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Dark jeans and an olive-green sweatshirt are a lot more relaxing than a suit.
“Thank you. You look nice yourself.”
“Thanks.” He grins and crosses the floor toward me then holds out his arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall.” I let him lead me outside.
“I figured we’d do some walking tonight if that’s all right?”
My stomach churns with unease, but I nod anyway. I’m used to walking to and from the hospital, but long distances tend to wear me out. “That sounds great.”
We fall into companionable silence as we stroll down the street alongside other couples and groups of friends out for a fun night in the city. Lights shine brightly through panes of glass, proof of Dublin’s nightlife as patrons file in and out of other pubs and buildings dotted alongside the street. The whole scene is gorgeous and exactly what I’d been expecting. For someone who has lived the last five years in a perpetual state of death, this proof of life alone makes the trip worth it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He leans in, eyes sparkling beneath the twinkling fairy lights of a building we pass. “I’m really glad you were early.”
I laugh, the sound completely foreign to me after years of suffering through grief and anger. “I’m really glad you were, too.”
“I barely wanted to drive home and change.” He gestures to his clothes. “I made myself do it, of course. Can’t be showing up to a date looking the same as when ya asked, but part of me just wanted to hang out until you were ready. That’s a tad creepy, though, isn’t it?”
The laughter grows, making my sides ache as I shake my head. “I think it’s sweet.”
“That’s good, then. Sweet, not creepy. Noted.”
“What’s the plan for tonight?”
“We’re going to head over to Murray’s for a bite and a drink, and then I can show you Dublin City Centre if it suits you.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I swallow down my nerves and mentally tally everything I’ve eaten today. If I overeat, even a single bite past my normal, I end up sick for days. Since I only managed to eat a mini garden salad before boarding the plane, I figure I’m okay with a piece of bread or so.
Anything else and I might be ending the night early in a mad dash to my hotel.
The night air surrounds me, a comforting blanket that allows me to breathe deeply. It’s moments like this I think I’ll miss the most. When the world is active, people happy, the night air crisp.
“Are you cold?”
“Not at all.” I smile at him as he pulls me toward a building withMurray’s Grillon the front. Thousands of lights hang from strings, illuminating the name. The patio is covered in plants that spill out onto the sidewalk, and I can hear music playing from the speakers while people chat happily at their tables.
This is a place of life, of joy, and I am so ready to be a part of it, if even for a sliver of a moment.
As Sullivan gets us inside and to a table, I let my mind drift while studying the other patrons. My gaze travels over men and women dining together and a couple of friends sharing a larger table. They briefly glance toward me, and I offer them a smile before turning my attention back to the hostess.
But as I’m shifting my gaze, it lands on the shadow of a man in the corner, and all the air is sucked from my lungs. My heart rate increases, the heavy pounding all I can hear. He’s huge, brooding in the corner, his muscles bulging from beneath armor plates that don’t look like they belong anywhere near this century. I can’t make out his features, but based on the set of his shoulders, the way he hovers in the corner, I’d say he’s pissed about something.
Yet, what’s even crazier is the overwhelming feeling that I’ve seen him before. And then it hits me.
Muscle man outside the doctor’s office. Except, why the hell is he here?Who are you? Why are you following me?I start toward him, ready to demand the answers to both of those questions, but as soon as I do, Sullivan grabs my hand gently. I turn back to him, and he smiles while the hostess leads us away.
“Who’s—” I start, but as I turn back toward the man, my voice breaks. He’s gone, no sign of him anywhere, leading me to wonder if I hadn’t just imagined him. And if I had—why? It’s not like I have a taste for muscled, brooding men. The opposite, in fact, as they intimidate the hell out of me.
But twice now, I’ve seen him. Am I losing my damned mind on top of everything else? Has the heat of my body finally seeped into my brain like they’d been so worried about?
“Here ye’ are,” the hostess says with a bright smile as we take our seats at a table in the corner.
“Thank you,” Sullivan says, fondly. The waitress nods to him then leaves us alone. “You okay?”
I nod, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I’m fine. I just…I thought I saw someone I might know.”
His brows furrow. “All the way in Ireland? I thought you didn’t have any friends here.”
“I don’t.” But even as I speak the words, my gaze drifts to the now-empty corner. Sullivan starts chatting idly about dinner, and I force my attention off the man no longer in the corner and onto the one sitting before me.
All through dinner, though, I find myself glancing back at the corner, hoping for one last glimpse of him. Though, I imagine, one last glance may never be enough.
