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“It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”
“You suggested it.” I glanced over and winked.
As she continued to give instructions, I quickly discovered that I wasn’t nearly as coordinated as I thought I was. And by the looks of Flynn, neither was he.
“They make it look so easy,” he muttered, his brows drawn together as he watched the dancer on stage. “Hop one, left two, right three.”
“Try your other left.”
He glanced over at me, an eyebrow raised high, sending me into a fit of laughter. “It takes a lot of brain power to hop and then remember to switch your back leg to your front leg, and then—”
I closed the distance between us and cradled his face in my hands. His frustration seemed to melt away at my touch.
“So what you’re really saying is, you don’t see a future in Irish dancing,” I replied, low enough for him to hear.
“No, I’m sorry. I can do some pretty crazy things down a mountain, but I can’t do the Irish hops.”
I giggled and tipped my head. It was there, in that moment, surrounded by people trying to Riverdance and the beautiful haunting melodies of bagpipes, that I realized I was falling in love with him.
I’d spent so much of my life pushing away the idea of anything with him that my feelings for him had snuck up on me. And now they enveloped me like a warm hug.
“It’s not the end of the world,” I replied, my voice sticking in my throat.
“No, I can think of better ways to spend our time.” He bent down, brushing his lips against mine in a tentative dance. Heat curled along my spine, warming me from the inside out as the world stopped around us, just for that moment.
Aware cameras were on us, I pulled back enough to stop the kiss, then leaned into him to rest our foreheads against each other.
“Let’s go take advantage of the rest of our day,” I murmured, though I was perfectly content to spend it exactly like this.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
For two people that spent most of our lives avoiding our feelings toward each other, we seemed to slide into a pattern that mirrored normalcy quite easily. Aside from the cameras following us around, I could almost see our lives beyond the show. In sync with each other, teasing, laughing.
“I think Tom has a booth out here somewhere.”
I laughed. “Wasn’t he just hosting this morning?”
“He told me when we were waiting to come on camera that he had a booth, and he’d have food. I’m after two things: his pub mac and cheese, or Irish nachos. He makes the best I’ve ever had.”
“You sure you’re not just biased?”
He bobbed his head like he tried to decide how to answer.
“Maybe a little. Tom always had an affinity for making food when he had the chance, and I was usually fortunate enough to be a taste tester. Besides, I’ve traveled a lot, remember? I know what good, authentic pub food tastes like.”
For a moment, I’d forgotten that he wasn’t home for good. “Do you ever miss it here?” I’d meant to ease into it, but I couldn’t help myself anymore.
“Of course I do.” He glanced over, seemingly searching for something.
“Do you think you’ll travel forever?”
Silence fell over the two of us, the only soundtrack the blend of traditional Irish instruments and voices blending into a chaotically beautiful medley.
“I think traveling would be an amazing opportunity, but I’d miss it too much here,” I replied.
He hadn’t asked, but I wanted him to know anyway.
“It gets difficult after a while. Nothing ever truly feels like home.”
