I glanced over at Eamonn, but he just shook his head, bemused.
“It doesn’t matter. The point is, I was getting so stressed, because every time I thought I could turn, traffic got too backed up, and those barriers meant that I had a very small space to work around. Finally there was this car that hadstopped at the light, but no one was behind them yet, so they backed up and gestured for me to pull ahead of them.”
“That’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for ya?” Eamonn sounded really incredulous now.
“Well, no. Notthekindest. But it’s stayed with me. The idea that a stranger would’ve gone out of their way like that.”
“It was reversing a bit. I wouldn’t say it was going out of their way.”
“It meant more to me because of thesituation,” I explained, “which they couldn’t have known. But that’s also why it mattered. They didn’t know, they just…did it. I’m probably not describing it well.”
Was this how Eamonn had felt the whole time he’d been driving, when I could watch him while he had to watch the road? I was very conscious of his attention on me, the way his gaze stayed on my face before drifting to my hand on the steering wheel, before he looked back out the window. “No, no, you are,” he said. “I’m being a cynical bastard. I like the way you see the world. It makes me think…”
But I never got to hear him finish that sentence, because we’d apparently arrived at our destination. He directed me into the small parking lot next to an unassuming building, and I made a wincingwhoopsface as the car lurched a little when I took the turn.
“Ah, don’t look like that,” Eamonn said, laughing. “You’re brilliant.”
I pulled into a space next to a hand-painted sign that said, helpfully,COFFEE + TEA. When I’d successfully parked, I flashed Eamonn a triumphant smile and he returned it, hisblue eyes bright and that dimple popping out in his cheek again.
“See,” he said. “Nothing to it.”
I didn’t know if I would saythat—it had been a little stressful, especially when everything was flipped and counterintuitive. But I did feel proud of myself that I’d done it, and it had helped to ease a lot of my earlier anxiety—about that dream, about whatever it all meant, about Eamonn and me hooking up and then both falling over ourselves to apologize for it.
Our triumph was also short-lived, because it became quickly apparent that the coffee shop wasn’t even open. I would’ve made another comment about how this was just my luck, except I didn’t feel like it was bad luck anymore. It felt like…reality. Places were closed. I also couldn’t bring myself to care much about it, when even the anticipation of a warm cup of coffee was secondary to the pleasure I felt just from being there. The countryside around us was so pretty, covered in a low fog. There were more mountains in the distance, their peaks showing through the clouds, and there wasn’t much traffic on the road yet.
“Did you want to head back?” Eamonn said. “See the church after all? It’s really beautiful inside. In a different way from Saint Patrick’s.”
“Maybe,” I said. It seemed like the sort of thing I shouldwantto do. If this were a normal tourist trip, I would’ve wanted the whole experience. But I didn’t feel any particular draw to walking around awe-inspiring spaces and taking in the history today. I felt so removed from all that.
“Trying to think what else there is to do around here,” hesaid. “Although we could always drive somewhere else. It’s Sunday, so some places might not be open. But nearby there’s Sligo Abbey if it’s the season yet, there’s Carrowmore if you’re into megalithic monuments, there’s a forest walk around Benbulbin although I don’t know if you’ve got the shoes for it. The village is pretty, with the river and all that.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. “I really do. I’m just not sure if I have any more sightseeing in me today. I’m sorry, I’m a terrible guest to your island.”
“Nah, it’s no bother,” Eamonn said. “We could just drive. Find some open road for you to really push her to her limit.”
“Full throttle,” I said. “That’s what I need, nothing holding me back.”
“Ah, an adrenaline seeker,” Eamonn said, his eyes smiling at me. “Why didn’t you say so. We could find something for you. Cliff diving or mountain biking. I’d take you to get your first tattoo.”
“Oh, I already have a tattoo,” I said.
He glanced at me, seeming genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“What,” I said, “you don’t think I’m the type?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said, his gaze raking down me. He’d given me that kind of once-over before, but this time it felt different. It was like he knew he could take his time, like now that we agreed we didn’t regret what had happened in the car, he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t paying attention. “I just hadn’t seen one. But I suppose technically you wouldn’t have seen my tattoo, either. Though you did touch it.”
I raised my eyebrows, thinking about that, the way my hands had been greedy underneath his shirt. “Chest? Back?”
He pressed a finger to a spot on his upper arm, hidden beneath his T-shirt sleeve. Now that he mentioned it, I thought I’d felt something there, jagged like a scar, but there had been a lot going on. “What about yours?”
I thought of the small, stupid thing I’d gotten my first year of college, where I’d ended up having the tattoo artist put it. “You got pretty warm,” I said. “You may have touched it. You’re not allowed to ask what it’s of, though, because, trust me, it would be embarrassing for both of us.”
“That’s not fair,” he said. “Now I have to know. What if I guessed it?”
“No,” I said, laughing a little. “Seriously, please. Embarrassing forbothof us.”
“Well, I’m not as withholding as you,” he said. “You can peek at mine, if you want. It’s just my mother’s initials.”
