ve pushed too far, forgetting that I’ve only known him for about an hour.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be digging into your personal life. It’s a bad habit of mine.” I pull out my phone to check the time. “I think I should be going. You know, back to the hospital.”
Rory only nods, confusion furrowing his brow.
I want to see him again, but I’m not sure he feels the same. My chair scrapes loudly across the worn flagstones as I stand. “Enjoy your time in Reykjavik, and make sure you visit Laugavegur. It’s the main street in the city and has some great bars.” I roll his bag toward him and pull mine toward me. “We definitely have the right bags now,” I joke.
He rises to tower above me and my tummy flutters excitedly with his nearness.
“Do you think you could show me some of those bars? Local knowledge is always much better than stumbling about on my own.”
