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“Alex!”
She jerked her head back, catching Mark sprinting towards her with his Vespa helmet under his arm. Her eyebrows lifted, releasing her first smile of the day. It had been two months since she’d last seen him.
“Good! You haven’t left yet. Bloody traffic.” He swooped in with a hug. “Where’s the gang?”
Alex lingered against his white t-shirt, the fabric warm and glued to his chest. The rapid beat of his heart filled her ear. “Getting magazines and snacks.”
Mark’s hand swept along her dewy back. If she knew an embrace from him was on the cards, she would’ve worn a bra.
“At least I hope they are.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Maybe they’ve changed their minds and done a runner.”
His eyes floated around the concourse for their friends. “I’d gladly take their place. Manchester’s a cool city. I did a play there last year.”
“You sure get around.”
Mark laughed. “Damn. Another one of my secrets, exposed.”
A troop of head-bobbing pigeons noisily scattered, stealing Alex’s attention away from Mark. Their dusty wings flapped into a perilous lift off, clearing a path for Lucy’s galloping sandals. She ran ahead of Freddie, her dark curls bouncing above the shoulders of her sleeveless blue blouse.
“Hiya, Mark!” Panting for breath, she pulled at the waist of her denim miniskirt. “Got ‘em. Pies and pasties for everyone. Got chocolate, crisps, water.” She handed Alex a paper bag containing a cheese and onion pasty. It promptly got shoved into her computer bag.
“Shame you can’t come, Keegs.” Freddie hugged his magazine against his black 221B t-shirt. “We could’ve relived that epic pub crawl. Remember when I fell into the canal, and you lost your trousers…”
Alex’s eyes grew twice their size. Lost his trousers…?
Mark’s impish gaze darted from Freddie to Alex and back. “Yeah, yeah…well, two other staff are on hols right now, so I’m working most of their shifts. Not complaining, mind.”
“They’re boarding now.” Lucy fumbled with the broken strap of her duffle. “We should get a move on.”
“Have fun.” Mark helped Lucy reign in her bag. He nudged his hair off his forehead and looked at Alex, a slow smile inching through his stubble. “Don’t miss your ride.”
Alex blushed. She knew what ride meant in Irish slang—God, her mind was in the gutter.
Why did every encounter with Mark feel so fleeting? She loved nothing more than sharing these stolen moments with him, but they never lasted long enough. Not long enough to figure out if she meant as much to him as he did to her. He could flirt for Ireland, but did it mean anything? If it did, surely he would’ve made a move by now…
“Text ya later, Keegs.” Freddie waved, chasing after Lucy.
Mark lifted Alex’s backpack off the floor, his eyes spotting the small tattoo beside her tank’s strap. “Comedy and tragedy masks? Glad to see I’m not the only one who’s passionate…about theatre, I mean.” He raised an eyebrow and tossed the heavy load over his shoulder, walking her to the gate. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately…”
Lucy jumped out of the way of Freddie’s wheelie case and looked back. “Lex! What are you like? Come on!”
Alex flung the strap of her laptop bag across her body. She dragged her feet and briefly closed her eyes, torn between staying and leaving. “I should go…”
“Enjoy the time with your family. I’m envious.” Mark’s eyes swept downwards, settling on her lips. “Give the Mancs a smooch from me.”
• • •
The other side of the double bed lay rumpled but empty.
Where’s Lucy? Alex kicked off the duvet, threw on her white bathrobe, and padded down the plush carpeted stairs to the main floor of her dad’s semi-detached house just outside of Manchester. Muffled voices and the smell of fresh coffee signaled she was the last one up.
An assembly line of white bread, butter, and uncooked bacon crossed the kitchen counter. The kettle jittered and whistled on top of the stove.
“Morning, love.”
Michael set his coffee down, ready for a hug. He was dressed in jeans and his red Manchester United shirt, which stretched uncomfortably over his slight potbelly. A few threads of silver weaved through the dark hair at his temples, defying his fifty-six years.
“I’ve waited months to hug you.” His tight embrace was warm and loving.
