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“Then what’s all this about?”
“I’m...” I scan the office for inspiration and spot Raine’s boots in a corner of the room. When I look at her again, I notice her socks, mismatched as usual. A Monday sock and a Tuesday sock.
It’s Thursday.
“Get your boots on. We’re having a walking meeting.”
“A walking meeting?” Raine says. I know I’ve caught her interest, because she saves her document and closes the alarming number of tabs she has open.
“You’ve never heard of one?” I say.
She shakes her head.
“The concept is simple. Walk while you have a meeting. Very popular in Silicon Valley, I hear.”
“Well, if it’s popular in Silicon Valley, then we’ve got to do it.”
I have to take a step back when Raine gets to her feet. I don’t remember my office feeling so small before.
Raine steps around me with a grin. She sits on the floor beside her boots and tugs one on, then pauses halfway through tying the laces. “Wait. What are we meeting about? I thought I was off the clock.”
“You’re back on the clock,” I say. “We’re meeting about this flier, since you insist on working on it beyond reasonable working hours.”
She gives me a skeptical look. “Why do I feel like this is a trickto get me away from work, and once we get outside, you’ll say one word about the flier and then change the topic to a non-work subject?”
I nudge her boot with my toe. “Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
—
“Guess what I did today?” Raine says as we leave the pub and head in the direction of the harbor.
“You played guitar, designed most of a flier for the pub quiz, and put together half of a lovely collage,” I say.
She rolls her eyes.
“What did you do today, then?” I say.
“Do you remember those musicians we met on Oliver Plunkett Street when we went to Cork last week?”
I do remember. Raine made friends within a few minutes of our arrival in Cork. She visibly perked up as soon as she heard the music. She walked a little faster, with a little more bounce in her step. I watched her mind drift away as we drew closer to Oliver Plunkett Street. She took longer to respond in conversation, and by the time we could see where the music was coming from, she was so absorbed in it that she didn’t respond at all.
The musicians were two women. One with a guitar, the other with a laptop and small keyboard. Both had microphones before them and an array of pedals at their feet. Raine halted right in front of them as if someone had glued her to the spot. I watched her watching them, her attention fully on the music.
She must have sensed I was watching her, because she turned to me then. “Do you mind if we hear the rest of the song?”
I shook my head and turned to watch the musicians too, but really, my attention was on Raine, who head-bobbed along to themusic, a smile on her face. Around us people passed by as if they took no notice of the music at all, and yet Raine seemed all wrapped up in it, and I couldn’t help but watch her watching them again. Her gaze traveled from one musician to the other, as if examining their technique.
As soon as they finished the song, Raine fished a few coins from the Ziploc bag she keeps all her money in and dropped them in the guitar case. Within moments, she was in conversation with the musicians, and by the time Raine said goodbye, they’d traded social media accounts and made a promise to grab drinks the next time Raine was in Cork.
“What about them?” I ask.
“I was messaging with Tara—the one who plays the guitar—and guess which pub they’re adding to their rotation next month?”
My eyes land on the nearest pub. “Kelley’s,” I say with a nod.
Raine elbows me in the side. “Not Kelley’s! The Local, of course!”
I look at her. “Really?”
