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“You know about Sue?” I said, shocked at the mention of her name.
“Brandon told Leah. From his lips to my ear.”
I pressed her hands against my forehead, biting back emotion, barely able to believe she was so forgiving. So understanding.
The past weeks had been emotional for me, filled with wild swings from happiness and pleasure to the pits of guilt and regret, after I found her letters and met her. I never thought it would be possible for her to understand or accept my story – especially not after I had seduced her and not been honest about my identity.
“Dan’s dead,” she said, her eyes sparkling with tears. “I wish he’d never died and that you and I’d never met, but he did and we did. I’m alive. So are you. I’m so glad that given what happened, I finally met you. I love you.”
I kissed her hands, one after the other, squeezing them in mine. “I love you.”
“We’re alive,” she said, her voice filled with emotion.
“We are,” I replied, taking her face in my hands. “We have to live.”
She nodded in reply and smiled, the tears spilling onto her cheeks.
Then I pulled her into my arms and she wrapped her arms around my neck. Finally, our lips found each other’s, our mouths joining in a deep passionate kiss.
That was the way Colm found us when he came barging to our booth moments later.
“There you are,” he said, standing with his feet spread, his hands on his hips. “Are you going to introduce me to your lady friend?”
He had the biggest grin on his face, which mirrored mine and when I looked back at her, I saw a smile on Miranda’s face as well.
I stood up and pulled Miranda up with me. She adjusted her dress and wiped her tears with the back of her hands, grinning like a kid caught stealing candy.
“Uncle Colm, this is my lady friend, Miranda Parker. Miranda is a student studying forensic psychology and plans on a career with the FBI,” I said and turned to her, barely able to stop from grinning like an idiot. “Miranda, this is my Uncle Colm, my surrogate father. He makes the best damn Cottage Pie in Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Hell’s Kitchen!” Colm said in mock insult. “In all of Manhattan. Speaking of which, I have your lunch all ready. Cottage Pie with stout.”
“What do you think?” I asked, looking in Miranda’s eyes.
She smiled. “Sounds fantastic.”
I took Miranda’s hand and we sat back down in the booth, side by side, my arm around her shoulders. Then, Colm and the waitress brought a spread of food, including my uncle’s famed Cottage Pie, and tall glasses of dark brown stout.
“Will you join us?” Miranda asked, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. Colm glanced at me and I shook my head almost imperceptibly. I wanted to be alone with Miranda.
“No, no,” he said and shook his head. “Thank you for asking. You two have a nice lunch alone. I’ve got work to do.”
Colm left us and went behind the bar. As Miranda and I turned to our plates of Cottage Pie, I glanced over to where Colm stood behind the bar. He had poured himself a glass of soda and raised it. Sláinte! he mouthed and took a sip.
I raised my glass of beer, holding it up and toasting him silently.
I took a sip and turned to Miranda, who was staring at her plate. She was smiling softly, and at that moment, I couldn’t really believe my luck at meeting someone like her.
“I honestly didn’t believe you’d ever forgive me,” I said. “Why? Why did you?”
She looked at me, her eyes meeting mine. “Life’s short. People die. We have to keep living, even when bad things happen. Not telling me who you were from the beginning was wrong but I don’t think you meant to hurt me. You’re a good man with a good heart and you deserve a second chance.” Then, she raised her glass of Guinness. “To life,” she said softly, nodding to me.
I raised my glass in return and met her eyes. “To life.”
We each took a sip and then I put down my glass and took her glass out of her hand.
Then, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, pulling her closer, closer, unable to get enough of her and barely able to believe my luck that she was willing to forgive me.
If she could forgive me, maybe I could forgive myself.
